Arrow upon arrow the stricken heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Satan had withered our spirit's joy and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze he encrypted, the heir's light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative their mind twilight art they presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts all reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" His heir once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.

       "Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."

       His despairing heir put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
Immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's love and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan and his minions conspiring in space;
The King broke off the heir's chains with great might,
He enlightened our spirit, who had not known the light.
The heir's desperate cries reached The King's vibrations,
He released the heir and nullified all limitations.
Profound divine wisdom our heir now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the through destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill this mended heart,
But it's a tale best left for another form of art...

The marvelous thing
is how I hear this bird
sing,
from morning to night
and from winter to spring.
It happily glees,
never sad, never in fright.
It glides with purpose
from darkness to light.
Aggression it welcomes
from predators (weak)
for its mind is superior
and respect it will seek.
Underestimate, only a fool
will dare.
With intellect,
vibrancy,
and vigilance
there
will be a surprise
--  most minds will be blown --
with glory it ravages,
but dignity shown.
Above all else,
I prefer to mention,
something vital
to bring to your attention;
you must look beyond
my observation
for all things beautiful,
in adoration
this bird holds dear
to heart and mind
a one true love
its meant to find.
The heavens,
the sea,
the corporeal plains
it tours the earth,
again and again
but never alone,
but with another;
one’s promised,
confidante,
Jay’s one true lover.

It is a truth universally
acknowledged
that people in love
are people found.

Even if one tried,
one cannot escape from,
nor ignore one’s
strongest muscle
that emulates a
desperate caterpillar’s.
This muscle is a muscle
of the heart
that is eager to break
free from
the claws of conformity,
which it is bound by
from the moment it is born;
where it’s rebellious limbs
instinctively practice
within and against the laws
of physics and nature;
laws that appear
to relentlessly sustain
the creature’s
seemingly pointless,
externally influenced,
and
perfectly molded
and orchestrated
existence.
That is, until
one day
when the caterpillar
blossoms into a
creature with wings;
a thing with a
real purpose
that springs into
action when
faced with
the highest form
of adversity,
like dealing
with the stink of
French blue cheese
that leaves behind
its cheap perfume
in a room with no
ventilation.
Death of the senses,
birth of a soul.
And there, on a sofa,
begins and ends
the story
of two lost souls
aimlessly meandering
around like
headless politicians
clinging onto something
they no longer have.
(Dysfunctional penises,
your time is up).
And all that remains
within these quietly
suffocating walls
of love and loss
is the eerie
stench of pain
mixed in a ball
of anger,
confusion,
and the
feculent funk of
French cheese.

There is a chance
it was all in her mind.
At first glance
her essence would unwind
dim secrets that dance
until one goes blind:
two worlds split,
but only one confined.
One world set free
of frenzied things.
Trapped in complete
illusory strings,
was the other world
that’s dark and cold;
too loveless to swirl in
for any soul.
Here, only shivers her heart
would devise
for a woman torn apart
from her own demise;
one incapable to love
and for to care,
as her silence above
screamed, “Mommy wasn’t there.”
Diving this sea of oblivion,
our lady petitioned,
unrequited love, one unconditioned,
for all unloved and not cared for,
who now searched only for a closed door.
So, when our lady, flaming with passion,
devoted her love in unlimited fashion,
most were startled,
some terror-stricken,
by a truth their world
had only forsaken.
Two months passed,
as a year of leap it was,
the moon and stars
and a twilight dusk,
with prison bars
transported our lady
from one world - dark -
into another. Maybe?
In this new world,
she was ONE with trees.
The squirrels, too, knew
how to please,
her thoughts, perceptions,
and degrees
to which our lady
accepted with ease.
All seemed so real,
yet unrealistic.
A man she’d seen
on TV, a mystic,
with talent so broad
and success, too,
that our lady
fell hard for him;
yes. It’s true...
A million fences
disappeared
upon entrance,
for the one she found
was pure as gold,
not rugged, *****,
or too old.
He seemed to know
more about our lady
than the lady knew of herself,
indeed.
With love and precision
this man could foresee
that she is the one,
and for her is he.
But she knew nothing of this world so foreign,
for the laws of the old world were creeping in;
the chains that bound her left in storage
and due in time for her soul to binge
in emptiness and despair to shove,
while her soul-mate stayed behind to love
the eerie dismay of our lady’s eyes,
which he knew even in disguise;
they hurt, they feared, they gently skewed
but now they bid him an adieu,
for the world she’s from exists with things,
these ugly, invisible things called “strings.”

I drafted a list of films.
That’s all.

‘The Age of Innocence’ was nothing
more than a journey on a ‘House Boat’
for a few ‘Pirates Of The Caribbean’
embarking ‘East of Eden’ in search of
‘The Secret in Their Eyes.’
But all they encountered on this
‘Road to Perdition’ was ‘The Birdcage’
specially made for the ‘Lord of The Rings’
and anyone else willing to decipher
the written code inside it.
‘Nine Months’ passed and the captain found
that ‘The Notebook’ of old ‘Umberto D,'
as it turns out, was a text written
in Italian, not in broken English.
The captain was ‘Lost in Translation’
when he assumed it was written by
‘The Great Dictator’ who was behind
the wheel of the ‘Titanic’
the night it sank.
While this was ‘As Good As it Gets,’
‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’
was suddenly ‘In The Mood For Love’
when another pirate translated the letters
of Umberto. The captain remembered himself
in a ‘Wonderful Life’ as a ‘Cast Away’
entangled in the loopy, mystifying grips
of ‘An Affair to Remember.’ It reminded
him of his youthful tryst with
‘The Princess Bride’ whom he lost to his
greatest nemesis, ‘Forrest Gump.’
‘The Odd Couple’ ‘Departed’ as the captain,
out of envy, took the lives of Gump, his woman,
as well as ‘The Lives of Others.’ Now, all the
captain was left with was the haunting
memory of a true beauty’s
‘Persuasion’ of an empty man
whose love was trapped like ‘Beetlejuice’
in the ‘Brokeback Mountain’ of his
own wicked heart. The captain failed to
realize that Umberto had addressed the
letter to his lost dog, Flike.

‘Analyze This.’ ‘Analyze That.’

Many are stupefied by utopic love.
Each aside they unwisely shove
The one made for them with divine care;
But one lover is astute, the other ensnared.
But, to devise a plan to speak
Of the fervor in their hearts (not meek)
Would mean to usher all aside
One’s vulnerability, fear, and pride.
First time around, most subtly,
Interest expressed, transcendently,
And shatters a transparent door,
While these two strangers are strangers no more. 


Then:
The slightest step towards her heart is taken;
She quickly retracts, he quickly mistaken.

She thinks:
“I’ve grown tired of being jaded.
My loud wits and dreams have faded,
Far along the river waves,
Saddened by these trees and shades!
But there he stands, perfect and well.
I...here...scared like hell,
For I have never felt like this,
Not even with a woman’s kiss.”

He thinks:
“What, exactly, have I done
That she retreats, a fate undone?
There! In her eyes, the heart’s edifice,
Conjures true love’s precipice,
But screams of the real demise
Of past lovers: spears and lies.”

In truth, her wits may sometimes offend,
But with him she would most commend
His charming smile, his virility,
While he embraces her wholeheartedly.
Thus, their imaginations painted beyond
A sea of perfection, like a song,
And marked a journey of these two
Just for a moment, as most strangers do.
But the stars have placed attraction laws
For these two lovers and their flaws
To come together, but not greet,
For the devil binds them in defeat.

So, a moment’s come, a moment’s passed
For these two soulmates, amour-cast;
The love she sought, the love he spoke
Has come and gone. That’s all they wrote.

Time.

Its mortally-invented meaning,
feels powerfully un-theoretical
when traveling to the past.
And by “traveling,”
I mean that outer body experience
one endures during a moment of nostalgia.
And by “experience,”
I mean that outer body awareness that is sharply ignited
by something unknown in the chest area;
further manifested in the form of chilling goosebumps
that are assumed to be ignited
by the heart
as it laments itself
in an intangibly triangular form of
love, emptiness, and pain --
two theoretically theoretical theories against one.