"Open-eyed, naught is over as hinging on less"
Fay Slimm 

Stretching and shouldering night away a sun crouches
to birth black's ousting
by one more empty circle of dark's hollowed pouches
then outs in sparkling showers.

Spangled with myriad star-labour unfolding membranes,
like numberless leaves
dreamers listen to soft serenades as the universe favours
lullaby-songs to deep breathing.

Silvered surface shivers with night-eyes as glittery dust
follows with dart-swift
flight each soul's winged journey while murmuring such
mysteries to those sleeping still.

Glimmers on sightless horizon reveal light's celebration
while untrodden dew
newly writhing in close-capped life waits inertia's frame
stirring to shake before rising.

Piercing the brain time's needle regathers worn threads
and remembers that more
sown seed means now-grown grain needs re-collection
in daylight's mind-aware storage.

Open-eyed, naught is over as hinging on less or more,
sun, with slumber done,
now hurries to open the thin partition between yawns
of torpidity to more hours won.

"freely, prying your lips open"
Melody W 

Do not attempt to deconstruct
the hierarchical structure
of all your mind holds dear

Linger in silence, or its absence,
taking tiny pained
sips of organic genmaicha

Let your words slither
freely, prying your lips open
even as they burn in their escape

Look for answers beyond gadgets;
no technological craze can even begin
to emulate the complexity of the human brain

"mouths gaping open with eagerness,"
Melody W 

Knotted in odd places,
like spines of ancients,
the result of wisdom accumulated
yet unequally distributed

But no beauty lies in uniformity

So they continue to grow,
feeding from oblivion and pulsing with life,
rooted in still waters, yet aspiring for heights unseen.
The slow growth of these skeletal soldiers,
echoing the most minuscule of movements,

Awakens fluidity from her sleep

Yawning off silent energy
that reverberates throughout
this cold pond,
and entices brilliantly colored koi
to congregate at the surface,
mouths gaping open with eagerness,
delighted at the prospect of nourishment -
while all around, the night awaits,
trembling with anticipation,
releasing delicate aromas of jasmine;

Easily overlooked, yet lingering in one's subconscious

And the last drops of fragrant jasmine tea will evaporate,
revealing the pale, moon-like center
of porcelain teacup -
a glaring reminder
that when fluidity changes its course
and disappears from sight,
one is forced to gaze down at one's own reflection

And become reacquainted with mortality

"in this foreign land, my open palms"
Melody W 

Nightly, I roam these streets
alone in my thoughts, haunted;
symmetrical lanes mock the
labyrinth of my tortured mind

Obsidian stones skim the surface
of these choppy waters signaling
depths beyond the incessant rhythms
revealed to but a few unlucky ones

And centuries later, I'm still a stranger
in this foreign land, my open palms
pleading with the lost, the forgotten
waning crescent moon

"careening into the open mouth of tragedy"
Melody W 

He once spoke of tree swings
the inexplicable eeriness of the whole
contraption swaying with an almost
inaudible cadence on windless days

Lost spirits, he had whispered,
they'll always come back
to the places that held the most
longing, sorrow, mindless torment

The night enveloping our distilled minds,
we became the shadows peering through
windows like empty souls caught
in a silent watery purgatory

Unbeknownst to me, he was
a drowning man clinging to remnants
of greatness like quicksand, yet headfirst
careening into the open mouth of tragedy

"No open spaces are found here now"
Melody W 

Sunlight interrupts shadows
Interspersed throughout the campus lawn,
calmly filters through foliage
And cold stone corners

No open spaces are found here now
A carefully calculated attempt
To prevent student protests
Blood and smoke
Mere wisps of the past -
From pervading the calm atmosphere
Like effervescent bubbles escaping out of
An ocean trembling with suppressed energy

Walk a little ways
Down through the dense concrete forest
with its peaks marked with faceless mirrors

It is not deserted
But rather bustling with energy now

Decades ago it happened
One trembling voice
Pleading one last cause
"In God’s Name, End the War!"
Then collapsing into silence
with a mere puff of smoke
A coldly ironic magician’s trick
Forever etched into the pavement.
Despite these confined spaces
Some stains will always remain

And one voice will be heard

"Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always"
Michael Ryan 

Family what is family.
The people that decide to catch you before you fall.
Or the people that decide to pick up the broken pieces when you’ve been smashed into millions.
The millions of millions that no one else would be willing to pick up.
Even if those millions of millions was just a game to pick up a few missing parts.
They are the ones that will build a fortress around you and tell you the world is not safe for you my child.
But they will let down that gate, even knowing that the world isn’t good enough for you.
Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always beg for you not to go.
Even after you’ve left that mighty fortress they built all for you, they will cast themselves out to watch over you.
They will be the birds spying over your life, seeming to always be there, singing along to your tune of life.
Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new wash done to your car.
They will always mean to do their best; they will give all of what they can give and more.
No matter if they have to fight off the jackals of fate to speak to you once more, they will find a way.
If you are in another castle they will travel once more and once more until they find you again.
No matter how lost you become they will find the light in the deepest of caverns.
And if there is no light they will bring their own, because they know what will lighten you up.
Understanding they will be, knowing that tough times are tough to get out of.
With that knowledge they will be the best to have around, they are the ones that will accept that we all sometimes frown.
They are the blessing of life not only because they build fortresses around you, but have the ability to let you live.
No, they are a blessing because whenever you finally find out that they were the reason to so much happiness.
They will be there wondering, damn how did you just find out?

Spoken word poem, I think most if not all of what I write is spoken word.
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