"amulets" poems
I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric
And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence
As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays
But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Foggy breeze through my
fingertips when sunburnt days
seem coveted in memory.
When the columbines came back from the dead.
Burnt up cities...
The last glimpse of
firefly lights grew dim behind me
The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust
The pillars I once worshipped
in incense with amulets
became faded ruins...
The weathered walls texture
were like sequins with no glimmer
I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines
It's quieter up here in the
mountains
Like a shudder through the
window
I hear the old house moan all
through the day and all
through the night
The sunlight pierces through
the blinds
illuminating his face
which is already illuminated
But you're my bumblebee
that insignia- a honey gatherer
If you subtract the intimacy
out of ***
Nothing's left, but
hollow mechanical *******
Stealing the rythmn from
the music
Sturdy as a beam I lay
Unable to grasp at anything
It's just noise
Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed
It's like living on Mercury
In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons
Past conversations crush their
weight against my open ribs
No parent teacher or friend
told me how all consuming the sensation would be...
Dazed eyes staring through
disheveled blinds,
I was dropping rose buds off the
second floor balcony in the night
They hit the scratchy asphalt
like a gentle meteor shower
Monotonous nights replay
the same phases
That moon...
A face splashing
from gibbous to crescent
Waning on my malady
Always stirring like a steady torch
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC
Sisters: my veins drain into the sand.
My grave exists on wood.
My eyes close.
The crows pick at my womb; my brain.
Each nail tattoos my blood
into my bones.
My dying started long ago;
it started in my youth,
when Teacher told us
boys pull our pigtails,
shove us down on playground pavement
to show their love.
It started in high school,
where bare shoulders blinded boys
from their books.
And now we are twenty.
Now men's fingers pull us into the dark.
Now the alley concrete burns.
Now a suit and tie
asks if his defendant
could see your breast and thigh.
One out of every three;
if we escape their claws
we do so narrowly.
If we flee when they call,
we risk the slice of a knife
or an exit wound
or an asphalt tomb.
Whistles peel at our skin,
the wolves to our moon.
My body is a temple.
I open my womb
to expel all who intrude:
wrinkled politicians with withered pens,
with legalese, God's pharmacists,
the filthy, forceful tongues of men
who chain my worth to fertility.
I drive them from my holy rooms
with whips of cords.
My body is limp on these boards.
My skin is an ossuary
for relics women will soon possess.
It is easy for me to die.
I bleed for my Chinese sisters,
slain before they speak;
for my Indian sisters,
doused with acid,
stolen while they sleep;
for my Saudi sisters,
given a warden,
kept from their own streets;
for my American sisters,
losing their bodies
to others’ strict beliefs.
I bleed, I bleed;
come, stand in the scarlet mud.
Come, bathe your feet,
wash your hands
in the dregs of my end;
come, purge unwanted seed.
Come, drink of my last breath,
women who wear veils,
women who sell ***
The crows circle,
the vultures too--
I smell of death.
I am not weak.
I will not forgive them;
they know just what they do.
Now, my slaughtered sisters.
Now, my survivors.
Set down your stones.
Take the nails from my feet,
plunder my bones.
Wear them as amulets.
In three days,
I will rise
and forge weapons from your cries.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Amulets and Talismans
Hide your daughters, arm your sons
Something wicked this way comes
There's evil o'er the land
Coats of grey and coats of blue
Pick a side, which one are you?
The dead are many, survivors few
Freedom is at hand
The fields are littered with the dead
What once was gold, now bleeds red
Corpses now grow here instead
What cost does freedom bring?
Crimson now does paint the earth
The blood of boys scant years from birth
They gave their lives, for what it's worth
Hear the bells of freedom ring
Two hundred years and more since then
The tides of war begin again
An endless circle with no end
Arm your daughters, arm your sons
Talismans and Amulets
Don't protect from fighter jets
It's sad how soon the world forgets
Something wicked this way comes....
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
The army brat has come back
He whistles a whirling tune
And speaks of charms and amulets
He gambles and always wins somehow
You can now tell he's feeling free
Hiding behind witty sarcasm
He couldn't care less
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
The ornament doesn't care much about her appearance
Just about her performance on the playing field
She rides her boards goofy-footed
Always making plans with Mary Jane
Building Rube Goldberg Machines
Cleaning up after Pavlov's dogs
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
They can't get out of their own way
Brushed hair, combed teeth with two different shoes on
Suffering from ADD
But demand perfection
Refuse to bend or break
Don't let them latch on and bring you down with them
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
We're flip-flop-waffle-minded people
Who can't make heads or tails of signs and labels
Who are aware of the bad blood between some
Unintentionally manipulating and deceiving one another
We're on the third pitch, let's not miss it
But even if we do, we look good doing it in style
When we make exclusive appearances
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
-Tommy Johnson
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
*A JOURNEY
The night-stone, carefully placed
in the small bear skin pouch,
discusses drum beats with
amulets, charms, powders and
even a small wren’s yellow puff feather.
All creating within the power
of his ancestral soul.
This small obsidian,
chipped and flaked smooth stone
held along its edges the
blood of the animals
sacrificed to keep him alive;
giving him their spirits,
their views on how the Mother evolved
as well as their precious
shapes as he passed
from one world to the next.
His bag was rich medicine
and served him well.
~~~
He stood looking over
a vast valley plain
and could hear the stream
wrinkle smooth the rocks
as its mountain waters
continuously flowed.
He could see the honey bee
making love to the poppies
and clovers as well as
the sweet daffodils.
He could taste the pine needles
dance on the musky,
early morning soil after they
were awakened by squirrels
looking for a game of tag.
And he could feel lightly
the sway of Oak trees
moving slightly by the notes two hawks sung
circling, whispering, hypnotizing
their wary prey.
~~~
Looking out over this
green smelling plain
he could feel the vision swell,
as guided by this trance
he searched his pouch for
the blood star he had captured
one spring day while
riding the back of old Turtle.
Looking out over this
amber hazed horizon
he felt himself walking
talking with Grandfather
asking the meaning of rain,
wind and snow that carried him
gently to Big Mountain.
“Grand Father,
where is the beauty?
Where is the peace
above and below us?
Grand Father,
why are we still blind
to the wolf’s howl
and the cawing of the crow”
~~~
Standing atop Big Mountain,
holding in his left hand
the red star cloth
he begins his journey.
“Grand Father, let the wind beat
this drum of resistance
that is our human essence;
let the rain soak our hearts
cleansing us worthy to find
the path of snow and its soothing
warmth to make the Earth whole.
Grand Father, I only know
Babylon must fall.And this crimson star,
dripping with the people’s tears
can lead us back to the heights
of Big Mountain;
to the beauty and peace
above and below;
to our long lost whale songs
sung by the night sky
and seen in our children’s eyes.”
Carefully placing the medicine bag
around his neck,
holding it and smiling,
he takes the first steps..
Aztec Warrior*
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
I have busted my **** sliding down rainbows
And fell through many pink clouds on my ear.
I always whistle as I pass by graveyards
Threw hundreds in wishing wells, over the years.
I defaulted my rent on castles in the air.
I carefully avoided stepping on any cracks.
I walk endless miles not to walk under ladders.
I carefully avoid walking near any cat if it is black.
I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.
I’ve cramps in my fingers from them being crossed.
I would never break any kind of mirror, of course .
And I still have salt sprinkled on my shoulders.
Wishing on many stars, I have made myself hoarse.
I always look away when a funeral goes by.
I spit in my palm when I hear something spooky.
I drop coins into the bowls of all beggars
Even though most of my friends think me kooky.
It’s not like I go broke on soothsayers
And buy all the amulets I see on TV.
But It makes little sense to take a moment
To avoid the omens anyone can see.
Yes I buy copper bracelets to save me
From arthritis or rheumatism of my knee.
I never wear clothing the color of blood,
That only makes common sense to me.
Some think I’m a few boards short of a fence
Be that as it may, and all well and good
My guess is you all have looked around
To find something so you could knock on wood.
I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
I dream of you..
My flawless Apollo
Unable to fathom
Yet easy to follow
In the darkness
I can't tell the King from a pawn
But with the death of a god
Came the first golden dawn
In a permanent sleep
I'm impaled to the bed
The most beautiful dagger
Stabbed me right through the head
Though I'm happy for that
'Cause I think with my heart
Death is but the beginning
When you play with the arts
I untangle the sword
To push you off of me
Could Romeo & Juliette
Still love with a lobotomy?
The answer is yes
I yank the sword from your chest
Then I mummify your body
And cover you in amulets
From the Book of the Dead
I recite you a prayer
"Your heart is mine
And it is at rest there."
I lye down beside you
Re-bludgeon myself
From zombie to angel
Into Heaven from Hell
Corpses in a pyramid
What perfect symmetry
Death is short
But love is for eternity
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Beware of prophets
with pencil and paper,
lower case amulets
worn like a charm,
dangling lures, shiny
nothing up their sleeves
Phrase-like indulgence
plastered on street lights,
counted and numbered,
scratched below the surface,
slight of hand gestures
tickling termites and maggots,
off shoots of decency
Dramatic detachments
re-glued and fastened,
revolving exits doors
spun out of control
Now you see me,
now you don’t
Abracadabra, like magic
in the hands of cheerleaders,
in the hearts of followers,
in the pockets of prophets,
in the end, the kool aid,
the cliff,
the disappearance
Hocus pocus
and they all fall down
into an abyss
of hypocrisy
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
It's a sick, sick town
Where men have come to rot
As a worm infested fruit
Lying wet and rummaged on the ground
The neighbors with their bent noses
And upturned mouths
Bubbling with the agenda, the filth
Of their smiling counterparts next door
In town fiestas they squalor like
Emperors on roasted pigs, rice cakes
and goat bellies raised and slaughtered
They dine like fine crickets loud
And unconcerned about matters
Which the small town does not speak
Scoundrels of politicians
Fetchig money like leaves from their
Cotton pockets
Oh the election is under way!
Come come there is money this way!
Forget honesty it can only buy
You a rumbling stomach and a hut
Crumbling from debts and frets!
Who cares though
When seventy strides from you
Gunshots sparkle in the midnight skies
All eyes fainted all breaths shallow
And someone's just got wallowed
In a heat of greed and contempt
Poor son!Poor son!
Used to know the wretch
No family?No peso to his name?
Let's move on to our siestas
Justice won't spare us from hell
God has saved a seat for us instead
The church has made its job clear
Seven Sundays and we are but saved!
But the crowd upon
The altar thins like the old priest's head
Gleaming like chalice
In the dimming lights of the Lord
The people look on and yawn
For the gospel has now become
As good as miracle, literally.
The poor remain poor
The sinful prosper
And this sick, sick town
Has its marrows ******
Dry as a liar's throat
And you tell me to love it
Like a sweetheart of brazen days?
Like the grazing stars in the
Blank fields of bluish horizons
I painted with amulets and rockets
with my visions as a child?
And you tell me I was born of a town
About to sweep into nothing along
with the collapse of its people?
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
You are the devil in the face of my broken watch- your eyes reveal a shear glint of the moon's light. Your tear ducts make mine heavy. It's been 7 years since I felt you. You feel wonderful. I kept my promise. To you I keep all my promises. I fought the demons you protected me from, but I had to fight them on my own terms. Talk about rotten boyfriend material. I wish I could have been able to move to you, into you, closer to you, maybe even do some of that weird parkour jumping dancing Magic Mike Jordan twisting dancing type things. You after all are our Pieta.
You are the brilliant amulets of mirth and unbroken pathways. I feel the fur of your carpet between my toes. And I still haven't reapplied your nose. Please don't drown without me.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
I’m still stuck in the fairy tales
Of magic shoes and handsome prince,
Of servants of my own to boss
And I’m still at wash by hand and rinse.
My dreams of riches and luxury
Are still around and just as strong
But haven’t come true that much.
So I must be doing something wrong.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
I’ve kissed so many **** frogs
My lips have become amphibious
But not one morphed into a prince
So, the solution must be obvious:
I am not holding my mouth right
Or kissing in the wrong phase of moon.
I am not going to be able to hold on
If this wish doesn’t come true soon.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
I’ve bought magic seeds and amulets
To help the process on it’s magic way
But nothing seems to be working for me.
There must be better words to say.
Some kind of abracadabra mantra
That makes the real voodoo begin.
If I ever get this incantation right
II’m going to do it again and again.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
Grandmother had told me tales of the past,
Fairytales that we’ve all heard of,
The maidens in the scullery maid attire,
transforming to the princesses with the
embroidered and jeweled gowns; rivulets of silks and satins,
blue as the sea, greener than the highlands, more purple
then the dusky skylines, a true stamp
of royalty, poise, eloquence, and beauty.
And ensembles topped off with gold
encrusted and amethyst crowns.
Sure, the fairytales were what I lingered
onto during the years of my inexplicitly
innocent childhood, that I wished I still had.
I missed it, the tales, the anecdotes
that shaped my perception on love, hope, and faith,
far off from what I viewed in the looking mirror today.
I missed my grandmother’s hands, brittle and worn,
but kind and warm; I still thought about them
as I cleaned out the attic in which I’d forgotten existed.
And I grew up, my memories of it faded,
now covered in cobwebs and bristling wind
that sent a chill up my spine, but I found
much more than what my memory had allowed me to collect.
Amulets from what I assumed to be my grandmother’s youth
were stowed and tucked away in the alcove of a velvet shelf,
hidden by the splintered of decaying wood.
Next to the swell of the dresser, the door of the
furnishing remained ajar, revealing manila
colored increments of letters, some harbored
by the envelopes, some pierced out in the open.
The edges had crippled away,
flecks falling to the sandalwood bottom.
They were timeless, old, maybe not important,
to the wandering eyes of a stranger.
But to me - they held a mystery
that was waiting to be unraveled.
A story of my grandmother’s life she never shared with me,
just as private as she was open, perhaps I’d find in those envelopes
the same mindset I also had when I was young.
Perhaps she believed and dreamt of fairytales I had once done,
paraded around in the jewels and bangles hidden way,
basked in the ambiance of a sweet love
that was doomed to end in the decay of both parties.
Little figurines of silver and gold were placed under one
of the drawers parked away in the furnishing,
toys form her childhood, weighted by standard and price.
Her words I had adored as a child,
ate them up like sickly syrup and supported
them as if they were undiscovered treasure, but
now I finally got to “see” my grandmother’s
treasures deposited in her attic, the very place she
had hidden the most interesting stories that she
left for me to discover after she left.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Tiger’s Eye
Tiger’s eye gonna set you free
It’s nature’s own, a magic stone
Imbued with love’s energy
Life’s a ***** people hard to be around
But, Tigers eye never let you down
No, oh no, oh no
Tigers eye never let you down
Amulets, charms, trinkets and beads
A turbaned lady, she said to me
Take this home and I think you’ll agree
Tiger’s eye gonna set you free
Confidentially, between you and me
For the price of two
I’ll give you three
If you pay in
Rupee,
For the price of two
I’ll give you three
Tigers eye gonna set you free
Fifty for the bracelet
Five for the charm
Tiger’s eye never do no harm
Take it home, hold the stone
And soon you will agree
Tigers eye gonna set you free
It’s a jungle out there
Dark shadows behind every tree
Spells n spies, unwanted goodbyes
Endless lies and haunted cries
It’s protection that you need, you see
The lion may be king
But tigers can outrun almost everyone
And almost everything
If you’re looking for love ever after
No need to despair
Now, stay with me, stay with me
The truth is hard to hear
Tigers eye is the talisman
You always should keep near.
Heats you up with passion,
Your wildest dreams come true
You could walk a lovers’ mile
With a love that’s just for you
So, smile for a while,
Smile if you can, you can
It’s good to remember, in the end
Providence is the master plan
If you’re looking for love ever after
Everyone’s as cold as stone
No fun and no laughter got you
Cold down to the bone
Tigers eye help to see you through and
That’s my point of view
Don’t be sad, don’t be flat
Tigers eye is not like that
Tigers eye
Gonna let your spirit soar
You’ll be needing nothing more
Walk and run and skip a stone
Over a tranquil sea
Be as crazy as you can be
Cause
Tigers eye gonna set your spirit free
And that’s what she said to me
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Where the trees stand like sentinels on guard, in the glade,
And the sun pours molten honey, dappling, through their shade,
And the carpet of bluebells claim the sound of our steps,
We come to talk our lives, we made so complex.
We hide in the shadows, our lives lived in guilt,
Trying to end this, before, crimson tears are spilt.
But the hunger of our hearts is not so easily spent,
For the fire of the sun, ignites the feelings lent.
And within the flowers perfume, we get high on our love,
And the sun spills golden amulets from up above,
And then we merge into the blue as a flowing river,
Silent, mute, enchanted, only our bodies now quiver.
And I knew love at that time by the name it was called,
Secrets within, on my hands and knees I would crawl.
For you my silhouette, shadow, my dark secret,
I need to say goodbye before the sun has set.
And tomorrow, if your guilt, should extinguish our desire,
In me you will find the same, no burning embers in the fire.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
The desert sky's sand is stuck
under your fingernails and in my hair
your kisses are like the coast's sharp winds
and we're lightheaded from the sun
I walk barefooted
through white airport halls
looking back a thousand times
so often, feels like I'm twirling
and I never see your face
you're intertwined with the land
that is so different to you than to me
our travels are scratched knees and spice
but
our love feels as empty
as the forgotten streets
of european capitals now
and our home in my head is blank
like a page in a notebook
that has never been filled
we locked memories in amulets
and threw them out to sea
from ferries
that we fled from ourselves with
never once looked into your eyes,
really looked
all I see is the black pavement of the streets
you're summer that lasts all through winter
betraying me of snow
you're a diary lost
in Central Station
that I will never find again
I'll jump the train
and I'll look back a thousand times
not finding your face
my mind spinning,
off again.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 1:07 PM UTC
In the mirror image give, the
mirror in the mirror image lives and to
sustain the living
the giving of alms,
amulets,charms,the one who is living,
gifted a life by the one who is giving,
lives on.
Dickens knew well that the well where he drew upon stories he knew would run dry,
like 'The ghost of Frederick Wry' who tried hard and then failed,sailed on the next tide but wide of the mark, he ended his days on a bench in the park.
I am the ***** in the glass,the one you pass by,the well that ran dry,
I am the Ghost of Frederick Wry
in each mirror you live
I die,
you give
I try
and die
to live.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
I can walk on eggshells
using
omelettes
as
protective amulets.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
Next week will be All Witches' Week,
Sorceresses gather to seek,
The latest various magic spells,
amulets, charms and wishing wells,
Beyond the bewitched dark domain,
And seven days they will remain.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 2:31 PM UTC
Yes what happened yesterday,
what happened?
There where rattling
of bullets
even bullets
from pleasant enemies.
What happened yesterday,
what happened?
There where clashes of amulets,
even amulets without
hands,
dancing to the strokes of a sword play,
even the sword play
of
our enemies on our soldiers.
What happened yesterday,
what happened?
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC
These compartments are ready to take you back to the stars
Mercury, Mars and Venus reside in our hearts
Lines of defiance define our trajectories
And we are inspired by these ancient refectories
Perfect any metal and it will eventually turn into gold
Amulets sold to merchants who cast shadows on the road
They shrug their shoulders and wear beards and glasses on their nose
With a rose in their pocket and another folded in a handkerchief
But are we getting any closer to the pathways of our Soul.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 6:53 PM UTC
Feeling for someone is a burden
A burden that becomes you
It delivers a soulful journey whilst
Both are having connected visions
My desired heart has been fulfilled
No longer is it left along with the washing
It accompanies me as does my love, with
The certainty of tomorrow
Claiming my happiness seems unnecessary
like the sunrise it lives inside us
It becomes our energy
Our natural 'go to' emotion
The journey is green and gold
With silver amulets and chains of memories
slung around our shoulders
Like badges of office
The time of year has connotations
with the longevity of our love
Memories of breathing out visual steam
Or camping in the cool morning air
The emotion is as strong
It lives as we do with tempered faith
Deeper knowledge
And faith in ourselves to keep it right
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Ren - Name given at birth, person lived as long as name was spoken
Sheut- persons shadow or silhouette
Ka - Vessels carrying souls. In human consciousness, a pulsing spirit
We are seeds bred to become stars, when we have done on earth, we
own the capacity to reignite in heaven leaving behind our earthly shell.
Ba - Unique and individual as stars, our personality varies in grades of light
Jb – The Heart, home of human emotion. Center of thought, will, & intention
Heart scarabs & amulets were used for the physical heart
it kept the soul's mummified secrets
Akh – Immortal Self, contained an enlightened immortal being, in the after life
Sahu – The Judge & Spiritual Body, another aspect of the Akh
Deemed worthy of entering afterlife Sahu splits from other forms of the soul
it haunts those who have wronged other souls, & may appear in dreams, an appeasement to the living (this is where forgiveness helps )
Khat - Inherent decay, doppelgänger or double. Endowed with a person’s qualities and faults
Sekhem – considered a form of life energy of the soul. Present in the afterlife after judgement, it was passed on if the soul was considered worthy.
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 7:22 AM UTC
I dream of you...
My flawless Apollo
Unable to fathom
Yet easy to follow
In the darkness
I can't tell the King from a pawn
But with the death of a god
Came the first Golden Dawn
In a permanent sleep
I'm impaled to the bed
The most beautiful dagger
Stabbed me right through the head
Though I'm happy for that
'Cause I think with my heart
Death is but the beginning
When you play with the arts
I untangle the sword
To push you off of me
Could Romeo & Juliette
Still love with a lobotomy?
The answer is yes
I yank the sword from your chest
Then mummify your body
And cover you in amulets
From the Book of the Dead
I recite you a prayer
"Your heart is mine
And it is at rest there."
I lye down beside you
Re-bludgeon myself
From zombie to angel
Into Heaven from Hell
Corpses in a pyramid
What perfect symmetry
Death is short
But love is for eternity
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 6:40 PM UTC