"excursions" poems
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
4k
Look at yourself
All *****
Blackened with a sour demeanor
Rip the top off
Take a look inside
An endless carousel
See the stars
And be thrown to the next page
Never to come back again
The stories for the next chapter
Clenching to previous excursions
Remnants, recollections of once new beginnings
Once you start you can’t stop
Can't turn and have second thoughts
Once you’re out
You’re gone
Falling to pieces
Smoking, dangling
A mental spasm
A lapse, relapse
Push them away
They speak too loud and bright
A half baked scheme
It’s something to pass the time
Hedges of red
Busted fence posts
Inconspicuously
Punctured shell
To the roots
Vibrations to my brain
Purple furlough
Roofs fall
Pedal till they bleed
Bleed dry to the bone
Till the bone breaks
And the pain grapples me into submission
We ignore the fruits in front
Of us for the mirages
We pretend are real
Putting In hope and taking out lies
Riding the ignorant air of pride
Crawl in desperation to continue
It wouldn’t lie
Stick to the plan
Raise the voice
So they hear and believe
We won’t stop till it’s found
They won’t stop till I’m in the ground
Buried, out to pasture
Fresh fertilizer here
I hear his deceit meshed
Deeply in his voice
Yet I fool myself to
Believe due to my denial of doubts
It won’t let me continue
Smile for no reason
When I think about it
Disorientation follows
Don’t utter another word
The grass is dead on both sides
So let’s make them equally green
Plant the seed
Pack a lunch
As we walk, we remember
The lesson we were taught to never
Tread here
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight
Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion
Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory
**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
as a child i had a sense of before
i only a tenant in this world
i dreamt, i remembered
a place of light and freedom
of flying weightless
without a care
recurring reveries
of changeless drifting
but as i got older
my astral excursions
turned to thin air
much to hearts despair
i fell weighted to this terrestrial sphere
by thickened accumulations
of hard niches and obscurations
a delicate spark burdened
by sheaths of gnawing reason
engulfed in brutish struggle
at times
i obsessed
aching to go
back from where i came
maybe stepping in front of a speeding car
desperate to get home
where the dead
live it up
cadaverous child
a strewn tangle of little limbs
broken
on a country highway
who made a hard sacrifice
for a bigger life
where the very sensation of existence
was a floating ecstasy
like an atomized cloud puff
where the dead
are not dead at all
but enchanted children
living
with faces like suns
on the other-side of the looking glass
feet to the stars
in the arms of heaven
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
Bright child of the Tarot, a new age awaits you –
but not through the mazes you’re wandering in.
Your gypsy desire and clairvoyant excursions
are setting your beautiful brain all a-spin.
The dog at the precipice barks out a warning:
the FOOL, the MAGICIAN and PRIESTESS are wrong
Pay no heed to their signs and the omens around you –
let faith be your shield when the DEVIL seems strong.
JUSTICE, as blind as the HERMIT is *****
has seen that our TOWER is stricken and doomed.
The SUN, MOON and STARS in their orbits bear witness
as LOVERS in ******* to DEATH are consumed…
Egypt can’t help you – the CHARIOT‘s stalled
While the TEMPERANCE angel was mixing the drinks.
The EMPRESS (a tedious feminist) preaches
an upside down future, the HANGED MAN thinks…
Though the WHEEL almost crushes you turning this way
And the staff of correction has battered you hard
I am sure you will make it, if only you pray
to the sovereign elector who holds every card
for a ray of redemption to light up your way.
Let the major arcana now bow and acknowledge
as JUDGMENT is sounded and shatters the sky
that righteous and just is the blessed Redeemer
who loves every lunatic card-addled dreamer
like you and like me. Therefore hear as I cry
that the WORLD in its fulness can’t harbor His love –
nor the heavens within nor without nor above…
May the HIEROPHANT‘s dynasty wither away
and the EMPEROR‘s scepter be broken to shards
as the breath of God’s Spirit comes into our world
to reveal the true STRENGTH of your house made of cards.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
It goes on being Alexandria still. Just walk a bit
along the straight road that ends at the Hippodrome
and you'll see palaces and monuments that will amaze you.
Whatever war-damage it's suffered,
however much smaller it's become,
it's still a wonderful city.
And then, what with excursions and books
and various kinds of study, time does go by.
In the evenings we meet on the sea front,
the five of us (all, naturally, under fictitious names)
and some of the few other Greeks
still left in the city.
Sometimes we discuss church affairs
(the people here seem to lean toward Rome)
and sometimes literature.
The other day we read some lines by Nonnos:
what imagery, what rhythm, what diction and harmony!
All enthusiasm, how we admired the Panopolitan.
So the days go by, and our stay here
isn't unpleasant because, naturally,
it's not going to last forever.
We've had good news: if something doesn't come
of what's now afoot in Smyrna,
then in April our friends are sure to move from Epiros,
so one way or another, our plans are definitely working out,
and we'll easily overthrow Basil.
And when we do, at last our turn will come.
2.1k
. revolution?!
what revolution?!
i can't see a guillotine!
****
hey! guys! there's no guillotine!
there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...
your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..
this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...
the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...
i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...
it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...
one question does the job...
*honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?*
do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?
honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...
Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...
done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
too much of:
enjoying a hell
of a good time...
it's a simple economic logic
focus...
what you're selling?
i'm not buying.
it's that simple!
i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?
god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******** screws
into place...
but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...
there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...
so...
where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
what revolution?!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight
Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion
Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory
**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
He works, tis said,
one day a year.
With bated breath
we linger here
for our Ground hog to appear.
Will he see shadow or will he no?
Only Staten Island Chuck can know.
Will Winter linger around these parts
or will my Crocus have early starts.
A little chubby and weak of eye,
Our resident Groundhog's rather shy.
Dragged unwilling from his warm burrow-
Shall we shovel snow or furrow?
He is well fed for his exertions,
and brief enough are these excursions.
Best of all when he appears
He oft will tell us Spring is near.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight
Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion
Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory
**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Accept the loss of each day.
They will, for sure, add something in your way.
It can be a tear,
Or probably a fear.
But it’s not just it!
Maybe you will not be the same again.
Maybe, at this time, you just can see the pain.
But the speech of loss does not only contain miseries
It’s quite simple, it’s true, but even so, full in all its mysteries.
The speech of Loss
Is constantly repeating
"Accept it!
Accept it, please, accept it!
Let it be.
Let it go.
Let it ache.
Let it heal!”
We spend our whole lives searching for things
We search for love, money, friends, travels and for followers too.
And we can find these things in different places
In different ways, on different days.
But we lost these things too
We lost love, money, friends, the ticket of the train and even our admirers so soon.
In different places,
In different ways, on different days.
Losing is a paradox
The more we lose, the more we gain
I lost a coat, I lost a book, a sunny day, and the bus back home.
I lost a bracelet, a TV show, two excursions and a brother.
Desperately I stared at the stars on the dome,
And they conforted me like a mother.
But I also lost the fear of being who I am, to express myself freely, openly loving and living in ecstasy.
I lost prejudices, much anxiety and unnecessary worries.
Since I embraced my losses, I gained a key to open my fetters
The speech of Loss is about liberty, and to me, seems a lot better.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
I once laid in my bed content
With mama’s prayers tucked in
Listening to trains far off across
River trestles on rails stretched
To places I could only dream of.
Beginner’s luck
The magic strong.
Reality and dreams
Synonymous.
Early the seeds of wanderlust
Planted.
Talents forged of
Cardboard boxes and
Old trunks in the attic
And of games with friends
In woods and streets.
Old Mr. Robling’s eyes looked
Beyond . . .
Child’s play would end
Someday.
That day eventually came in Linear time
But much longer to this
Wandering mind
That thought beyond the grade
School desk when my adolescent
Peer’s noses were buried deep.
Wander and travel lust left this Boy
Rootless and restless when time
Came to stop chasing mirages of
Greener pastures.
He then looked up and saw
His little one’s grown up
With a somewhat similar
Bittersweet taste of chasing
Elusive islands
Of emerald green
Seen as lush vivid images
On their
Built-in larger-than-life
Neural GPS screens
Programmed to ****** the
Wanderer into the delusion that
They can take extended or even
Permanent excursions far from
The
Great
Gray
Banal
Sea.
Not very long ago this ageless
Boy was forced into settling for
Stark reality. But he is slowly
Growing a bit more comfortable
In his own skin.
The grass is still a bit green
But parts are a bit dry
Patchy and crabgrass ridden.
At least it fashionably matches His soul . . .
Poetic justice for trading
Most of your life for the elusive
Obvious.
I still cling tight to my childhood
In my own non-linear time of
One hundred years ago
But far too young in linear time
To be residing in
A tired old body
Which defines age as value was Once
Measured by quality not
Quantity
And as those running the track
And roaming free over Thousands
Of acres of wide-open plains
As opposed to those put out to Pasture
Or waiting in line
At
The
Glue
Factory.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
A river bears a burden
It carries far downstream,
And no man's eyes will see it
Or fathom what it means.
A river bears a burden
Beneath it's swirling toil.
It's rippling edges teasing
The sodden, silent soil.
A river bears a burden
Beneath our nightly dreams,
Our temporal excursions
Along it's watered seams.
A river bears a burden
Of many dreaming feet,
Searching all it's alleys
To a dreamer's slow heartbeat.
A river bears a burden;
It will not wake our sleep,
But carries us forever
Our roaming souls, to meet.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
#Dream
You are like a Flower
So sweet and beautiful and pure
I look at you, and sadness
Creeps into my heart.
I feel as if I hands
His head shall put you
Praying that God keep them
So pure and beautiful and charming.
Close my eyes both
With the loving hands!
Is it all that I am suffering,
Under your hand to rest.
And how quiet the pain
Well 'lay no sleep wave
As the last stroke stirs,
Füllest you my whole heart.
Phase-2...
Some dreams in life sail
Some dreams seeds live
two excursions to the bird Birds fly
around to two Hold out hope Rested a few moments
Then be careful Dreams really changing
Keep up continuous work everyday
How to lose No matter how many times
Keep up enterprise And suffers from dreams
If desire is the path If the path is the destination
Around the same in every fatigue Is a my shade.
-Chirayu
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
Complexity in its finest
I’m glancing between the shapes of your eyes that tell stories of history and past excursions I’ve been wanting to know
You say your eyes are just brown, but nothing is just that with you
I think, despite the simplicity in our difficult discussions
Nothing is easy they say
They, the people who’ve let us down time and time again
Its so easy to say they and create a placement test for their behavior
Destructive as it may be and deteriorating within, I am so happy blind
That they haven’t gotten all of you
And honestly if I were in your shoes and walked the 18 years to reach a destination with no map no compass no tour guide
I hope I wouldn’t be too bitter
I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy
The verge of losing humanity felt like a weight of those tons of feathers, thought to be light but gravely succumbed as much as a ton of bricks
More of them than of us
Brown just like the tan of your skin as you hope for it to be opaque but
******* ******* I’ve never been more appeased by looking at something than with you
It’s not just a body its not just the brown hair, brown skin, brown eyes, not just the shrug, eye roll, smile, laugh, pressing of lips, open mouthed, heaving, tired eyes, grinning from cheek to cheek, infinite
Like that song, I’d try to stare at you like the night sky, but you just go on and on and on and-
Looking at you or looking to the same direction via docks and benches and waterways or the caked up fingers from painting with no paintbrushes or pursed with a stick of Pall Malls, night sky scenery or early morning sunrises
**** cups of coffee make me think of you
My daily intake and I think the dosage keeps upping
I’ll sit in bathe in the sunlight reflection of how you can’t be real and none of this seems real
Between it being too much to comprehend or other things being so shallow
odds against the favor
Open and part, attempt to prepare for something crazy infinite
knowing how relationships and losing them can get
and I’m standing aboard this boat with you on it
pretending like I know the waters but honestly
Mother nature is a *****
She sends things every which way at random at last call last moment’s notice
But I’m sure if we stand close enough we won’t fall off
at least, even, we'd dive right in together
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
Once I noticed a great writer, and he had no comments.
To remedy this occluded justice,
I left a colorful comment upon one of his best.
Immediately a scathing message appeared from him,
Though he had never messaged me before;
I had an instant moment of understanding
Of why he had no comments; it was just too obvious
For my childlike mind to have avoided the trap.
A few more condescending messages,
And I deleted the comment; nothing more needed saying.
I had trespassed on hallowed ground,
I had merely to retrace my steps
And all should be forgiven.
I intruded upon your life, which I could never really see,
Through a series of locks and channels
It remained invisible to me.
And again I invaded privacy, caused consternation.
Compliant, I withdrew all my excursions to your door
And with an effort, I mitigated any unhappy
Emotions remaining there.
I do this to spare everyone more pain.
But it comes at a price.
Did you ever wonder how all the people
Who go to the grocery store on Sunday mornings
Could have such well-defined niche lives?
They think they are defined by what they do,
By a synthetic order that's tacked over the hours of freedom.
There is an affliction, in which every single hour
Must be made to account for itself.
But what if they woke up some day
Before the grocery shopping was done,
Would they feel they had missed out on something
Inestimable and uncommon; worth sleeping in for-
And replaced it merely with something
Utilitarian and predictable?
Be careful what you trade your Sunday mornings for.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 6:20 AM UTC
Constantly averting controversy,
Hurting from unnerving problems.
Not the worst thing I've unearthed inside,
The birth of mind-disturbing strife attacks my life, so I
Turn the knife and end the plight, cause
That's the kind of fright that strikes the right delight I see in sight.
In darkest night, sin harkens.
Vibrant demons mark their silent dealings with violence.
Screaming stops my lungs, no breathing,
Retreating feelings try to stop the gun from ringing,
But the voice inside my head that's pleading
Remains important and so appeasing.
Like a fiend I resort to that deemed purport,
A pristine contortion of me and distortion,
A means for war, hence demons worsen.
Cursed, I've seen adverse **********
Burned, at least the urn was worth it.
Dreams are but a sea of urges,
Waves of hurt; a ****** circus.
Earth was keen to be so perfect,
But dirt, it seems, reversed its purpose,
Purged of peace by scheming serpents.
Words convene to verse excursions
Terse, obscene, and birth diversion.
Learn to breathe when yearn disperses,
Purely seek to preserve incursion.
When earnest deeds immerse subservience,
Evil creeds are sure to surface,
But thoughts serene will soothe the burdens.
Heaps of greed control these words,
Though, predisposed in certain versions.
Weeds they grow in fields of ferns, and,
No one seems to know the urgence.
Flowing streams bring treacherous currents,
Twists and turns that reap insurgence.
Since discernment keeps deterrents,
Court the beast with immense observance,
Or disease will curse life's brief occurrence.
Treat the deepest ravine of courage
With leniency so peace emerges.
Dreams are but a grieving circus,
That creep beneath your bleeding surface,
Seizing leagues of zealous verbiage,
Leaving hurt to skirt loves purpose, return concernment;
Submerge the cures for feeling worthless.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
those daily excursions
travels so necessary
point A to point B
are there grooves
long before emplaced..?
then finding ourselves
in pleasant surprise
driver as passenger
awaking in dream..
finding new vision
this more en-lightened
Transport...
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:27 PM UTC
The darkness fills from top to bottom
an undisturbed wicked spiral
farther from what's inspiration
I continue to slide
Darkness nags from all around
etching pain on my skin
peeling away at what I used to be
I was happy
My palms upturned, beg forgiveness
let my penance be destruction
this decay is sinking
swallow me
Is this darkness obvious
are my eyes dyed black
where went that inspiration
I am transparent
Sway, from side to side
dizzy from intoxication
****** from fornication
breath....
in,out,in,and out
panic drives this man
sit on the edge of the middle
wish to be more like them
them.....
them.....
Darkness increasing
soul is fleeing
this inspiration rapes me
breeds me
breeds in me
consumes me
amuses me to no end
but still i am only me
CANT YOU SEE
WONT YOU SEE
i live only for the darkness
the sorrow
the horror and gore
a make believe world
catching the phrase
paraphrasing the past
i am only darkness
i am lonely darkness
i am a shadow of was
a memory of where
a glimpse of who
a dash of what
Count my sins, darkness
on your bitter fingers and toes
give rhythm to my woes
give forgiveness for the excursions
i have made to the darkness
Betray my lighting effect
expose my soul
deny the trust I held in dark
on a box i stand, a one man show
darkness is my inspiration
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
Across the beaten path of time,
Up the river bank dressed in thyme.
A broken soul waits to be met,
Complete only by the love I’ve kept.
She waits for me to sing,
a sonnet that speaks of everything.
Of deep kisses and late night phone calls,
Of adoration, joy, or nothing at all.
She can taste the words I speak,
She’s been swept right off her feet.
The breeze picks up,
Daylight rescinds,
Trees begin to dance in the wind.
I step towards her,
Hoping to feel her embrace,
I'm captivated by her unfaltering grace.
Suddenly,
The winds stop.
The trees stand still.
The water quiets.
The night is chill.
Back down the river bank dressed in thyme,
Back across the beaten path of time,
I’ve returned from the forest and the soul within,
With more energy than I can hold in.
The soul returns with me from above,
and she has become an outlet for my love.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 12:31 AM UTC
My mind dances a whirlwind
but my face, ah my face - displays my infinity
...................
the movement is inward.The rhythm of my dreams intensity echos my
laughter. For the clouds are quite beautiful
and your eyes are exceedingly dark
...................
I follow the curve
an image closes the distance
for unknown; in your movement I become a perfect song
....................
The street of missing persons
Its so quiet here
so peaceful
and the future rushes towards me with astonishing speed
....................
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 11:07 PM UTC
I ensnared myself in the inescapable business of not caring when the undying desperation of my heart reached a heaviness of fate that my weary wanderings were unable to withstand.
Without second thought, I locked the doors and buried the rusty key deep inside of the abyss that lived inside of me, where even my own search is incapable of yielding discovery.
Icy, stone walls now diligently keep under wraps my intolerable feelings of inadequacy and guard my outside excursions from the influence of any sense of care that may cause the perfectly manufactured wall of secrecy to crumble.
I could knock or wiggle the doorknob, but all honesty reminds me that anything left that may answer inquiry would be an emotion to beyond undesirability to warrant acknowledgement.
It is possible that I made the correct decision and maybe the fate of not feeling was truly the safest option left to me,
but even with all longings of my heart oh so securely guarded,
I can feel the heaviness of a desperate ache holding me to the ground.
It may be under lock and key, but it is there,
weighing me to this fate, ensnaring me in hopelessness, and keeping me from being truly free.
I am weary from carrying all of this dead weight inside of me.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
her boots have canyons in the seams
loose stitching comes undone until
it seems that the very fabric holding
the rubber and canvas together
will fracture like an unreliable narrator's
stream of consciousness
fragments of unreality
they will fall by the wayside
hand-me-downs to those
less fortunate and she'll
select a new set
to wear thin
some people swap shoes readily
bedazzled with glitter or emblazoned
with images of intergalactic wars or
Winnie the Pooh caricatures
characterizing our oscillating
personalities and whimsical fancies
i wear the same
beat-to-shit pair
each and every day
i feel at home when
my soles sink into
the warm embrace
of entangled laces
regardless of
where i roam
gigs at local venues
beach excursions after dark
vegan cafés
craft coffee bars
cramped classrooms
both teacher and student
i may wear many hats
but my sneakers remain
interminable
they say death is but
the next great adventure
i'm not certain i believe it
but i'll wear these vans to
my casket just in case
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
You are my some day
Maybe not today
But one day
I give you space to grow
Because I love you more than you know
You have many journeys to explore
As I’m watching you grow, I’ll only love you more
You’re becoming the version of you, I adore
I can’t wait to meet him, though, I love every version
I can’t wait to learn about all of your excursions
You have trouble to make and hearts to break
And lessons to learn and recognition to earn
Im guiding you slightly, each time that you write me
I’ll let you think your conclusions are your own
I know that I’m here to remind you, your truth
And to help you to regain your spiritual backbone
You’re never alone, wherever you roam
Remember if you’re homesick, my souls essence is your own
In this divine connection, this lovely reflection,
know that you are protected and infinitely home.
Think of me, dream of me, simple as that.
And I’m there with my hand on the small of your back.
Offering support from my bottomless depths.
I hope when you lay your head down for great rest,
You imagine my heart and warmth of my breast.
It’s there for you endlessly.
I care for you endlessly.
I’m always wishing you best.
Surely you know, as connected to me,
You and your purpose are blessed.
I can’t wait for one day
When you teach me what you’ve learned
When we can indulge in the loved that we’ve earned
The day is not today, but I’m holding onto hope for some day.
Feb 4, 2023
Feb 4, 2023 at 12:59 PM UTC