He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear

He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.

'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end",
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.

Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."

I sit watching brown eyes
probe affectionately through the haze
at the mirrors created by close family.
I think the intimacy that is made possible
by the sharing of wine, **** and space
in a dim room full of sad love and smoke
will never ceased to amaze me.
The men see themselves in each other
and are both heartened in their own ways
I am drunk now in my way
and The Mirror is ****** in his
and Brown (Green) Eyes is both at once
Appalachian mouths move in turns
to take a hit or a drink or a shot at wisdom
Suddenly the truth of our three souls is laid bare
on the tiny table there between us.
My heart tightens around the words
as they echo through each chamber
growing louder with each reverberation.
“Happiness is being able to breathe”

Love you, Frank.

There are moments
when I feel more clearly than ever
that I am in the company
of my own person.
This comforts and reassures me,
this heartens me,
just as my tridimensional body
is heartened by my own authentic shadow.

There are moments
when I really feel more clearly than ever  
that I am in the company
of my own person.

I stop
at a street corner to turn left
and I wonder what would happen
if my own person walked to the right.

Until now that has not happened  
but it does not settle the question.

The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.

Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.

By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.

Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.

Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.

Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.

Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.

O Christ—Thou rarest flower of hearts—Thou didst sail on the storm-tossed lake of prejudiced minds. Its evil-scented, gloomy thought-waves lashed Thy lily-tender soul. They crucified Thee with their evil. Yet Thou didst shed the aroma of goodness and forgiveness, and didst help them to be purified by remorse, so helping them to become attractively sweet-scented with Thine all-loving Flower-Soul.

O Thou Great Lover of error-torn brothers—an unseen monument of the mightiest miracle of love was established in each heart when the magic wand of Thy voice uttered: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Thou hast healed the cataract of hatred, and now we have grown to see: "Love thine enemies as thyself, for they are thy brothers—though sick and sleeping."

Thou hast taught us not to increase their delirious kicks of hatred by battering them with the bludgeons of revenge. Thine undying sympathy hath inspired us to heal and wake our brothers, suffering from the delirium of anger, by the soothing salve of our forgiveness.

Thy crucifixion reminds us of the daily crucifixion of our fortitude by trials, of our wisdom by ignorance, of our self-control by the scathing hands of temptation, and of our love by misunderstanding.

Thy test on the cross proved the victory of Thy wisdom over ignorance, of Thy soul over flesh, of Thy happiness over pain, and of Thy love over hatred. So are we heartened to bear our crosses bravely and pleasantly. Teach us to pour out sweetness when crucified by harshness, to bear with calmness the assault of worries, and to give understanding unceasingly to those who unjustly hate us.

O Shepherd of Souls, wandering hearts are of themselves seeking the one fold of divine devotion. We have heard the ever-calling music of Thine infinite kindness. Our one desire is to be at home with Thee, to receive the Cosmic Father with joyous, open eyes of wisdom, and to know that we are all sons of our own One God.

Teach us to conquer the Satan of dividing selfishness, which prevents the gathering of all brother-souls into the one fold of Spirit.

Calling to one another by the watchword: "Love him who loves you, and love all who love you not," let us rally beneath the canopy of the universal sense of Christ-Oneness. Amen.

Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition

I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
Something I haven’t been in a while.

The person I see in those photos
Is not the same person looking back through the mirror;
There’s a faint resemblance, nothing more.

I used to smile and laugh, always so joyful;
I still do, but it’s no longer genuine
No longer healthy.

People used to say my smile made their day
And all I could think was
It’s just a smile, how can it make such a difference?

I never understood what they meant
When they said the smile should be seen in the eye;
That there should be a glitter, a sparkle.

Now when I laugh, when I smile,
It’s polite, lacking reassurance
Missing the light heartened warmth

I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
I finally know what that glitter, that sparkle is.
.
.
.
It’s what’s missing from the mirror.

The zest of your starlit eyes,
The sound of your mischievous laughter,
The twists of your black strands past the breeze,
I shall breathe, I shall dream,

That splash of raindrops on your lips, your hands,
That impatient tear, sliding past your dimpled cheek,
Those fake fits of anger,
Those blunt threats of fists and fights,
Shall beat within my heart,
until the my veins throb,
until my words tremble,

The sliding of your  hand out of mine,
The parting of your shadow, and sliding apart with the light,
The aimless wait for your back to turn,
The constant urge for your feet to stop before the next turn,
I shall remember, I shall blame,

For all those lies and broken promises,
For all those dreams that burned into ash,
For all those half heartened prayers,
I shall bereave,
till my chest heaves,
till my eyes gaze,
till my nights dream,
till my soul begs.....

Yesterday,
Tender pursuits
Ordered
by shortened expression
And personal amusement.

Pleasure was channeled
by uncanny imagination.

Ignorance was developed
with years
of sheltered nurture.

Endeavors were focused
Through heartened dreams
Waiting eternities to age.

Today,
Life is starved of dignity,
Lead by the breath of humanity,
And trailed by my past.

Kindness overshadowed
by needless mockery.

Confidence diminished
Through thoughtless faults.

Purity saturated
with uncertain willingness.

Competence choked
from the flairs of society.

Tomorrow,
Independence is a necessity
Steered by Today,
Speckled by yesterday.

Motivation should dictate
my verdicts,
And challenge perils.

Agonies lifted
Through sanguinity

Virtue grown
Only through praise
From the satisfaction of many.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Immersed in today
Is the root of my future.

Scared,  to let the words die, he hid, amid the languid luxuries of solitary structuring, lavished of the jaded and anguished lines, for lines melodrama, of the deviled days, of state, of mind, in fate, in kind, of the nether commas, devoid in honest ignorance of written words, dying on the caterpillars, cocooned, in all that's assumed, lost, in metamorphosis, never knowing this, is a dream, within a dream, of hope, clinging with stinging fingertips, ears ringing in the ripplits of a synesthesic pulse of visual signals, subliminally sounding the sirens, of solidarity, in the silent screams, of the sun rising, writhing in wanton seduction of my functions laying the heartened words of dead birds, falling from the sky, hardened in sloven cries, to justify, the means, tapping out on the screens, of a misnomer, a loner, in a coma, phoning you from the corner to warn ya, of the storm, in words prone to patience, in imaginit immaculance of the limitless limits, of livid lovers loving each-others lullabies, lolly-gagging in the illegibility, of our lucidity in the pity of leveled lofts, lovely-ly, levitating in elevating thought, fraught with passionate poetry, of ghostly words, blurred in the debilitating reasoning of reasonable reason, seasonally.

The demons in my head
only fuel
my passion to write.

My safe haven
from everything
that sets me apart
from this life.

I wish so hard that uou would just turn around and
spark my heart
light the fuse that explodes the suns stars and moons
from out of my tempered heart,
to give a word spoken in that one way,
to touch with that delicate intent
to reach for me
and fight for me
and pull me away
from these empty phantasms
calling to my ***
release me.
Open me up to the universe
and let me explode with with mystical madness
let me paint with colours the endless sky
save me from this fortified heartened mess
My love, light me with your fire!
The one that she brings back alight.

welcome to light-city
where a dead-****** is on the back of a golden goose
head thrown back in rigor-mortis, days old

1.
the plaza is on fire
one man walks out his delirium into a derelict-town
with so many glittering-lights on
an unhealthy-sheen to his face.. some melted skin
   he seeks the looted-gold the long-plaited one assured was his
   he can't hear the dark-whispers right behind him
   his shoulder-blade itches with a fury no typical-scratch can relieve
nor can he sense the violent-energy half-crackling in the air
hovering in the wings of that dry-wind.. in sullen hiss-spits


2.
elsewhere, many give thanks on the prairie
where daffodils fly free in love
            a motorcade of bikers with a moon's view
            bespectacled-waiter can ask for help
            one child holds in hand.. so many open-answers that adults just fail to see
and dreamers dream *the same dream
in a broken, incredulous world
(you can't hide away in your dreams
   they over-foam your running-legs)
                                      yes.. scamper..!
beware those pretty-wigs who tug at firm-minds
                                              who force you to skirt the true-issue
you plain-refuse to see what you're tripping over
in case it resembles that.. stuff inside


3.
there's a hue of bright-orange in the distance and you can't deny it
it is there
      you can't see it yet
      but you can smell it
within an arc of heightened-paranoia
it has started burning inside the back of your afrighted-eyes
drying out any recollection of estranged-promise
             in a hopeless land of artifice
be not perturbed by fumes which rise in choking-plumes
the workmanship of assiduous imps, dutifully-bound
beset to task all goodness and beleaguer any hope
that only the blind-man can feel in bones-vibrated


(bring forth your legs
tarry not
sing with fully) heartened to glory of light
there be a breaking in the pattern
not everybody made it
so less power to the battle


                                                        ­               the circle is not done..



static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. stat.stat.stat....... //




with a half-smile of patience (she says) -
within your dream.. I'm there
I call you forth
into real-light
here..




S T - 30 nov 13

I'm truly blessed
to be counted
amongst the
trooping pilgrims
walking dusty roads,
negotiating rocky
Himalayan trails
on the way
to the mountain top.

Together
as brothers
and sisters,
we traverse
precarious paths,
strengthening
each other,
bucking up,
getting a
second wind
to make that
final push
to scale the most
jagged boulders
that lie nearest
the peaks.

I'm heartened
to see
Dorothy Day,
Mahatmas Gandhi,
The Dali Llama,
Nelson Mandela
and Johnny Cash,
trooping along side me;
keeping me in step
as we press on to
the promised land.

If I get hungry,
Dorthy will
serve me soup
to feed my
spirit.

If I get lonely,
Mahatmas will
muster up a posse,
freely welling from
salt of the earth
to walk with me.

If I take a
wrong turn,
The Dali Llama's
smiling eyes
and sage
advise
will get
my feet
back on the
right path.

On this
tiresome journey
if my will begins
to falter and my
commitment wanes,
Nelson will remind me
to endure the trial
with the grace
of fortitude.

And if we enter
dangerous canyons,
filled with the
cacophony of
boisterous hate,
The Man in Black
will strum his
guitar to quell
the angry noise
and fill our hearts
with loving harmony.

We're on our way
to Freedom's Land
and some believe
we're almost there.

We can see
Martin looking
over those last
jagged ledges,
he's got a prayer
of encouragement
on his lips,
and he's waving
Mrs. Liberty's torch,
showing us
the way,
guiding us
home.

Music Selection:
Sweet Honey on the Rock:
Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around

MLK Jr. Day
1/16/12
Oakland
jbm

In this moment, it seems, a spirit has found us
Alone or together our strength is boundless
Our thoughts reach further than one has ever dared to go on foot
A flurry of hopes; both old and new flicker before us
Our light floats in a sea of faith
As read by the virtuous figure “joy and courage go hand in hand”
Thus creating a heartened happiness.
We find laughter in one another
Adversity turns its face to the shadows and hides from safety
Once we have returned
A free spirit is left behind
It waits to be rediscovered
By she who yearns so passionately for it
But it daren’t make a sound
It remains yet unfound

My love is endless to loving plenty, for itself it does not show,
granted to love a penny. Possessions of man's ***** eyes,
Of their murderous hate— many schemes flesh has to conspire,

A change to thought, (I darest spare, lodged by Christ's
gentle love. I hope to know in the ends of prayer.)

Kind heartened I may prove, with gracious kind words,
As with wickedness stuck in mouths; as it's rotting tooth.
All that are wicked; too hide behind sweetest tongues, and
fairest smiles.

Vile, vile, vile. Oh how the world is so vile,
to us all living in denial. Greed has made them all blind.

Your beauty is a double
Inside and outside...
I believe you'd go through any struggle
But really,
Your traits save you the trouble

Smile as bright as the sun
A person like you?
There is none

You tell me I'm pretty
Even when I'm not ready
I really don't believe it,
Is it just out of pity?

Still,
I'm glad you're here,
Your shining optimism
And heartened words
I have never seen your kindness ever deterred

Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.

the brother was my age and not a looker. my parents were nervous about displaying him and slicked his hair back lovingly. their hands were careful and if they touched they did so without independence.

I had other presents but I was thinking about the blood in my body and about Stephen. Stephen was an across the street foster I for a summer could not separate from. his nose was constantly chapped because his parents found he had no manners at the table and would have his older sister sneak up behind him and hood him with an empty feed bag. I went in with Stephen once saying his sister had called him a ******* and his parents liked me enough that they soaped her mouth in front of me then tied a string to her seemingly always loose front tooth and then tied the escaping end of the string to the **** of an open door and slammed it. because of our honesty Stephen and I were allowed to watch a movie where a white man and a savage pressed their wrists together after cutting them. the movie looked away from the cutting so we improvised. it didn’t make us any closer. I knew this for sure when on the night Stephen ran away I didn’t wake up without having to ****. it was my dad found him days within the week making boxes a mile gone at a pizza shop because he said his name was Billy and would work for free.

     I looked at the brother and couldn’t see it being so without my blood. I explored shyly but with faith and was heartened when I could feel in the heat of his elbows all the time he’d been born with.

~for yocum~
<>

the quality of commitment is not
restrained by quantity, nor by size,
impressed by nylon sheerest volume,
avoirdupois grams, Imperial weight,
steeled feathers, immeasurable, one ton
tips no true scale into red lined sincerity

the necessary respectful silences it requires,
the social nearness of geo-distancing,
all need prodigal acceptance,
like a long lost son, welcomed without questioning

we flawed, banded by many weaknesses, poorly confessed,
yet, no excuses tendered, to it, long ago surrendered,
but understand this, constancy is  not judged
by the frequency of our waves, but by the fervor of an

undertow of unwavering constancy

one that unceasingly rages, beneath superficial, steady waves,
and through the thickened, roughed old skin separating atmospheres,
I have grasped your heartened essence man,
found its depths, blessed it with words, you’ve never fathomed

surely you will growl at this, claiming obfuscation,
excuses not in your vocabulary, nor should it be,
though you require the steady reassurance of frequent brevity

so and yet, but and still,

I deny your claims, what you think, incorrect,
cause I know my heart, and well it kens what lays in thine,
what’s in yours is in mine, deep planted, a full nut grove flowering,
your complaints, mine as well, all part parceled, with grace accepted

for what is friendship but the path
through parted seas, joining two borders,
the best part of that is the landed connectivity,
leading to where we two ends,
meet in laughing two-gether
old fools, younger-then-than-now,
committed, grumpy men.

she's gold on one side
silver on the other

heartened and free
she runs like a car wreck
racing at breakneck speed
trudging through sand to conjoin
two-fold into one.

little passes by her that goes unnoticed.

she drinks in every opportunity
to swallow what ever happening will feed her today's lesson.

equanimity hostility frivolity passivity.

she knows the streets have taught her more
than she will ever forget.

and she can remember how it felt
to taste ***** in her mouth
when she looked in the mirror
that mocked her every breath.

she tries to back step
and unmake a bed
that she's told she made
and must lie in
for the rest of her life.

she wants to call consignment
and have it undelivered
but they won't take
bug ridden
**** stained
sprung and un-stuffed
pieces of junk that carried
peoples dreams in the dark.

there's no worth, they say.

so she's left
carting around holes and dead air.

melted glass and ***** cartridges.

spent fits and broken tin.

wondering
what kind of legacy this is
for a very pretty tousle haired girl
that trusts her with unfeigned eyes
and believes in super mom?

she cries at night
and tries in the morning
being as tangible as they expect-

but in that socketed place
that holds spun sugar contemplation
she buries herself.

one two-fold parades all day
playing puppet gurrl games.

she lives in a land of
pots of gold and rainbows
clover and blue moons
moving one step at a time
towards what's expected
because she knows nothing else.

day in and day out
running like a car wreck-

gold on one side
and silver on the other.

As soon as this Templing Fortitude built
Then rid your Ghost from this Heartened Journey
Cast my Ring to Die; From Magma has Smelt
Once hopeful Anvil hammered on Blarney
The News indeed True. If Rumours conceive
One from your heart led much Secrets adhere
Have our Tongues paid for Lies and Coterie
To issue Swelled Bonds of Pain so severe
PIE and PI - yes - add these Fortiments add
Then power your Fumes for Others to choose
But un-tie Tradition; As Jack's Weaning sad
Framed him the Blamer for Peppers you rue.
So would it make sense your Person I pry
And Cast your Kingdom for your Mental's Fly?

All this sleep,
This breath of dreams,
This dearth of life
And other things.

I rest in effort
To understand
To feel your heart,
Within my hand

I want to know what it's like to be you
This curious stitch of heartened flurry,
A mind so bright, of ideas so new,
With time, with time, but without hurry.

Alas, a life so picturesque,
A heart so low in recompense.
In warmer weather, by and by,
A grass more green of which to lie,
Let it be, fortuitous blunder,
Of rhyme, or rhythm, and heartened wonder.
This reverie, or dreams of life,
The source of my perennial strife.
To want, to be, the least of these,
One that's fit, but for a King,
My heart adorned by your decree.
As beautiful as life can be,
The paint to spill upon your canvas,
Of blues and green by which to span this.

Vibrant expanse, a lovers tryst,
This world unknown, but yet to miss.

I have found the beauty
you propounded
your wisdom in choosing me

Heart melded perhaps
with wisdom
self with empathy

it took ages and
was not an easy path
to send me on

you , my muses ,
must have seen something
in my being

in my me, far off , you
saw future , predicted
where I might become

a mere human
striving for a muse or inspiration
among so many.

I am heartened
by the thought of you
inspiring

so many more

Lovely does the Mum and Son's Image provide
As most Evenings cheer and beckon the Day
How your Tired Expenses shoulder her Bide,
Transform your Repute for a Holiday
Though this Moment my Frightened Father must
Aid his caused Liniments for Healing probe
Which you remind to love my own Love's least
As the Lifted Dad placed your Heart on-hold
Meanwhilst. Enjoy. As I consume the Brate
How Honoured and Proud your Prince-of-a-Son
As he to you. The Vessel of his Make
Offered his Generation's Time for your Fun.
You Deserve it. As all Maiden Names do
Though Heartened Secrets are what Defines you.

Paris looked out outside the Trojan Wall
And what he saw he did not like at all.
He viewed Achilles in one of his rages, close to the city.
And looked upon the Trojan dead with horror and pity.
I must do something, he said, as he left his room.
Who he encountered next filled him with terror and doom.
She called herself Essence, and she was a queen of the Hittites.
She told him with a grim look on her face, Achilles must die tonight.
Here is my bow, I have arrows that travel to spots in armor narrow.
They are fitted for war, I got them from the Egyptian Pharoah.
Paris shook and said, But I did not use a bow except for sport.
You must remember I am known as the coward of the King’s court.
Essence shook her head and said, No, you must **** Achilles dead.
That is what the prophecies and the written word have said.
Come let us climb to the high place, so that you can see his face.
Shoot an arrow into his breastplate, and make his life a disgrace.

Paris was muttering as she led him to the top of the rim.
She wasn’t as pretty as Helen, but she was more regal and grim.
Essence pointed down and said, See Achilles, fighting like a madman?
All of the archers are missing him, because they have bad hands.
But I will guide you into the truth of your destiny to fire this shot.
Perhaps we will save Troy just yet, with everything that we got!
Paris jumped back at her intensity, but Essence continued.
Achilles under all that armor is a man of bone and sinew.
He would not let Hector rest in his grave, dragged him like a slave.
Now it is time to give Achilles the burial to whom so many he gave.

Paris fired an arrow, and it hit a Greek but Achilles he missed.
Essence pursed her lips and grabbed his hand to say, You aim like this!
Paris fired a second arrow, and nicked Achilles in the forearm.
Essence said, Stop aiming for flesh wounds and hit where you can do harm.
Paris fired a third time, and hit Achilles in the neck with skill.
Then simultaneously, somebody hit Achilles between his ankle and heel.
Achilles toppled from his chariot, and the Greeks in horror fell back.
The Trojans suddenly heartened went full-blown on the attack.
Essence grinned and said, Tonight we join in the slaughter
And push all of the Greeks past the land into the waters!
She went down to take up weapons, and Paris stood in awe.
He didn’t know if he should worship her because he did not know who he saw.

She walks before me, sliding her eyelashes in a dancing mood, the wind being fortunate enough to carry her strands of long black hair, the light being fortunate enough to reflect on her soft skin. She talks to me and  rush of adrenaline wakes the wave of emotions in me. Dear, do you really know that I love you? Or you wish to become a silent spectator enjoying my madly acts of love? Where did all the romantic lines I that by-heartened  flew away? Where did all that courage I mustered went to hide? That please be with me. Please don't run away from me. That I only want to be with you. That I love you

When I'm feeling broken, beat up or put down,
sad, lonely and had my soul tossed around.
I'm heartened to know I look up to see,
the same sky that you've placed your dreams.
You taught me lessons I know were true,
and made me feel so very close to you.
What you wrote touched me in a high degree,
I never realized what was lacking inside of me.
You taught me to sing of love not hate,
helped me to understand a child's loving state.
And I truly believe you, when you said,
You'd rather see earth from in a child's head.
You helped me float in my own fairy tale,
though I lived among people who lived life very stale.
So thank you little miss Aksnes, I love you in a way,
I don't know how to say it but you've molded my heart like clay.

And though we haven't been here long,
You have so much wisdom within your songs.
This earth needs you its always crying,
Its just been born, but its in danger of dying.
The words you wrote has made me think,
this language I write can be more than just ink.
I listen to you, and I picture valleys,
Even if I'm walking through run down alleys.


The fun I saw you having since day one,
made me for the first time realize, emotion can be sung.
You must have fallen down from the sky,
they don't talk about the star girl, and I don't know why.
And when I feel like crying because the world's in rough shape,
I know you'll be there to help me escape.

Your home is about one million miles from mine,
I think perhaps its helps your beautiful rhymes.
You took me to lands that do not exist,
but somehow turned my world into their wish.
Because of you I reflected,
on the side of me I'd rejected.
What you mean to me just cant be said,
I'm trying real hard but before I finish I'll be dead.

Wuthering secrets of long past times
Forgotten romances of heartened crimes.
Christening crinkles twilling frosted echoes atop damped dervishes of your fragile mind.

Shelling out are withering bones of decaying, eternal, mindless vines.
Encasing slithery crevices eradicating dusted  wintered shadowed lines.

Binding the sainted ****** where upon the shore of gloried day breaks of the lost door.
Listen to the howls of the wind--
as all of creation stirs about & about
Never the less, simply this.
To again, never to.

Driven off the cliff of insanities thrills unto the shivers of the unrested, splintered and torn.
Forevermore, oh how dreadful!
Namelessly unplaced, vacantly ashamed! Lonely and untamed, gratefully kept at bay!

People say…
My heart needs protection
Save Me
From myself
I’m too fragile
Too shattered

I say…
Let it be broken
And mended
And broken and mended and broken and mended….
Until there is nothing left
But hard, tough scar tissue
A beautiful intricate spiderweb of past mistakes and triumphs
Of the ones who stayed awhile
And those who fled in terror

Make your heart a labyrinth
That only the right river will flow through
And the left would leave

The one who thought it was worth navigating each jagged corner,
Scaled each wall
Took that leap of faith

You don’t need protection
You need strength

We are new to this place,
We don’t know what to do,
But we all know that as time goes,
We’ll understand the truth.

We have went through a journey,
A journey that will forever last,
Something we will all share,
Through our future, present and past.

Now we take on the World,
For what it has to offer,
It’s just that this time,
We wont be looknig out for each other.

Our essences on each other lives,
Will not be forgotten,
Instead it will be cherished,
And forever heartened.

So good luck to everyone,
For whatever you may do,
It’s our time to show this world,
A thing or two.

—Thomas James Written on October 06, 2011