"inquisitively" poems
Im a calm, cool collected cucumber underneath this fandangled, wiry, wrinkled visage.
Ive escaped the clutches of the tangled snare of my image.
Where and when I belong and to whom is no matter.
I pass by groups and clans and grimace inquisitively at thier chatter.
To my ears its an alien clamour of clashing egos and look at me's.
They'd all be happier in a lonesome cross legged position enjoying the breeze beneath the trees.
With ease I float through my day passionately.
Expanding and contracting with the waves of existence.
I sway indefinitely.
Yield to and renounce the question arisen from the back of the mind "what does it mean to be me"
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
too often you **** me with your
monosyllabic question: your lips
form it, so gradually, and hence,
inquisitively, that i, i would not
miss that diphthong you emphasised,
that question of why - yet too often
i find myself unable to proceed
beyond because...
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
Is that a frown I put upon your face child?
As I tried to soothe the sadness that smiled on your inside
That festered like pathogens inside your heart
Is that your index finger?
Sitting inquisitively on your lip?
I see the distraction in your whirlpools of corneas
Your hair lays insecurely on your shoulder blades
Let me console you with a joke
Pacify your placidity with these sad bars
You pick up your phone.
You read your texts.
Oh?
Is that a smile I put upon your face, child?
-zaba
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
You are hard to put into words.
You leave me speechless at times,
but the again, occasionally,
I have the daring urge to scream so loud at you that spittle flies.
More often than not though,
I just want to scream at myself.
The night sky and the stars and the moon question me.
Irresolution creeps to the basement of my soul,
snapping the homemade defenses in two.
Bile and tears climb my throat as shadow and trepidation crawl into my head.
Hidden secrets fester along with the feeling of emptiness.
That void eats positivity like a tiger eats deer:
stalking resolutely,
followed by a pounce,
and then teeth shredding everything to little bits.
The stars cry out for answers,
while the sky demands too much in order to maintain my sanity,
and the moon just gazes inquisitively,
wondering what darkness brought me to my knees.
Bright colors wash out in the moonlight while indecision clouds my perception.
Misunderstanding loops around all of my decisions;
death to all right-doing.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 4:25 AM UTC
Assembling a bouquet of flowers on my path toward home,
an assortment of Hyacinth and Daffodil, Fern and Cherry Blossom
and some other flowery **** that I managed to conjure;
drunk, levee en masse du la fleur.
I felt pity in the bottom of my stomach
as I strode concrete turbulence across the road and
toward the McDonalds.
If I were a chicken it would have been
no wonder why I had
crossed the road
but
since I was a human being
my reasons, experiences, hair colour, blood alcohol content and steel-stomach absenteeism furled into a tightly wound knot-of-motif.
I stood
and stared
waiting to gain momentum.
Peering at the swaying, sobbing mob waiting impatiently
brazenly and vacantly
for their shot at luke-warm burger patty adorned with onion that looks like little baby teeth and cheese so processed it will never melt, I realized that
we both stood in ecstasy.
And I stood, swaying in the breeze as all good drunkards do, blankly and inquisitively; I began to wonder what it was that I was
witnessing.
Did I want to participate in mindless habitué? spend my money on
**** food that could
hardly be considered as such?
Stand in line, jaw hanging loose like a gorilla that had voluntarily dislocated his mandible so that he didn’t have to chew? wait for my shot at glory?
This is glory: the bars had all closed, and now there was no haven for the drunk ****** to congregate better than the local gut-fill station.
I took one final look at my squandered comrades, brains scrambled, disgusting.
I hate you ******* ******* it I hate you all.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
if you place a stethoscope inquisitively on the
beating chest of your life, expect to hear a -
plod, plod, plod.
you'd think it to be the footsteps of a
fumbling toddler; fumbling feet
feeling the flat, alien earth.
or the muffled footsteps of a stranger
stumbling into your path, turning your
tables, stumbling into your life.
you could regret that it wasn't your
feet's soundless plodding on the moon,
that there was no greatness in your silence.
while at times you remember
the footsteps of friends converging
into your life - diverging from it.
and then to cease all speculation -
you recognise the footsteps
of god at your doorstep.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."
I felt his coarse hands grip mine, too;
I lived through Mr. Hooper vicariously
as I looked down at open palms
spread to the heavens,
illuminated in the flashy brilliance of the glare.
I saw wrinkled, calloused eyes peer into mine;
I stood on that rickety old dock
in my fitted and worn wool cap,
faded denim shirt matching pants
and dingy white tennis shoes.
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."
My ego crestfallen as well,
pride in my intelligence proven in the Academia
withering, as the gritty gap-toothed
leery-eyed barnacle of a sailor
peered inquisitively into my soul.
He saw the smooth hands--
ah, but the callouses engraved deep between joints
on my fingers; a musician!
His eyes grilled, "In bourgeois leisure,
smiling meekly dwelling within milquetoast afternoon hours,
or,
from downtown haunts sweating jazz in the midnight hour,
dancing screaming cursing moaning lovingly?"
My eyes cast down again.
But I know not of the city as my abode!
I know the ****** and the farmer
more than any contributor to painted landscapes, nay;
they are my acquaintances, neighbors, cousins, brothers, and sisters!
For I have lived on the water;
I have eyed the vessels
commandeered by the gritty, grubby,
greased captains of my soul,
as I float buoyed in their wake,
eager to catch a semblance of the waters
that trail before them.
I live treading their wake,
eyes open and pencil in hand.
And lo;
I found sanctuary in the vast fields of the rustic farmer!
For I ate breakfast of the freshly-slaughtered calf;
I drank its mother's milk,
eggs fresh from the poultry den--
I squawked along with the mother hens.
I took in the bucolic smell of the country
atop the rugged tractor,
eyeing squinting
grimacing like a smile in the sun
burning burning down upon stiff backs
and leather necks--
I, the leaves of grass scattered
in the wake of the farmer,
I, the bails of hay furled tightly
sitting patiently in the once golden meadow,
I watched the tractors and their commandeers
disappear in the bombinate horizon;
the sound of insects ushering in the night sky
like unrolling the starry-eyed carpet
before the hazy late afternoon moon.
I watched, I lived,
waiting coiled in their wakes
eyes wide open and paper clenched in hand.
I lifted my eyes to once again
hear his curt admonition:
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Rhine."
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Judge Bristol pronounced his sentence with the following words and said,
"The said William Bonney, alias Kid, alias William Antrim
shall be hanged by the neck until his body be dead, Dead, DEAD!!!"
Shackled Billy left the courthouse smiling, almost as if in glee.
"Why are you smiling?" an interviewer asked him inquisitively.
"What's the point in dwelling on the dreary side of life?" the Kid responded,
"Today the joke is on me."
A true tribute to The Kid's charm, humor and endearing personality.
The above is not legend. The above is true documented history.
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
Here i am, ripped, open.
Bones bared, muscles scarred and torn for you.
As you inquisitively take your eyes and survey the damage,
like some sort of architect,
of a future grander, design,
you have in mind.
And i must miss every single heartbeat you make,
in me,
i lost it when words came from your mouth,
and ordered me away.
So each beat lost its echo, it lost its twin,
it, lost, me.
And my bloodied chest was pinned back;
my breastplate, no longer a piece of shining armor,
lost its shine,
dull to your touch,
as you peeled it back to get to the very heart of me;
though the plate was in no hurry to leave,
it was stuck down quite hard,
and still words whispered around me,
a thousand different voices telling me what to do.
Yet, all i had, was, you.
It was you, i wanted just you.
You.
You, who is putting fingers into dying flesh,
You, who, is taking the very best of me,
of us.
You were my morning, and my nighttime,
my right hand and my left,
my second ear, my watchful eye;
And this concave chest of indescribable treasure,
is where you, used to lay, with me,
telling me that my heartbeat is too fast,
and i'd tell you 'its for you'.
So now you come to claim it,
for who would have such a thing to play with,
and never use it for fun?
So you said those words, and pulled my heart from my chest,
and as i died,
you said 'don't worry, its not for long'.
So i listen to the last beats of my life's drum,
pulsating in your arms,
you make 'it' into a new plaything,
as i lie dying, bare ***** dying slowly,
wrapped in peoples arms, crying to fill the void,
I can hear myself in the last few contractions,
trying to hold myself within,
and you're stroking my heart like it belongs to you,
and no-one knows why,
you've left me to die,
lost, and lonely,
so you could go out to play.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
During the half term break
from school
Janice said
come see my new canary
Gran bought it for me
and so you went with her
through the Square
and across Bath Terrace
and into the block of flats
where she lived
with her gran and bird
and she was excited
and talked and talked
of the new canary
what do you call him?
you asked
Yellow
she said
because its yellow
and the name fits
and when you got
to her flat
her gran opened the door
and Janice said
I've brought Benedict
to see the new bird
her gran said
ok
and let you in
and Janice took you
into the sitting room
and there in a bird cage
was the new bird
sitting there
on a perch
making whistling noises
some say they talk
if you teach them
Janice said
and I'm going to teach it
to say things
and won't that be good?
providing you don't
teach it silly things
her gran said
my cousin had one
and he taught it
all kinds of bad words
which made
his mother mad
what kind of words?
Janice asked
never you mind
what words
her gran said
if I catch you teaching
this bird bad words
I'll tan your backside
I won't Gran
Janice said
just teach it
sensible words
well mind you do
her gran said
now how about
some lemonade and cake?
yes please
you both said
and her gran went off
to get the lemonade
and cake
and Janice put
her finger
through the bars
of the cage
and talked to the bird
but the bird
shuffled away from her
on the perch
and was quiet
still she talked to it
and but her finger in
as far as she could
but it just walked as
far from her
as it could go
staring at her
with it stark eyes
not very friendly is it?
you said
maybe it doesn't like
your red beret
maybe red frightens it?
so she took off
her red beret
and the bird came closer
and began chirping away
and it kind of pecked
at her finger
not roughly
but inquisitively
as if to find out
what it was
then it shuffled off again
and then went
and pecked at some
food from a feeder
at the side
of the cage
maybe I could get it out
sometime
and let it sit
on my finger
like I've seen done
on TV
Janice said
what if it flies away?
you asked
I'll keep the door
and windows closed
she said
and she opened
the cage door
and put her hand in
to get the bird
but the bird
moved away from her
and flapped its wings
what are you doing?
her gran said
entering the room
Janice took her hand out
of the cage
and shut the door
just wanted to let it
sit on my finger
Janice said
her gran put the tray
with lemonade
and pieces of cake
on the table
and came over
to the bird cage
you might have frightened it
then it might die
she peered in
at the canary
which was perched there
staring back at her
now don't you
do that again
do you hear?
yes Gran
Janice said sheepishly
her eyes lowered
nice bird
you said
maybe it's shy
at the moment
I guess after
a little while
it'll get friendly
do you think so?
Janice said
sure it will
you replied
her gran smiled
and walked off
back to the kitchen again
and you and Janice
ate the cake
and drank the lemonade
and you both watched
the canary as it chirped
and walked
along the perch
and there
on the side chair
was Janice's red beret
and she asked
what words
do I teach?
but you said
I couldn't say.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
A man, about 50, sitting on a street corner,
A change cup sitting in his lap with only a few ***** pennies resting on the bottom, rattling slightly.
A small girl with a blue dress walks along behind her mother, holding her hand.
She stops.
She peers at the man, head tilted to the right inquisitively.
Her mother tugs her hand slightly but the girl stays put,
just staring.
The man stares back at her, watery eyes watching her hesitantly.
Suddenly, the girl steps towards him.
A quick “Hi” escapes her lips.
The ghost of a smile passes over the man's face,
cracking his dark skin which, hasn't stretched this way for a long time.
The girl's mom stands, clicking the heel of her shoe impatiently on the sidewalk.
The girl slowly lowers herself and sits on the cold cement in front of the man.
Her blue eyes look deep into his own faded brown ones.
She slides closer to him and looks into his cup.
She looks quizzically up at him, her face asking why there is so little inside.
Her mother steps forward now and attempts to grab her away.
The girl lunges to the man; she wraps her small pale arms around the mans dark neck.
He raises his arms tentatively, holding them around her small frame.
Her mother pulls her away and carries her down the street,
leaving the man sitting alone on the corner,
no better off than before,
but then again,
much better off...
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
None can defy what there is not
So why and how do you?
As Narcissus reigns, how can you contend?
Contentment with the norm, a shameful folk you are
As the faithless faithful preach
We remain steady,
watching through the distance
silently and inquisitively
So when the time arrives
Haste we do not
They, a pitiful bunch, consider us but shams
"How can the peasants rule after all?"
Oh, their gall
And so the farmers and the toilers march
March under the banner of revolution!
No faith to obstruct, no wealth to envy
'Tis but another evolution
Humanity will once again rule itself
Not succumbing, but becoming
its own god and its own master
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 7:50 AM UTC
time was talking to me in a bubble of dreams
asked me if i was ready for a new experience
since time doesn't speak to you normally, i stuttered:
ye-yes, i'm ready, bu-but where will it take me?
well, young man, time said, it will take you to
a country that has never been discovered
this country is made of islands, thousands of them
nobody lives there, except orange birds and fish
but forget all the islands, they are lifeless, excluding one:
home to a man who is called golem the violinist
he consists of letters and is mute, he can not speak a word
how will i talk to golem then? i asked inquisitively
time didn't answer my question; it just smiled gently
i blinked and afterwards, i arrived on the island
swarms of orange birds were roaming the air
silver waves were surging against my naked feet
was i really dreaming? i pinched myself and it hurt
i was not dreaming because i could feel the pain
suddenly, i could hear a violin, slowly played
i turned around and saw golem, his eyes closed
golem was huge, athletic and coated in tattoos
the entire body was covered with the alphabet
golem's head was nodding to the melody of the music
puzzled, i asked him which song he was performing
he didn't answer; i had forgotten that he was mute
i asked again, he put the violin aside, devoted mien
golem raised his index finger and placed it on a letter
it was an "s", curiously, i followed his finger, as he continued
i finally read the words "sunshine adagio in d minor"
but at this stage of my life, i was just listening, passively
today, i depend on music to write, on orchestral sounds
"sunshine adagio in d minor" was played by the golem
he presented me the grace and strength of the violin
i could never visit this island again; never in my life
golem enchanted me so heavily, my memory is erased
i can't remember the way to his island anymore
it is not on any map, nowhere, but i kept something:
golem introduced me to breathtaking music, heaven yeah!
and the violin has been inspiring me since then
sunshine, adagio in d minor: i do admire you, song
i thank you golem for your gift and for your time
maybe you'll read this one day and tell me the way back
back to your island, back to the birthplace of muse
i love you brother, you are like kin, all yours, mikey
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
"Awakening from a deep slumber, in our heads we go under. beneath our blankets, we feel serene. comfortably safe, is what i mean. worry's fade to gray, with each new day. The horizon spreads so vividly, almost inquisitively. among us, the strong grow stronger, more prosperous if you will. understanding what we can not explain, only in our spirits can we remain." (est.j.r.e.)
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
I sat there beneath the big Maple tree in the center of Sunkenwater Park. I leaned back onto my hands, peering over the compendium of countless smaller trees that littered the grounds like so many cigarette butts and beer cans. The Sun hung high, looking down at me with a smile you could only see if you were staring directly at it, which I did for a moment until my vision became bleached with Godlike light. I sighed, scanned the grounds again and then slowly descended onto my back. I stared straight up into the spider leg set up of branches above me, hanging there indifferently and silently. I sighed again without even noticing, this time completely unintentionally.
And that's when her head found it's way into my kind of sight. She was standing over me, looking down, eye squinted like she was examining some microscopic and otherworldly specimen.
"Hey," slipped from her pretty pinkish lips.
"Hi," I replied, staring right back.
She smiled slightly and sat down next to me, descending slowly and gracefully into her back just like me, right next to me.
"What's up?" I turned so I was facing her ear as she refused to face me yet.
"Nothing, just thinking."
"Oh. About what?" I narrowed my brow inquisitively.
"Us. Me and you. And why."
I cocked my head slightly. "Why what?"
"Why you love me so much."
I pursed my lips. Turned my head back so I was staring at the spidery branches and breathed slowly out if my nose. Then I pointed up, aiming my finger at the the beams of cut up Sunlight that was finding its way through the branches above our heads and onto us, the source if all life.
"Because you remind me of the Sun."
"The Sun, huh?"
"You give me what I need. You give me my reasons. You give me movement. Physically and emotionally. And you do always fund a way. A way through. A way out. You're a resilient person. And you do it without even trying. I love you because you are who you are. And who you are is pretty **** ridiculous in the sense that I've never net a soul quite like you. For lack of a less cliche term; you are my light. And I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world."
She kept her gaze upward for a long time. I did the same. Soaking up the Sun's rays with a dumb grin like I knew it was the last time is be able to take part in such a miracle. It didnt matter in that moment that she didnt love me. All that mattered was that I loved her. And would continue to do so, unapologetically, until her rays of light stopped finding their way into my heart, which had been growing increasingly dimmer and dimmer until I met her. I was thankful and I felt dumb but I was too proud to care.
She turned to me, but I didn't turn back. She lifted her hand up off of the grass and found mine, interlocking her fingers and turning again to face the sky.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
Through tranquil strangeness, I have wandered.
Where have I come to now?
A figure stands before me,
I know their face somehow.
And on this vista of illusion, its the only one I've found.
Please tell me where it is I am,
Or do you even know?
They said, I'm afraid I cannot answer that,
All I know is you may not go.
Inquisitively I called to them,
What on Earth then should I do.
They said, now that's enough of that,
Earth no longer concerns you.
It didn't hurt, but I struggled,
I said, I've left so much undone.
There were lights in that darkness,
Someday they might have shone.
They were quite for one more moment,
Perhaps they had seen what I foresaw.
But their eyes, they were empty,
And their knowing rant begun.
Yes, you could have written all those stories,
And played all those songs.
Found your courage, and got married,
And held your only son.
Stopped living in your head,
And said your thoughts out loud.
Never cared for convention,
Known no one really lives in a crowd.
Taken time to lay naked,
And marveled at the rain.
But as they say, what's done is done now,
And its here you shall remain.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Along a tenacious cliffside,
Peers a lone sailor.
Spectacting the silent war,
The unyielding assault of waves.
Patches of grass, green with hope,
Litter the gritty sand.
Each shell sweeped upon the shore,
Entrance the young man with glee.
For he studies the horizon,
Searching for whom he's found.
A half scaled belle,
Of which he's called his own.
She swims the calloused tides,
In search of his arms called home.
Upon the beach she lay,
Covered in the sea's salty foam.
The sailor found her,
As the sand blends between his feet.
Next to her he rests,
Next to her he is complete.
The maiden turns to him,
"Jimmy Gray" she whispers.
The sailor replys inquisitively.
"I love you"
~
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
and you'd come up again
in our conversation,
a bit flustered
wandering through haystacks in June
what else did you want from me?
it's either this or that...
words shared yet lost
meaningless and obsolete
a hazy afternoon for two
i knew a child who built houses
out of pebbles and twigs
he glued them together with honeycombs
and called it love.
those inhibitions
he tore up and sealed
for another day
then one day the wind thought
to come around to tumble
the bees harpooning above him
hypnotizing stings,
the cries within him
undulated to the frequencies,
of bright peonies in the spring.
and I saw this,
twist I did,
to bend the story wayward
like the rivers without moons
peering inquisitively at me.
But they were only fictions
carved by ancestors and
ancestors past,
whichever way to get their point across
to hold my head in their arms.
it was
folklore I'd forgotten to let go
the impossible book held deep in my chest
the anomaly I'd refused to relent
the searching for paradise.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Who sits amongst the tree tops,
peering down, inquisitively poking his nose?
Ah, yes! The little Nature boy.
The forgotten child whom nature has reclaimed.
Why it was years ago now, but yes, still
I remember. Eerie foggy mornings,
the quiet groan of the forests, and the distant
rustle of the foliage, above and around them.
Then, as if by some cruel plot,
a ravenous pack of animals wild,
bore down upon them,
one, two, three to a person,
weapons fired, weapons dropped,
useless, now they lay lifeless.
Yet, by some strange miracle
the boy survived. He grew and grew
eating of the plants and fruits
which the forest gave.
And, until this day he is a mystery
but a mystery people long to see.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
There is truth to be found in all things
The old man cleaning ******* from train platforms
Steam rising from ice cold ponds at sunrise
Frost clasping the tall grasses
The orange, pink and blue of morning skies
Glittering sea channels weaving through mud flats
A father and daughter walking to the bus stop hand in hand
Magpies flying overhead, dancing and swooping
Concentric circles appearing as moorhens paddle
A brave jogger running eastwards
My daughter, sleepy, resting in bed
My wife looking at me inquisitively
My own reflection in the glass
I notice such things
And I ponder their beauty
As I try to deeply understand
The nature of things
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
Enchantingly nonchalantly unfurling before
blind eyes merely able to gape in awe
ephemeral smithereens of expanding plenum,
the abyssal pervasive womb encompassing all
that exists, was is and will be, nurturing
emptiness with energy for nothingness not
to be. Swirling particles coalescing to breed
unfathomable incandescent spheres
radiating blistering lights in waves, hurtling
everywhither as beacons celebrating glory
of omnific productions till mirific explosions
scatter pieces crisping to bond, under laws
of attraction relentlessly spinning, rotating
an elliptic orbit at a distance, showered in eons
by debris enclosing drops of lymph, finely
elegantly tuned through evanescent time, to allow
the esoteric birthing of rare creatures gazing,
curious and inquisitively reflecting, recognising
mother does not contemplate repetition nor
perfection, as she haphazardly reveals inestimable
varieties, offspring of sweeping sublime
creativity with which she munificently shares
a comprehensive consciousness inspired,
suggesting the child indeed could grasp
the extent of infinity
despite blind eyes.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
Discussions are stunning
Whizzing past with fast cars
Country side in my eyes
The smells hit inside
We listen to bieber,
We dance
And sing
Then little one
A believer...
She is embraced
Look at the sky
Behind the grey
I say
The sunset so beautiful
Orange and grey
She says
I ask
What is your favourite part
She replies
Sunset
Inquisitively I reply
Why
She sits for a while
Considers
Sighs
And
Replies
Its pretty, orange, shining
Purple and pink some times
She stops, considers her response
Then sighs and replies, with arms and a beautiful smile
Its just too beautiful to describe.
Took the words right out of my mouth
The animated child.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
"Oh no, he's down here again" said the little ant to the other little ant.
"Why does he come down so low?" responded one of the little ants inquisitively.
"He just gets like that sometimes, that's all" chimed in the caterpillar, who was baking in the sun.
From atop came a wise old butterfly, it took its seat next to the ants and the caterpillar.
"He's looking for answers, he's looking for meaning" said the caterpillar.
"Don't worry it's ok, he'll get there in the end, we all do" replied the butterfly as it took off and soldiered on.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
We planted seeds today
Pulps filled with different ridges dusted with the earth's breath,
were planted.
Each earthy fetus protected by the palms of their alpha tripped off their fingertips and glided their way into the dimension that lies under our feet.
A dimension where our ancestors whisper in sacred tongues and where the other half of our trees play in the mud.
This, is where our spirits are born.
This, is where your training begins
little one
earthy one
mystic one
This, is where you begin.
Where the trees' veins inquisitively tap on your shell
poke at your lifeless liveliness
Where the ancestors rattle your cage with their hums
Guiding you to taste your own rhythm
This, is where your spirit buds.
...
We planted seeds today.
The pulps resting in the dimension below your skin,
below your heart.
A dimension where your thoughts gossip and where your ancestors sleep.
This, is where IT begins
This, is where it breathes
where it sees
gracious one
fleshy one
cosmic one
This, is where we bleed.
...
We planted seeds today.
We, planted OUR seeds today
OUR seeds were planted today
we...
WE, were planted...
Today.
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 5:51 AM UTC