I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth  
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –  
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
        Fumbling
                   Toward
                          Ecstasy

Amid the sky of covered crimson plane
The stormy night begets its wonted reign
And down the sails of battered ships
The golden light of sol doeth set.
Far below the wooden hulls lies
O’ oceans crypt, unknown in depth.
Below the base of beaten ships and
Amid the anglers glow
The luminal aura of Isis shows.  
Crystal Night, immaculate sight
Waxing strong her sultry form
Oh how bright her soothing light
A beckon of hope amid the perilous storm.
The captive witness cannot cease
Its ponderous delight of beauties scene.
Of the godless night, in waves
Of tumult and titanic might
Of hellish forces the setians reign.
The sacred goddess of Lucifer’s seed
Rests tall for all to see.

Restless eyes,
The luminaries winking,
The night, as if were
The Moon's stage of solitude
Shines vast in the nocturnal glory,
Revealing silken flattery,
The gentle light caresses.

There is a connection
Of the luminal glow
To the eyes whose mind is
Trapped in a cavernous shadow
While fathoming uselessly
Unto the revolving clockwork
Of living,
Like a trance between
An unknown familiarity.

Thoughts carve out timelines
In jigsaw's grip,
The Moon is a portal
In deafening silence,
Faceless memories guided
By forgotten constellations and
One realises the depth of life
And the race of time,
And come sweet soul searching
In the needs of the spirit while
Trembling from regret.

The solitude is an ocean
Keeping one afloat in a
Suspended profile,
Crystalline clarity like a mirror
In polyhedrons,
So much reflection in restlessness.

And we can drown
In this ocean bathed in the Moon,
Like reliving or redoing
All the past making it so
Pure only our souls know
The life lived in another version.

When the thoughts calm
Into the the minds realignment,
The light becomes forgotten
And the nocturnally calm of the spirit
Flies to live another life;
All that remains is the solitude.

Along the path of blood and bone
The wrath of war had there been shown.
Thick the jungles perilous sway
Where moans of perishing souls guide the way.
The corpses of a 1,000 sing their final breath
Before descending unto death.
Darkened woods amid the silent wind
The vultures sing to every thumping chest.
As friend and foe lye beneath trees shaky bend
A ray of light now lingers from the west.
Brighter than a raging fire
Casting hope in eyes of despair.
Beneath the whisping leaves illumined the ****** mire An oceanic melody begets among the midnight air.
“Afar this light from a goddess a beauty gleam?”
Speaks a man in bitter glee against a rotten bow.
Though wonted silence dispute his sight and sound as a dead mans dream.
The thickened air grips his lungs and hope returns to woe.
Broken legs and a shattered wrist
Writhing away with a punctured chest.
Death... his fate he kissed.
The silver veil of the moon he did attest.
A bright blue aura thickened and grew, charming to the sight.
“Child, do not crown thy head with thorns of death.”
A voice void of body spoke soft from the radian light.
Quick he welled to draw a final breath: “Yemanya?”
“Hither to me, so I may kiss the suns wedded twin
And caress me with thy luminal skin.”
Silence sounded yet again.
As every moan subsided slowly
The blue haze descended from the light.
“How may a being arrive to a sight so unholy.”
Then a manifest angelic force spoke in her precious might.
“Do not fret, it is thy goddess, Yemanya.”
With a hand from the silken misted skin
Caressing his wounds so from death he may be free.
Full in form manifest, beauty of body and sight, that hath not yet been.
With her warm embrace
She kissed his face.
Free now from his deadly ill
Guided to the ocean by the aura, through his newfound will.
Saved from the ravaged land
He closed his eyes and clutched the wetted sand.
The angelic sight did now leave
But in remembrance
The moon held bright, in light of Yemanya.

Roses are beautiful
But they’re quite bitter tasting
Don’t reach for her heart
Because it doesn’t match her
Beautiful exterior
Chills to the bone
Is what you will receive
No warm emotions to calm your soul.
Roses are beautiful
But they stab you if you come near.
They don’t liked to be touched,
As most women feel.
No one likes a ***** ladies
Am I right?
Roses are beautiful
But they’re quite sweet smelling.
Poison to lure you into their magic spelling
Once your close and quite intoxicated
By that sweet sweet overrating.
You think you’ve got the girl
And then she pulls out her claws
And reminds you her thorns
Are sharper than her flaws.
Roses are beautiful
But roses will be roses
as long as she’s viewable.
Hold your expectations
For after the luminal.
Blank mind
You’ll find
Works best
For your own rest.

the immunotherapy it seems is not working
the CT scan results had some "big brain words" as my dad called them
he showed me his phone
not looking too closely at the words as he passed it my way
he's smart enough and so am I
"residual/recurrent tumor"
"enlarged"
"narrowing of the luminal space"
we know what this means

the tumor grows still
squeezing that space where food wants to go
making the tube
that protrudes
from his waist so necessary

brown slop full of minerals and vitamins and calories
poured into the tube by his loved ones
so vulnerable
so bare as he lifts his shirt to be fed
by a daughter 50 years younger than he

his skin so dry and sagging
once inflated by muscle and a bit of fat
now clings to his bones

the skin is pink around the tube
and wet
raw where the tape is ripped up 4 times a day
we keep a bandage there
it hurts when he showers and he flinches if I accidentally jostle it while inserting the syringe

to make your aging, dying, thinning father flinch
is a pain I want no one to know
but how many countless women have cared for their aging fathers
in this way?

I didn't ask to be a nurse

Since he showed me the damning results
black letters on a white screen
I've avoided him
I don't want to talk about it
What other option is there?

Maybe the drug administrators at John Hopkins
will think of something new
Maybe he can go back on the other immunotherapy
my mother seems to think was working best.

I can picture the tumor
so resilient and pink
ripe with blood vessels
new thick flesh
cuddled there inside the esophagus
gatekeeping saliva
from entering the stomach
so he has to spit it back up
walks around all day with a little cup for the saliva he cannot swallow
food he can't swallow
and because he refuses to chew and spit out delicious foods as I've suggested we do together
he doesn't even taste
the only thing he tastes
is burps
that rise with chemical gusto to push through the tumor's gates
"that stuff is nasty"
he says with emphasis
"hardly people food"
he says with disgust
Now I mix his goo with strawberry or banana smoothie
to make the suffering a bit less
hoping he isn't assaulted with nasty burps from the goo
that entered his stomach
through the tube