Life for me has been no crystal stair.
No steps of marble, granite or gold lay apt for my ascension.
No—I have climbed through thickets and thorns.
I have persevered—I have triumphed.
Yet it seems, despite these hardships,
life has always afforded me second chances.
The delicacy of my actions,
the sensitivity of negative repercussions
scarcely affected my younger self.

Opportunities always seemed to present themselves.
Though money and its evils have graced my experience,
my soul remains relatively innocent and refined.

Though I have, on past occasions,
become enveloped in the physical substance,
I quickly learned the long term suffering that these ideations efface
far out-shadows the temporary pleasure of the immediate.
I have overcome afflictions both physical and mental,
and lingered in the pleasure of remission.
Quickly to be reminded how easily diseases can emerge
when disregarded.

I’ve learned that of all things in life—
love, above all, deserves attention and sentiment.
Love, with all its purities and imperfections,
more often fruitlessly sought after than easily attained.
Love, above all other things, cannot be imitated, falsified or forged.
And though I spent some years deprived of this blessing,
I am none the more depraved for it.

I am lucky to say that I have loved.
My heart, delicately and handsomely entwined with another.
And that I am loved in return is a blessing beyond bounds.
Adoration and all its accompaniments are the greatest treasure in a lifetime.
For, what are treasures worth without anyone to share them with?
Any other accomplishments and joys are devalued without companionship.
And indeed, a faithful companion is most appreciated in times of hardship—
the throes, truncheon and tribulation of the everyday
faced alone can prove debilitating.

A great man once said “Life is a bowl of cherries.”
It took many years for me to understand the full meaning of this declaration.
But now I understand—
that each of us reachs into life,
like we reach into a bowl of cherries.
We know not whether what we receive
will be pitted and bitter
or sweet and juicy.
We will not know;
we cannot know,
not until we take a bite.
And if there is anything I have learned
it is to live and let live.
It is to reach into life, unbridled yet controlled,
with morals and constraint
and yet bereft of the fear of outcome:
the guilt of the past,
the impeccable omnipotent pressure of the present,
the trepidation of the future,
and the transience between the three.
The acceptance of this passage through time:
aging,
learning,
making mistakes,
making new mistakes,
loving:
this is how to live.
For, if we fear time,
which we cannot control,
we will always be afraid.
To live a life afraid is to embrace hardship.
Any semblance of hope or happiness
is abandoned with the acceptance and embrace of fear,
for fear, without use or cause
is the impetus of great misjudgment and injury.
We must, to avoid this,
relish in moments of happiness
and string them together
with the constant felicity and solace of companionship.

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if *** were lacking, or if the moisture of the
   right man were lacking.

*** contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
   milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
   beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the earth,
These are contain’d in *** as parts of itself and justifications of
   itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of
   his ***,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
   are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband of
   those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
   retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right- they are calm, clear, well-
   possess’d of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for
   others’ sakes,
Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I
   press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
   within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls,
   new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
   inter-penetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
   count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
   immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

On the ocean of life I
Dropped  thought-pebbles
Resonances in winds
Rebounding in ripples
Actions born in countless waves
Triggering counter-actions!

Cataracts of wonders, suddenly
Vomiting volumes of gold
Pouring golden flames
Into life ocean purities
Bouncing up hills and valleys
In voyage of expectations
Creating realities in emeralds!

Tumbling air in blues
Skies beatific glory binges
In endless waves in azure skies
Echoing sounds of depth
Deeper than the deep
Launching into the Deep
Harvesting immortal gold
Reaping eternal glory!

The hollow truth carried on the wind
Budding asphodels wilted upon the pyre of paradise
Erst the rusted gates of Heaven
Deleing corrupt realm deliverance salting
The rivers of Eden,
Ananta, contemner of dawn
Stealing Levannah breaking Sol.
Without brethren kith, treading the tide
Of redemption thitherto
A tear in the fabric of the universe
Another drop in the ocean aflame
So that that fire humanity could be set
Broken vessels as like sunken ships
Eclipsing their own elan;
Fraying equilibrium averred officers of Hell
No more angels standing yet ranked still
In offices most high despairing
Purities ruination conjunctively
As with the same stride sought in
Pitched battle- touchable caste
Derelict of kin.




ELEETE J MUIR

I

She gave up beauty in her tender youth,
  Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways;
  She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze
On vanity, and chose the bitter truth.
Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth,
  Servant of servants, little known to praise,
  Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days
She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth
That with the poor and stricken she might make
  A home, until the least of all sufficed
Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake,
Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss.
So with calm will she chose and bore the cross
  And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.

II

They knelt in silent anguish by her bed,
  And could not weep; but calmly there she lay;
  All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray
Shone through upon her, warming into red
The shady curtains. In her heart she said:
  "Heaven opens; I leave these and go away;
  The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?"
Then low upon her breast she bowed her head.
O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth,
  O dove with patient voice and patient eyes,
O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth,
  O maid replete with loving purities,
Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth
  To raise it with the saints in Paradise.

Immorality has incarcerated
My concentration
Cynical thoughts raging
Darkness awakens with lunacy
Disavow away to a lifeless residue
How can a man untrue attain himself?
Diabolical tactics
Twisting with no sudden moves
Chances to convert
As another being cleanses a bewildered soul
Tomorrow crease
Figures to be washed
Into ghostly purities of gold
May the spirits spare amuse of confusion

You said
"I'm not hollow simply scarce and soundproof. Double jointed at the valves and cured of retched emotions."

But your sensory was superb
Your touch lingered in all of it's lacking purities
It mapped out the freckles lining my lips
A map you traced too often upon the bodies of far too many what's her faces hips

Yet you always came back to devour more

Understanding your underlying intentions became irrelevant and obscured
To count the conflicting answers
which were fed in heaps of sugar lined words
would drown me in irrationality and bitter conformity

And when your ghost is the only thing left to banter to as you smile upon the great unknowns
I'll smother the context of my emotions beneath the cages of my ribs
And walk towards the bare, unhinged moon with no remorse left to speak of
Leaving only salted words for you to inhale into your lungs

(C) Tiffanie Doro

who are we
in god we trust, the ruler of a nation bereft of purities
corrupt ink in the capsule of a human’s casing
wages printed on the stoic faces of our leaders, blood and gore imprinted on their eyelids
spilling our incoherent tangle of words into songs and pleads for relief
we are spitting images of our mother, and her mother
iodized wounds that stretch to our finger-prints that they deem must be caged and stamped at all costs
our wrists are battered and tied with the rope of our pride
and our pink flesh is swelled up with their brand freshly printed onto our skin that reads, ‘you are nothing’
nothing but chains of forgotten children abandoned in rusted swing-sets
children who’s screams are full of hot air like the balloons that loiter about our minds
the balloons that burst sharply in a staccato beat when bittered thoughts contaminate them
we are children who press our fingers into our eye sockets and scavenge around the recesses of our minds
young hands damp with drops of the dreams that cascade down the pores in our bodies
the drops that empty into the gutter that encroaches the territory of our bones
pushed back dreams like the rotten tomatoes that stink of moldy desperation in the grocery store
memories melted into perfect formations like a drill soldier with a stone-cold face empty of temerity
memories stacked up like all you can eat pancakes that drape over us like an everlasting blithe
they leave vague impressions of naivety and sit despairingly upon our caged ribs
they cower behind closed doors and occasionally peek out from the clouds of illusions to say,
‘are you happy?’
but they disappear with cruel inspection like a fading smoke because we don’t dare to discover the truth
but even still we harbor desolation-spiked weapons that secrete through the same pores that piece us together
we are the ripest of onions, a scintillating mixture of strong scents and spirits
and the moment we realize this we try to scrape the walls of our binding
try to peel ourselves of the revolving emotions that we have been programmed with
and as our wrinkled layers flake off, we learn a bit more about how different we seem to appear
until we are nothing but a sun-dried core, who has found the truth only to move never-more

Purity descends slowly
            but crimson blemishes.

Birds defile cold
                          blankets...  

to drink upon seasons past.

The bells tolled in silent air, no mummers
Where uttered in haste as white cloth over
Black draped upon their figures.

On the desecrated reminisce of ash petals
That grow in this place each is picked with
Elegance so not to fracture there fragility.

A new one Is found to replace those that
Unveiled their voices on solemn oaths to words
Never to be uttered, they surrendered it t air.

Voices of blood echoed on the floor, a chastity
Forsaken and white cloth drank upon the wine
Till it had its fill, then voiced its intent in puddles.

The shaded leaf was gently dissected between fingers
And where lips blessed word, the ash sealed them with
The twine of dead embers, and they screamed silently.

Silken coverings where bestowed on the vacant realms
Of purities, in the convent of silence where the dead
Don't speak and muteness is a sound only heard.

I want my chance.
I wanted to bask in the sunlight with nothing but your company; I do not seek any more than your being.
I want you to see me shine, to thrive in my comfort zone, and soar outside of it; I want to quit the chit chat, I despise small talk.
I love long walks, and you would have never even known.
I don’t want to be looked right through, like my glasses reflect you and your choices and our voices fade into our own minds and neither one of us can conjure up a way to unwind and speak of our passions, our inspirations, our fears, and not just simple the weather.
Could it really hurt to test the waters? I am sick of questioning myself; am I trying to hard? Just give me a way to measure the depth of your interest, have we sparked a match, or do see me as this cesspool of unwarranted emotions and insecurities? Because I look at you and see so many purities, but I see the uncertainty as well. Yet, I still can’t get a read on what it is behind your shell.
Show me bits and pieces of yourself, and I swear I am willing to try and piece it together, but you’re giving me nothing but pieces of alternating puzzles - yeah, I have put together an entire cloud, but this, over here, looks like the ocean and this, this is definitely part of Mount Rushmore, and I’ve no ******* clue as to where any of those pieces connect.
I don’t know why I set myself up for such failure. I want to know you, but the mystery is your primary allure. I want to know what is beneath your trademarks, the dark parts of your eyes, your evident demise, but at the same time, I am terrified. I don’t think it could shock me, I can work with outrageous. But, I don’t think I could handle finding out you were mundane; a bourgeois creature.
Alas, I am stuck in this loop, of wanting all of you, but at the same time, none of you. Tell me, how does one keep a mysterious persona?

The raven does soar, ever preying upon
Purities wing, perched ever waiting
For that flight on that which is white.

Gliding onwards does its momentum
Carry to the above, but the ash woven
Wings wait to claim feathers weight.

Its talons wish to shred upon those
Untaintedness, but were beckoned
To be as blunt as paper on stone.

There is a moment of singularity,
As merging feathers become one
But then are torn apart in haste

Ever covering shaded moments upon the
The doves release, but feathers loosened  
Forth and purity fell once more free.

skirt
lord knows she´s been places
each shy smile, a metaphor
pair of doe eyes
breaking through the centerfold
she´s the sweetest, pure confection
of your fantasies

skirt
rid yourself of ***** purities
enticing tragedy
wood on furnace

skirt
lovely dove
of tender bareness
she's alive but made up
beauty breathless

s kirt.

Life is split by our only purities
Black and white; hate and love

But which were you?

You started out as gray; so I screamed and smeared you black
It was easier to darken something than make it lighter

But which were you?

Perhaps you were pale enough for me to have lied
I could have just blurred my eyes and made you white

But which were you?

You made my world rotten; gray
Some parts dried white and others soaked in black

But which were you?

You’ve been gray since forever
And you’ve grayed my senses

A graceful praise, A momentous moment
The climb, The leap, The spark of eternity
Life in the fast lane, Crash course
Walk the line, Never to cross it
A straight narrow path, Never too wide
Biased feelings trapped within rat sized cage
Compassionate feelings running through and through
Heart is open wide, Eyes even wider
The height of a new era is about to start
A brand new beginning, An ending shows the way
Any array of doorways opening to endless possibilities
Only one remains closed off, To earn rightful passage
Look deep within your soul, you find a key
Set upon the lane with boots strapped tightly
Don't hunch over, never slouch lazily
Be proud of who you are, Stand tall with honor
Remember we fall to learn how to get up
Errors are to be made,  mistakes are to be learnt from
Feats of strength tend to make us stronger in the eye of the beholder
Tests of courage leads us with gallantry through remorse
Never let defeat overcome our purities
Washing away the mud from our vision
Never to let anything stand in our way
Of our envisions of the grandest intentions

Holy Mother hear me now!
The High Priestess sits jaded on sapphire throne wreath'd in laurel purities,
Blessing the sinners one by one as they line up grovelling down the block,
Shivering for acceptance, the emaciated children of a future abandoned and thrown to the wolves,
In reverence, she watches the nations burn!
The prisons burn! The churches burn!
The balance bleeds the light of dawn into the sidewalk cracks and tinted apothecary windows,
While the other end of the spectrum weeps blackest night into the open casket funerals of the unjustifiable crimes committed in the name of PEACE
The Almighty PEACE
PEACE in the Highest
PEACE at all costs
The High Priestess rains down PEACE from her bomb shelter throne
You may not understand it now
But this is for your own good

Do we fall
Before they grow old or
Were ever even born to be felled?
The stock still Tellurian laud
In mode of passion
Specific not yet pacific;
Or are we pushed? whilst
Love is left to rot and the
Vast xoanon pap unmanifest
To cede within the catacombs
Cooking carrots and peas in the same ***
Like a Hymn of Ascent
As you cannot shake hands with
A clenched fist or Angels breath
Upon purities ruination,-
Hells favourite fable
A fairy-tale admist humanity
A nursery rhyme at will
Memorized by demons
Of the helved simony
Forsakenly told of
The souls nexus and an
Enchanted book writ in heaven
Owned by God.


ELEETE J MUIR

The agonizing descent began with a single tear
Waves of despair washing away glimmers of faith
Sounds of voices becoming insincere
Life at the mercy of the reaper’s snathe

Pleas drowned out by ungrateful minds
Reckless decisions clouding judgment
Sight blinded by all of mankind
Ambition forced into becoming recumbent

Landing with a force so strong
Ignorant to the surrounding shadow
Caught in a feeling hidden for too long
Tempted by the emptiness of tomorrow

Rising a wary eye to see
Dreading what lies in the darkness
Fearing the gaze of a beastly devotee
The last remains of the heartless

A ghastly creature looms above
Paralyzing fear skipping a beat
Yearning the heart of a mourning dove
Gaze lowers in the acceptance of defeat

A facade retreats to reveal a broken shard
A reflection of inner pain set free
Loneliness leaving the soul scarred
Never having experienced the sensuality

No longer held back by the feeling of being afraid
Realizations of similarity
A hand reaches out to pervade
Minds trusting the confidence of sincerity

A bond formed between damaged obscurities
Breaking the mold carved by fate
Mirror revealing the true purities
Becoming a new incarnate

No longer the one to blame
Giving a home to those who suffer
They would call out a simple name
A winged lord dubbed Lucifer

The flood left a cavity.
It came in without mercy,
It removed and ripped what I held onto,
It took away what I loved,
But it's ironic that a flood of love removed all the love that I ever had.
The flood diluted it's impurities with my purities.

Sitting under a weird tree
with my pretty dress on
eyes shut
Senses open
I wait for you

Oh dear tree
-as weird as we together can be-
When you come,
if you come
Bring me a single flower
A flower whose nature we both know so well
A pure and the untouched one- you know?
And make sure it will be
as pure as all the destroyed purities of this universe
as untouched as all the pains touched
and only then
I will see you
with my eyes shut
sitting on top of the sole sunny ray patched hill
painting patiently
as future and past gets so near Now
glow of your face
is my palette of pastel colors
diluted by crystal waters
oh and only then
galaxies, stars and suns
radiated by your glittery eyes
which I have known so well
since the beginning of times
will form a new land
for the creatures here
and for us
at this new place
across the bridge
we just managed to cross
before its collapse
you know?
And
When you come
if you come
but,
oh,
so,
No
I won’t move until that time.

Have I told you I’m lost, have I yet? I can’t say if its disappointment or sadness but around I see nothing I wanted for myself.
Haven’t I told you I’m lost, I’m so lost I can’t even find my fingers to erase tears I caught from walking the night, along with tares from moments clawing at me until I got to where I am. Scrap and lost…Where have I landed in the years I’ve gained, my footsteps seem to be erased, I can’t go back to my childhood.

“My thoughts have no origin. They are stolen
letters from days that always were an elusion to pass.
Yet when I read them, when I sit to read what
they exactly mean, they belong to a lost girl.
Such a sad beautiful creature, who knows nothing
Of painting herself a house to live in, such a lone
creature with an open door for silly notion’s
character to arrive. Those are my thoughts.”

I want my mother. Her, she can place me on her lap, cuddle me to her chest and I will belong. Haven’t I said I live in a circle? I live in a circle with no clear road to venture on. I’ve turned around, I’ve turned around! My head is spinning, I can’t feel my body. I am so lost…

“ I want to know how to speak to myself
in such a manner, its love letters from
past moments I failed to capture.
Be brave before a mirror, it fails
to converse back and show me my image.
Walk in colourless shoes I saw displayed
But failed to accept belonged to the dead.”

If I took myself away, far away to not feel anguish when I’m misunderstood; what sin will I have committed? I have searched every corner for one to hold my hand to his, I’ve not found him. And loneliness crushes my heart into pieces I ran away from in a fit of anger, so scattered pieces of my person are not with me, I’m only empty. I’m so vacant trying to teach my hand to hold my other hand.

“My thoughts are borrowed, from a journey
travelled by the wind, taken from anyone
who reared their nose for a longer intake.
They are belongings missing yet noticed,
By a blended home my mind has become.
I wish I knew which came from where…”

Have I not told you honestly, my father does not speak? He used to when I was in my mother’s belly, it explains how his voice is only a far away siren I have been following but could not find. I know his face, like I know mine. His comforts though are a foreigner I have not had the pleasure of meeting.

“I want to remember last night’s dream
not for recreation but put in an album
where all my purities are kept
So my children can know their mother,
when they arrived I was mum
Telling reality we are not friends
secluded me into a corpse on display.
I relate only to photographs, alive yet not.”

When will I begin to start anew, a beginning at the end, in the midst of nowhere with no one to sing me forward? I am lonely. My mind is a trigger, narrates such stories, they build such hopes only to tare them down just as shallowly. Perhaps being poor is my enemy…

“When I am sad, my thoughts turn to you.
You tell me what to do, hang myself!
When I am happy, my thoughts turn to you.
You tell me what to do, drown myself.
When I am anxious, my thoughts turn to you.
You tell me what do, surrender to myself.
When I am scared, my thoughts…”

I was not born a fighter, have I told you? Pick myself up when all around me is a bottomless colour. “A new day is all I need”, I’ve said countless times before, but ended up where my mind told me is home; with no past to speak of and no future to wonder of. In this state, I wish to know how to speak to myself.

So i don't talk to you anymore
i am my own; for myself
and if i, by any chance, wish to speak
i will let my words go in slain; by choice  
and turn to you, no further
today, my destiny singing song of forlorn
i shall keep my head up
and may sing, happy songs
with nightingales of hope, and birds of joy  
i will be my own shelter
I will keep life alive !
And on and on and on, i will dwell
like a wise person-
and by my own desire,
i will have no desire to be, anymore
this is the courage of my own freedom- i take pride in my blood
i dance in ecstasy of being alive to the moment
i swim in passions of my heart's beautiful existence
towards a sweet destiny i will go
the beloved is most beautiful to the beholder
and man sits, like a sadist; regretting of his idle dreams
i am angered to see such a waste of life; such purities went in vain
yet indifference cannot be met with bowls of honest
so i shall go on and on, not to be stopped
every tone of this world makes me a dreamer
that language is neither understood nor felt
it's a world of deaf, with mute voices- my silence be of significance than empty words
and i continue to exist, for myself, by myself- in bowls of these ecstatic sweetness !

Cut the crap
they cleave on
        purity of religion.

Brushing demons
below the cloth of
       purities shelf..

By words, are versed
within atheists words
       I'll take a stand..

Love, hurricane on rampage
Clearing the house of iniquities
Bringing down hell house
Erecting love boulevards
Building castles in rainbows
With boulders of purities
In the  lyrics of love suffused
Burying hate season of anomie.

Who are we to judge for our biggest faults lie in our reflections?

When is it right to criticize if we are but imperfections in the light?

Can we cast a stone, when our fortress is made of glass?

Can we speak ill of outer evil when sometimes the worst evil is within?

How can call thus impure when we exhibit no purities within ourselves?