she reads books and she plays music
the cute, innocent
clumsy girl
with freckles on her cheeks

you like to read and listen to music
the cool, handsome
sweet-talking man
who likes freckles on her cheeks

[ or at least you said you did ]

she rolls her eyes at your compliments
the cautious, bright
guarded girl
with curiosity in her eyes

you lay them on thick
the certain, sharp
imprudent man
with hidden agendas on your lips

she lingers a little longer
in hopes of crossing your path throughout the day

she laughs at your jokes
and you know they're not funny

she sings for you in the car because
you like her voice

[ or at least you said you did ]

she's become good at excuses
the hopeful, naive
kind-hearted girl
with sureness in her words

you soak them up
the stark, ill-intentioned
vacant boy
with uncertainty in your voice

she gave all she had to care for you,
the smooth, clever
self-serving boy

you convinced her that you loved her

[ or at least you said you did ]

"What do you mean you've never seen Blade Runner? My GOD! I didn't think there was a single person on the planet that hasn't seen that. They showed it to us in elementary school as an example of a prophetic, foretelling, social commentary."
"Well, I never was a fan of fiction or science, even though somehow I've still managed to live my fair share of both."
" Do androids dream of electric sheep? What are your dreams?"
"Electric...sheep?"
"Yeah, that's the title of the book the movie is based on, but like, I'm honestly curious about the second part. It's a better ice-breaker than your deprived childhood".
"You wanna' know what I dream? I dream of a world soaked in gasoline, and a lone, shadowy, figure masked by deceit and decay, filling the air with a rotten sulfuric smell as he festers in his own filth. I can't see this guy clearly, but I know him. I know him in my head and my heart and he just stands there, idle, in a place where he can see the silhouetted skyline of the entire wretched city. Trapped between his forefinger and thumb is  a match donning a dancing flame for a hat, performing a flamenco routine for two wild eyes.  Eyes that indicate a sureness of what to do, but make no use of intentions. They seem to sort of flip between question and answer with each dimming and brightening of the match's beacon.  The question appears to already have been answered, but has yet to be acted upon. He's tinkering with the notion.  Is this due to hesitation in the man's mind, or is he simply toying with the already squirming city? The final act is inevitable, yet the ulterior option, to extinguish the trigger, still stands...". He pauses.
His new partner's face has lost most of its color and his mouth is propped open with a jack made of sheer horror and curiosity.
"Well JESUS man! Aren't you gonna tell me the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is: I wake up".
He languidly looks around, takes a pull from the bottle, and proceeds to pull his mask over his face. His partner isn't sure, but he thought he'd caught a smile crack before his mouth was covered,
  "...and not like a haha I'm yankin' your chain kinda grin. This ****** meant it", his partner would recall later to some buddies in a bar.
"I wake up and wonder whether I'm the man, or the match".
He slams the magazine into his weapon and rips the slide back to load up the first round of ammunition. He exits the vehicle, and heads towards the disheveled building that has more or less sunk into its foundation. His new partner shakes his head, wipes his face with his paws of hands, pulls on his mask, and flicks the *** end of his cigarette whose embers have already begun to eat away at the cotton filter out towards the woods. He catches the light from the buckshot of the cherry out of the corner of his eye and imagines that match spinning towards the city.
"What the **** have I gotten into..."

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one’s going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest ******* made aware.

Because Instagram is my medium, and because somewhere deep down--in that place that no one talks about--it makes me feel immensely validated: putting out my ******* and receiving little bits of peer approval in return... Because I still smoke too fast when I want that short indulgent rush to last the most, so light another. Because the Itunes visualizer is an assured source of inspiration when I am feeling small about the universe, and about the 5-ish senses that I am confined to, and because there is too much of me to simply be kept quiet; because the things I want are wanted too completely to shut up about. Because I am doing excellent, and I want everybody in the world to applaud me for it--for my relentless and unyielding grasp of sanity, which often slips without my sureness be-ing lost along with it, and because the wreckage is a comfy place to lie when everything comes down to it...
Because admitting to yourself that you are addicted is the first step to recovery--or so I am told,,, and because denial is the first step one must fall from if they're itching to reach bottom... Because I am tired of climbing and have learned--among all else--how to enjoy the weightlessness of this long fall and the uncertainty it brings: uncertainty being my one true love, alongside mistress logic, who I truly LOVE returning to with open arms, seeking her comfort after a long long trip-- where I can walk winter without minding cold, and can enjoy seeing all the sights and all the Mad, Mad characters that wonderland contains. Because there is no 'character limit' nor is there censorship where I am concerned. Because I crave the criticism: that repetition is a cheaters way to write--and I want to cheat life's limitations and all social standards every chance I get. Because above all else, below all else, I want to clarify that--through every lesson I have taken-in since recently deceased December, and through all I have learned painfully, through the confusion and unrecognized irrelevance,
Because the greatest thing that I have learned thus far is: I am learning.

The tile roof gleamed in the sun light after the morning mist left the mix of glint and glistening
The adobe walls ran down to the cobble stones that made the side walk and street above the
Door frame was a single window that had two hanging floral baskets it played favorably when
One recalled Spanish Harlem a place of heartfelt dreams a mystifying groan lay in the streets
And the abodes of those living there Elena had been a frequent guest here now she had broke
Completely with that part of her life but it still swirled up the streets like quiet smoke and when
It fully engulfed her you could see this sadness in her eyes it spoke of a crushed Spanish rose it
Didn’t matter if you had only been a visitor the tendrils are far reaching a place and its people
Those broken glimpses the heavy sense you felt even with the delightful aroma of food and
Laughter in the home oppression race difference was like a dark shadow you resist it in many
Ways but it prevails you are awash in its sadness but here she would sparkle and shine in divine
Ways she brought the sea away with her it seemed to cling to her she had deep soulful eyes
Black as part of the reef her eyes still but full of wonder and mystery were they not as moist as
The sea breeze that gently assaulted their sea side homes there was sureness about her an
Independence that truly rivaled the sea and it tempestuousness her heart was rugged but
Fiercely true and it did seem that great waves broke over and against her life but she remained
Calm and serene as the sea when it set flat as glass this mirror as you behold it you see
Sacredness at its edges life from land here is displayed against such grandeur and vastness you
See large and perplexing problems in a clear bright light at times she spoke in a whisper you
Could swear you were hearing the sea when it moaned as it had problems this continuing
Lapping of waves at times it delivered dreams and then just as suddenly took them back to the
Deep from where their origins are but at that moment you were extended enlarged you were
More than just the small measure of self but wind and water an depths now have become the
New fabric of your life an now Elena doesn’t seem strange anymore but she is a gift most
Wondrous a stranger who comes with emotional weights from her former life now they have
Been weighed and judged by the sea and then all is transformed the intermingling of loss on
Land and then finding the eternal equivalent in the timeless waves of the sea a sea monster  
Didn’t arise but a lovely one that engaged the sea in a love that brought victory and hope to all
Who were blessed to know her and the gifts she had received and with generosity she
Continues To give to all who have needs in this writing she has visited you today be increased
Be happy Know that you are loved my friend no one can truly hurt you is it not spoken by the
Sea by waves that never stop their caressing the brow of land and the wind delivers the life
Giving rain and when you stand at its edge the immensity drives deeply into the soul you are
Immersed to the point you must let go and there is where answers are found when you realize
You are not in control but there is one who controls the sea and He controls your life as well
You are surrounded on all sides by a sea of love float in its healing waters you are a child of such
Matters you can’t even fathom so turn and plunge into wondrous joy of hope and expectation
Adrift look up more than sun and moon are above you but a Holy crown Heaven is His throne
And Earth is His footstool and He is familiar with the mighty deep so you come steeped in
Trouble but the calling from the sea speaks truth and freedom it all belongs and was made for
You so be not a castaway but cast your life on the water by faith and all of earth and heaven is
Yours Elena found it to be so you will find what she found when forlorn she looked and called to
The sea for help all she found now she gives to others

Hello, anguish.

Long time, no torture.

How have your travels been?

Tell me, did the fires burn
Too hot for you?
I thought, for once,
I had banished you
To whichever pit
Of Hell
You managed to arise from,
So that you may
Find me so easily,
As the goal of a hunt
Caught in your crosshairs.

I should have known better.

Well, while you're here,
Please have a seat.
Sit anywhere you like.

Anywhere but THERE!

You must be a well-seasoned guest
To know exactly which door to knock on,
And exactly where you want to rest.
So of course you pick my heart,
And lay your feet upon my soul.

I do so hope you're comfortable.

Insistent *******.

How have I been?

Why, how kind of you to ask.

What's your motive?

I've been fine, really.
A little sporadic uneasiness
Here and there,
But mostly on the fast track
To regaining my peace of mind.

Well, I was actually
In the middle of it
When you arrived.

I sound like I'm talking to a therapist.

Yes, I need 10 milligrams of Stop Talking To Inanimate Feelings.

Oh, don't be sorry.

As if you ever are.

I don't mind the company at all.
I do spend so much time
Alone these days.

I was well on my way
To finding my resting place,
My place of solitude
And productive thought,
A fragile teacup
Of a space
In the landfill
Of the world.

Some days are better
Than others.

What's that?

A gift, you say?

A souveneir, perhaps?

To hell if I'm keeping whatever it is.

What might you have for me this time.

Some sort of anxiety, I'm sure. But what about this time around?

My schooling? My finances? My family? My relationship, matters of the heart?


Oh.

Uncertainty.

Well... it wasn't
what I was expecting,
But still, it's nothing less
Than what I would expect from you.

Uncertainty about what,
Though?

There's no label this time.

.........

What do you mean,
It's a gift for identifying?

And WHERE are you going?

No.

NO.

You cannot simply leave this here,
Resting upon my weary shoulders,
Which bear so much already,
And leave me to figure it out.
You mustn't simply waltz off
Into the unknown blackness
Of the recesses of the human mind,
As if you haven't a care in the world.

You are a terrible guest,
Showing up uninvited,
At a most inconvenient time,
Bearing gifts of unneeded,
Unnamed weight,
Leaving me to figure it out.

Fine. Leave.

You wretched, vile creature.

See if I let you in again.
Begone, and let every door
Hit you on your way out.
May every jagged rock
In your path
Catch your foot in your
Sadistic, carefree walk
About the earth.
May every web
That spiders weave
Entangle you
Beyond rescue.

Yes, goodbye.

Now, what of this....
Thing?

It has no name,
Yet I am supposed
To know what it is.

Hmm.

Feels like...
Questioning.

Yes, there's questioning here.

Many questions.

But of what?

I have questions about
Many things,
As my curious nature
Must have it so.

Also feels like...
Emotion.

Unwanted emotion.

How that little beast
Does manage to bring
The worst gifts to me,
At the worst times,
Is beyond me.

He needs a hobby.

Let's see... emotions
Of the heartfelt kind.
Of the deep recesses
Of that bipolar *****
Which no ne trusts
And everyone breaks.

Emotions and questions.

Oh dear God.

No.

No, I must dispose of it
Right away.

This is the sort of thing
I fear most.
HOW did he manage,
Also,
To get fear in there,
As well?!

No, it must be thrown away.


"Do not yell your curses at me!"

"Who are you to say that I
Haven't an idea at all
What I want, and when,
And where, and why?!
What judge are you,
And with what authority
Do you claim I am divided,
My side unpicked,
And that a canyon
Lives within me?"

"Petty fool, you are not welcome here!"
I know what I am doing!
And I shall make the rules,
For it is I who must obey them!"


Alas,
There are no rules.
None to be made,
And none to be followed.

Even more tragic,
Is that I know not
What I am doing,
And I doubt I ever will.

For it is these,
Of all horrid gifts,
Delivered without
Notice,
At the precious price
Of losing sureness of mind
And peace of the soul,
That may not be returned.

The gift that keeps on giving,
Until I decide it shan't...

A decision I cannot bear to make,
While in company
Of battered spirit,
Fearful heart,
And overconfident,
Incessantly calculating mind. 

For now that he is gone,
I must entertain them, too.  

*How did I ever get so lucky?

What is my Purpose?
On this earth's surface.
Do I have an ultimate service,
within these verses?

What is my purpose,
In today's circus.
Is it to buy all that I can purchase?
Or be out on the street shirtless.

What is my purpose,
Among the Earth's worthless,
Is it to grow up scared and nervous?
Or walk around nerveless.

What is my purpose,
In this earth's furnace,
Is it to be full of pureness
and warm those around me like a thermos?

To the above questions,
I am wordless.
To the above questions,
I am verbless.
To the above questions,
I am termless.
So i guess my purpose,
Is full of obscureness.
And in this search for sureness,
I strive on with sterness,
Ignoring the churchless,
In doing my best to furbish
My best definition
Of Purpose.

I had no idea how one email could give me the best week of my life, yet utterly break me further than I already was. The truth that I shared has taken away and given so much. My family has shamed me. All of you, my friends, have lifted me up. I had no idea what type of emotions would come with this sincerity.  

  I was overridden with anxiety, unable to breathe and violently shaking, as I sent the email. I was unable to sleep that night with mind shattering anxiety, and the giddy relief that came through my best friend's text.

  I was so terrified and anxiety ridden that I became physically sick and unable to attend school the next day. But all of your support and love lifted me from this for just a moment during lunch. I, for once in my life, had something that I could hold onto and be sure about; something that told me I did have a future.

  But, in a matter of days, I was shown that all good things come with a price. Somehow my mother was informed of this email I sent to all of you. My mother was as hateful as she proves herself to be daily; shaming me, rejecting my privilege to believe in God and calling me an abomination in the Lord’s eyes. She proceeded to kick me out of her home, saying that she didn’t need any more of Satan's work in her life.

  Then, as I was at my Dad’s house, she decided to take the right that was never her’s, and share the news to those I did not wish for it to be shared with. Now, my Dad, my friend, Katy, who hates homosexuals and many others know. My mother has ruined and tainted my only escape from my ruthless reality: the people that had no idea of my mental illnesses or sexuality.

   This brings me to where I am now. I have lost so much in the past week and gained very little. Even right now, all the security and sureness that I felt on that first day had been swept away by my family and my own beliefs and insecurities. I have lost every uninformed outlet in my life this week. I have questioned if homosexuality is truly against God’s will. I have racked my brain to try to find an answer on if this will make me unworthy, an abomination or a non-believer. I have lapsed from sureness to self hatred hundreds of times. I want to spend my'life for God, but I don’t know if I can because of this.

I am torn between fighting myself with deadly blows of self hatred, to believing God isn’t how my parents say he is. I don’t know whether to believe I can be this way, or if I have to somehow change myself. I just hope I can survive this.

"Bye, Lee!" chirps one of my friends. I muster a smile for her, put a little enthusiasm into my voice, "Bye!" and start walking down the side of the road, home. Or wherever. It's nighttime, and mist hangs in the air, so thick in spots that it's almost rain. I put my ipod on, smooth my hair back, look up at the few stars. It's cool but so humid that I can feel the air pressing on me.
"Elevator straight into my skull..."
No street lights. I like it that way. I like it better when the darkness isn't broken by pools of light. I can think better, then. Not that I really want to think. Hence the loud music. I know I should change the song, put on something less smooth and dreamy, less dark, less thoughtful. But my nature is to dwell on whatever mood I'm in. And tonight I'm in the mood to lose all my choices. I think about her. About her lips, red in the bright lights. About how she wouldn't really touch me. About what it would mean if she had. I think about giving up. I think about how empty my life would be if I did. I think about how hard it promises to be if I don't, and how slim my chances really are. I think about everyone else she could pick. I think about the time she picked me. I can't shut it off, there on my long road in the misty darkness. It just runs by itself, a never ending stream of thought. It hurts! God, it hurts to think that I may never really get to love her again. To kiss her. To hold her. It hurts to think of the very real possibility that she's just being nice, letting me near her. It hurts to think that maybe she wants what I want, but will refuse to let it happen. It all hurts. And I stop, hold my head a minute, scrape my hair back from my eyes and look up, trying to regain control. It hurts so that for a moment I can see myself curling up right there, a tight little ball, and crying until my tears run out. I can feel her arms around me, the ghost of what used to be. They are so comforting that I could cry myself to death, knowing they aren't real.
"On the edge of a dream that you had..."
It's not the fact that she's not here, not just that. It's that she could be, so easily, and she's not. And that drives it home into my heart. I am disinclined to lie to myself, about anything. But I know that I could lie to myself over her. I could do that, I am that vulnerable. What hurts is that I don't know if I'm lying to myself. That I could so easily see the signs that she doesn't want me, so easily, but that I ignore them. I don't know what I believe. I don't know what to think. When I look into her face, I can read nothing there. No joy to see me, no disgust, no love, no hatred. Somehow it's almost worse to think that perhaps she feels nothing at all. Indifference is more unendurable than hate.
"Has anybody ever told you it's not coming true?"
But no, no she can't feel nothing... Why would she choose me for anything ever if she didn't feel something? God, I can't hold it all. My head spins. I feel my arms wrapped around me, around my stomach so tight that I am forced to my knees. Get a grip, Lee. Get a ******* grip. Fists. I stab my nails into my palms, feel the half moons of blood rising as I force myself to stand. I'm too tired for this. Too tired to worry, too tired to hurt. I just want comfort. Her comfort. But she won't give it. She is far away. I can feel her distance when she is two inches from me. I can feel her pushing me away even when she hugs me. Especially then. It tears my heart up. I feel the tears run down my cheeks, and I am ashamed, defeated. And all of a sudden, in my desolation, I hit the plateau that never used to be there. I level out and suddenly a heavy apathy weighs my limbs like lead.
"You can hold on but I wouldn't waste your time..."
Suddenly I stand completely still, a realization slowly dawning in me, raising my eyes, relaxing my stance of anguish. I can feel my body loosening. My mind empties, and there is the center line of the road in my head. It's white and broken. The pavement is smooth and dark, not yet marred by cracks or crumbles.
"Farewell my..."
And abruptly there I am, standing on the line. I missed a whole moment. My eyes feel glazed. My breaths come like in sleep. To think of anything elicits no response, no reaction, no recognition. All I am is one moment.
"Black balloon."
I lay down, carefully, so that I fit perfectly on the line, and stare up at the black sky above me. Repeat, repeat, repeat, the song plays over and over, too many times to count, deepening the darkness around me until I feel as if I have never been anything or anywhere or anyone other than this. I am only darkness, and there are no edges to me. It hits me like a wave, the truth. That she's not coming back. That I am wasting my time. That I am alone. But where I expect tears, panic, anguish, I find only a sick calm. The kind of calm sureness that comes with finally finding the truth, and not caring one bit, because you know exactly what to do.
"Ahhh, ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhh, ahh, ah, ah..."
Five minutes ago- was it five or fifty?-there was no way out of it. There was no solution but to move forward. Nothing I could do. Now, I cannot feel desperate. I can only feel this sort of sad, calm obsession.
"Farewell my..."
This drive, this compulsion, with a touch of melancholy but a peace almost like sleep. I sit up. Push myself to my feet. Stand in the very center of the road. Headlights are creeping around the corner. I stand there and stare at them. It's odd to see. Have you ever stood before a car, directly in front of it, and it was so dark you could only see the headlights, growing, growing...? I suppose you probably haven't. It is almost a spiritual experience, seeing them loom ahead of me. They pull me toward them like a magnet, and my body sways and leans forward. Here they come, right here, so close... My eyes are full of the glow of those headlights. They are the same as me. Empty and full of cold light.
"Black balloon. The weather had its way with you."
And now I am sprawled on the road. Below me I see blood. I see limbs askew. I am above myself, suspended within the mist, and before all the lights invade and pull us apart, I see the girl I used to be. She is so pale. So small. So fragile. For the first time in so long, her face does not show the lines of pain. She looks so...peaceful. And I feel no regret. I know I am unraveling, and I am so glad to feel myself slipping away. I feel my memories fading, my cares, my empathy, my hatred, my pain, and finally...my love. I am nothing. Finally. Finally I am nothing.
"Farewell my..."
Going...going....
"Black balloon."
Gone.

imagine all the cells that form to
join in your sensation
all the stars that blew your bits together
for proper procreation
being born with every breath and
reaching death through exhalation--
i simply can't exist without you
nor you without i,
and of this we can be sure that
(though the sureness of my i
obscures the many in us all[
mere words to ***** for thoughts we cope with]
)it will rumble beneath
and explode at the surface
to delayed surprise of just reprise
(mistaking inflation as progress)
that libations of dogmas won't change a thing:
when you look at the fibers in the fabric of being
(spun finely by spiders invisibly swift)
and if our knowledge were but a fly
we'd see ourselves trapped by its infinite web,
both victim to its trap and servant to its host
(though this is the nature of matters sticking close[
especially light years away])
just as the lattice of language roots deep
inside double-helix libraries unimaginably tall
filled with books authored by curious protons,
excited electrons and fleeting photons,
composed of sentences by snarky quarks and gluons
lying in -eate groups with unseen companions
(read between the lines) working in union
to fashion a sum greater than summation could do--
an alchemical-calculus of fractal fluidity,
finding contexts for novelty to sing songs
like Earth (though just a planet in other eyes)
to give conscious rise within the cosmic playground
embodied by us, but not encompassed by us;
rather extended through us
as curiosity mirrored.

she comes home in the middle of the night
and i help her take her shoes off.
she can't walk in heels,
but in the glow of the night life,
she becomes someone else.
for once
in her life
she is
no one
but herself.
and a boy will buy her a drink,
take her home.
but she is so gone,
because even when she is with him,
she is thinking of a lost boy.
she is thinking of a boy in a coffee shop, smoking all his problems away.
a boy with dreams when they met,
that slowly faded into ash and dust,
nothing now but hazy memories.
she can still remember his eyes,
blue and bright.
now,
they are so dark
she can't even tell their color.
they could be black
and she wouldn't
even
know.
every day, they said "get over him"
every day, they said "he is nothing but trouble"
every day, they said "he will only break your heart"
every day, she said "you don't know him like i do"
and then, after, they said "i told you so"
and she said "you don't know him like i did"
so even when he is kissing her shoulder and i am in the other room,
counting the creaks of the bed
she is thinking of the summer they fell in love.
maybe it was his i-don't-give-a-**** attitude,
maybe it was the attraction of rebellion,
but he changed everything
and she swore she'd never been so in love.
and then, when it was over,
when all the caps that they'd thrown into the air were all cleaned up by the janitor,
we went to new york city
and she reinvented herself.
she packed up one box,
and got the hell out of that town.
she hasn't missed one thing that she left behind,
didn't regret one moment,
except for him.
and so, when they were done,
he put his clothes back on
and left her there in her own bed, lonelier than before.
i had to go in and place the advil on the table,
for the hangover the next morning,
that would be there just like the sureness of the sun rising.
and i was the one
who tucked her in at night
while she was passed out,
and mumbling his name.

Quantum physics scares the **** out of me
Well it’s not really just quantum physics
It’s everything that stands in between its letters
It’s both the solutions and the questions that frighten me most
I was 12 when I first had a panic attack about eternity
I was in the shower, writing thoughts in steam
When all of a sudden
I was suffocating on forever
And showered with thoughts of before time
The all around terrifying notion of timelessness
Caused shivers that felt like our heater had gone out again
Tears rushed down my face
Faster than the speed of light
Not that I knew what it was
But it felt like lightening filled my body
From that moment,
I learned my truest fear of unanswerable questions
As I grew and grew wary
I took less showers in hopes
I wouldn’t find my fears
Swirling in around my ankles
Clogging up the drain
Lingering there
As the only thing that I could
Never wash off of me,
Never flush away

As time moved on with
A sureness I could never have
I floated amongst the thoughts of
Others so as not to drown in my own
But as night comes
So others rest
And as others rest
The Fearful attempt to count sheep
But even the sheep begin to wonder
About the unfathomable
And before I know it
I’m screaming into my pillow
Blaming the sheep for my restless nights
Insisting I’m not crazy
Insisting that wool blankets are the problem
Picking problems to bring me to now
Problems that make the present
Matter more to this masochistic brain
Than the questions that I should never have asked

Unanswerable, I’d repeat
I’d resolve
I’d allow myself to toy the word around,
Flick it around in my mouth,
As if to keep it too busy to ask more,
But also to make the original questions taste so sweet
That I never wanted them to leave my mouth
So I swallowed them
As if to indulge my taste buds just a little longer
But they sat in my stomach like seeds
With time they grew up my throat,
Watered with theological and scientific discussions alike
The first time I was told that my questions, could have a solution,
My stomach lurched into my throat
Now was the time
The questions were uprooting, ready to grow out in this world
But my jaw was taut
And refused to let others be haunted
So the vines
With no where else to go
Moved with intention
Past my mouth,
Behind my eyes
Into my brain
It had taken over
I became my questions
Rooted in the pit of my stomach
Paralyzed by the pain of
Wooden rigidity
Each move dictated by the unbending will
Of an oak tree caged by iron
Questions acting as a fungus
Rotting out happiness,
Killing the mind
That had formed the seed in the first place
I was immobile in my fear and
Planted in my questions
Unwilling to explore
And so the tree stayed
And I saw the world through
Shaded light
Always careful not to climb
Too far up
Too far in
Thankful for the fact
That not many aspire to
Plant seeds
Let alone
Climb trees

By the time I first saw you
Many rings had formed
You were passing through crowds
Like you walk through forests
Letting things be
What they were
And
Watching people act as they may
Imagine my intrigue
As I saw the callous on your hands
Smelled sap on your breath
I felt a friendly fear
In your eyes
But your hands
Did not look pained
Only worn
Still with care
Only when you spoke
Did I feel the logic in your branches
The whips of your leaves that
I had refused to grow
You were questions fully blossomed
You had leaves made of
Wormholes
And
Budding flowers of dark matter
And as I drew my trunk back,
Insisting I was allergic
I got lost in your bark
I found possibilities
Buried amongst your ridges
I soon found a taste so sweet,
It brought shame on my appeasing mantra
Without control
Like forces of nature tend to be
I grew into you
Yet still,
It was not the color of your leaves
Nor the feel of your vines that took me
It was your ability to blossom
Your permission of exploration
The blossoms, though pleasing to the eye,
Grew through your watering and sunlight

As if by some evolutionary revelation,
I turned my face upward
And found the warmth of the sun
Didn’t have to burn me
I opened my body up
And felt a comfort in the waters that
I had once felt would drown me.
The budding flowers I had let wilt
For so long
Arose from my branches,
Now growing toward the stars
With a few more rings
Of sunlight and starlight,
You’re much better at blooming than I,
But with questions now being watered,
My trunk grows with possibility
I may never grow to such great heights
Or fully know the universe beyond
But I do know, that no matter
The truth
If the wormholes
And multiverses
Are as real as
The Redwoods
And
Cherry Blossoms
I’m infinitely pleased
That I’m in this universe,
Sharing starlight,
And questions,
With you.

They buried our Heroes

This piece comes from a bad place the shooting of the congress woman in Tucson but I will not let black hearted soulless creatures
Win so I choose to saddle up and ride into yesteryear a mask man rides a white stallion with the William Tell overture playing in this
Mans portrayal of this western hero we learned and knew what it meant to stand as an individual and that alone we could fight and
Win you’re not always able to be surrounded by friends and family battles some time require we strip down carry only bare essentials
This was the requirements of the real Texas rangers that Clayton Moore portrayed they were sent out alone with only a horse and a gun
And hardship was their constant companions they were asked to do extraordinary feats as we ourselves are now being called to do
Civilians at nine eleven were the first Americans to hear and answer the call we all have been served our fighting papers from just a
Fictional character we were trained in childhood to now be ready as adults to face an altered world where madness can pop up at
Anytime they buried Clayton in the attire he wore so well a true hero who in my thinking laid out a picture perfect formula we are
A free proud people our roots run deep in independence walk tall speak softly but be ready at any moment to rush into the breach
To fight and even die for freedom we are well represented and rounded it isn’t all about being austere we can enjoy life and have
Laughs along the way the next hero when buried had a multiple burial known as the clown prince Red Skelton went to the grave with
San Fernando Red, Cauliflower McPugg", a punchdrunk boxer, Clem Kadiddlehopper, a hick who was identified in at least one sketch
As being from Cornpone County, Tennessee, and "Freddie the Freeloader even speaking of him brings a smile but he was not just a
Funny face he was a principled man he didn’t have to do shock comedy he had talent that kept you laughing and coming back for more
This is part of our armor laughter is like a medicine sometimes the hurts linger and make a waste of a life you have to fight back
You have to defeat the negative in us all that will accept this kind of prison we must mourn and know sorrow but not as a steady diet
Can’t leave Red without telling one funny story the holidays were approaching Red was scheduled for an operation he was sedated
Wheeled into the operating room the surgeon probably almost dropped his scalpel he took the sheet down and found a note that said
Don’t open until Christmas thanks for all the laughs now for a local hero well two a father and daughter well daughters and wife but here
Just one at first Jack Jeffrey is a hero if you knew him it is evident with or without a fez he has a bearing and honorable sureness that
Commanded respect in life and carries on into death I am about to do a total selfish act in my mind since I don’t know where the car
Is or if it even exist anymore don’t get down on me for this act as I played this first in my head before coming over here to write it I paid with
Hard tears and pain maybe that still doesn’t give me the right to intrude but I came back to this country a whipped disabled defeated
Person and then Queen Donna lifted her scepter over my life by speaking of this hero I was able to find my writing voice and live once
again so any way there is something about a man and a car and a manly drive I would get into this car lovingly put my fingers on the
Stirring wheel where his used to be put his put the radio on his favorite station look at the passenger’s seat see this beautiful daughter smiling
As they slowly cruise quiet by ways they have known two minds and hearts bonded at the deepest level by love scenes flow by the
Windows old realities revisited the car filled with a mixture of vibrant memories then and now textures that only a father and daughter
Can know and share by the way I got out back a ways this is their new year’s ride together Happy new year Donna

Dreaming seems to be a cycled reality,
dueling matters of vague interpretation
almost holding on to a fugue
state of delieverance,
that returns to dreaming.

A wakefulness that pardons our stressors,
exploring how sureness of changing tides
have arrived to wash the shore’s footprints;
turning salutations to a once cumbersom
slumber to keeping these eyes closed.

The mind never rests,
it continues to timely act.
Despite the character of one’s gait
submissive to extrinsic. We dream the same.
A neutrality in recognition,
the deepest desire,
the social matter,
and the human acceptance.

We rise to sleep
to deeply wake
the harden reality we failed,
to accept throughout our day,
removing our knighly armor and face
our dragons which have their own vices,
yet our devices hinder. Our true dreams,
blur between eyes closed
changing to dreaming with eyes open.

Realizing all true negatives are true
positives differing only from accepting
that I can vertically add difference;
we can all equate to change
if you keep dreaming in mind.

For years,
God was as reasonable
As any other immaterial thing.
He was in the mornings and evenings.
He was in the washing and in the sleeping.
He was in the walls and the dirt;
He was in the blood.
But as with all things perfect, infallible,
Symmetrical,
Time will only wear
Away your sureness of them.

This unfaith creeps on us
As a dream does.
We are assured against illusion
if we will not investigate.
(You could run through it
For years, not letting it end.)
But when we see the trees' reflection
Glinting off the frozen lakes in winter,
Or else read the words of a Frost
or a Keats,
We find, He is no longer in any of these things.
Whether we are then numb or stricken,
His absence will be hollow, unavailing:
"In the depths all becomes law."

If it is possible,
We should not be terrified;
Though we are always terrified,
And if not,
Then blissfully mistaken.
We must slake our lust,
At least first,
In the physical and close at hand.
We must burn with the mornings and evenings.
And be borne in the unravelling of
Washing and sleeping.
These dutiful rituals,
ephemeral and eternal,
Are in each who've walked before us,
Who've learned and hurt,
Who've breathed our air.
It is here we find
The solace of our ancestry.

And when these, too, become tiresome,
And we are stretched thin
By the weight of the metaphor of all things,
Wholly in those most simple,
Be sure that even this
Deepest gravity
Invents itself from within us.
So trusting are we that
The breaking of our chest
Is reasoned through;
That we are meant for this pain
Or that joy.
Is the parting of the grass made; is it designed?
Even from the tides,
We demand divinity!
We must strive to divorce
From these assumed perceptions:
Become the science, sterility.
Be as simplest machines,
dividing cells:
No use of colours,
No shades,
No God.

Then,
When we are yearning from
The meanest seed,
Quickening and suffering,
For now we can not be reduced
But unto death,
The greatest truths lie herein.
Now, we can suppose longing
Onto handshakes,
And let each small weight upon us be Sisyphean.
We may let, too, jubilation be in
The sun's rising, and in all
Things of measured confidence.
In each fleeting moment,
We can appreciate that we will live
For an infinity of moments,
And also not even one.

Suddenly,
He is in these things.

We can be sure He is no corporeal being,
Willingly given up by our tabula rasa.
And we will know that His visage is made of our fathers
And we are in Him: nowhere.
But He is in our questing
And too, in our need for Him.
And He bends backward,
Head over heels,
twisting like our own anatomy,
To meet us, to free us.
We have felt Him each second we have yearned,
And each second we are bloodied by this yearning,
By these moments.
He is in our most procellous highs,
and in the damp wake of loneliness.
When we hurt most,
We know, with instinct, to let pain in,
To lay bare and be torn,
And torn again.
Why should this be?
Because He is there, too!
He is in tears but
So is he in love!
And love is in the ***,
Love is in the burdens.
Love is in our greatest triumph
And hiding still in our writhing panic.
In our joys and fears,
Our surrenders and our suffering.

We are made of the stuff.

And if one of us should fall in His name,
They will then be immortal.
Not in the sky, nor beneath the Earth,
But in the hearts of humans;
In the mortal, frail, beating hearts
Of those who still bleed for them,
Still ache for them,
Every morning,
Every evening.

He is love.

And, as ever,
So are we.

it is
in-between sentences
diagonal;
directing a conversation you can't have/
the need to protect the pride
Lie on something similar, like
thick grass; emptied cartons of
unfinished favors, leftover excitement/
somewhere else to put your perfect hands
silver, white seconds
pumping your gallop
against the lips, out loud
louder
against the sureness of breath-beside-sleep
louder until we open up
breaking it down for my sanity
tell me you felt me, once
just
to my diaries of you
my need
dried coral reef
doesn't grow under palm trees, darling
pumped from
your need
& why you should be . . .
so very
so very
*brief
with
me

?

Who art thou actually to me?
That is certainly a difficult question;
to which I might have been able not
to giveth a precise answer.
Thou who were yesterday a friend;
and who conversed even so casually
with me back then;
now hath so dearly caught me
and captivated me
that I am not sure of who thou art;
and what room doth thou possess
within th' very kingdom of my heart.
Ah, and tonight, at this very rigorous,
and laborious night
Thou lured and tempted me into thy charms;
and embraced me within thy friendly realms.
Oh, querida, how I want thee too much-
simply too much!
Mi carino, mi amor;
and in fairy tales, as they are supposed to be
Thou would be my senor
And my maiden self thy senorita.
Mi amor de la príncipe!
If only thou knoweth-of how much I desire thee!
But I was sure not-it was but seemingly
unforgivable uncertainty;
whilst thou sat there and laughed beside me;
and I gazed into those patient eyes of thine.
I love thee tenderly, as thou doth emerge
within my silent dreams;
I love thee dearly, as thou didst, tonight,
craved and shaped the wit
and wise sweetness of my heart.
Thou art no-one else but my fiery dreams;
ah, thou art the one I love-
the only one I love indeed!
Thou, with the music of thy soul so sweet,
which captured my emotions so swiftly;
and entangled my passion so sweetly.
Ah, tonight-just tonight,
how thou endorsed my feelings,
and cured my daring longings!
As though in a wakeful dream,
no matter absurd it may seem;
this I declare with unbearable-
yet steady sureness:
I would love thee, surely and tranquilly,
and I hope just that thou would love me
Just like thou art already inside me;
and just how fate hath so fiercely placed
this very dear heart of mine, within thee.

And with that wound to the heart born of cruel enlightenment -
I am affected, and afflicted, to find that He has finally decided to love another.

Who might She be, so superior to me?
How beautiful, Ethereal, Godly must she appear to Him?
Whom could never suffice to provide,
how lowly then am I?

I surmised as engaged that which was nothing but courteous exchange.
His pity shed for foolish me, anguished for His affections,
I was so simple and narcissistic, to imagine any potential ever living.

With that, I am crushed by the weight of a deserved but savage modesty.
How insignificant to His life, diminutive, unworthy must I be?
The sinister sentiment - that He has chosen not only not me, but She - devours all sureness of self and all of my esteem.

Spiteful as I am, I will deny Him tears.
I will cease gratifying such an immense ego and perchance depart with some pieces of dignity.
It is so hard, despite it so long since His immensity last gratified me.

He will never realize the plague on me He's infected,
Never witness the wounds on me He's inflicted,
Never recognize the hopeful heart He's afflicted.

After all this time, perhaps I've accepted that when I come back to You I meet Defeat.
This time, instead, perhaps I take what's left of myself and leave.
Perhaps, I beg, perhaps...
We'll see.

I believe in memories
they smell vanilla on our tongues and the insides of our cheeks
at first, crazy good sureness
but the aftertaste is poison.

sweet poison,
sharp and real like
paper flowers
in a stunning silver vase on the mantle:

what I remember
doesn’t do justice to what we used to know.

The Angels surrounds
the heart of the one
whose heart is broken.
No one can feel
or see the pain in your
heart but only you.
It is hidden away from
the mortal eyes.
Only your essence and
feelings can reach out to
the one whose heart is
disturbed and confused.
No one can touch or
understand how you feel,
except through the power
of love that heals and forgives.
The spoken words of love
are understood by the heart
that is so touched by the
spirit of counsel and
of love and forgiveness.
Only it's breath can cause the
heart to flutter to feel the warmth
of the bliss it exudes.
Can anything be as sweet and
lovely than a forgiven heart of
a wounded soul who has regained
freedom from the nightmares of the
tormented life conquered.
A sureness of a soul set free is glorious.
That is the impression of what the heart
desires for a free spirit unhurt by
unfortunate circumstances.
2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

it's what you do to me that makes me see that the summer isn't so bad when it comes to weather if you're around and act like the winter breeze
it's what you do that fragments and throws away my left over sadness in a hole that's feelings of the are forgotten
it's what you do that puts me to sleep at night because I know I'll wake up and know you'll be mine for the next 16 hours I'm awake
it's what you do that makes me write like I'm writing about a high power that I believe in
it's what you do that makes it seem like the sun and the moon aren't the only things that can light up my world with eternal hope when the sky resembles how I used to feel; blue, or when the sky resembles my biggest fear as an innocent minded 4 year old; the darkness
it's what you do that makes it seem like water isn't the only thing that can keep me alive, because your kisses hydrate my soul more than hydrogen and oxygen hydrate my body
it's what you do that makes me want to copy and paste my words on all that I feel about you inside a door in your heart and lock them with a key that I'll throw in the deepest area of the Atlantic ocean, not even the most powerful magnet in the universe could find it, because the sureness in my sentences I compose for you are meant to stay in your heart like well thought of tattoos without hesitations on inking your skin permanently for the rest of eternity
it's what you do that makes me run the mile in 4 minutes and 53 seconds hoping you'd be at the end of the 5,280 feet I ran
it's what you do that makes think overcoming what I think is impossible at the moment is possible
it's what you do that makes me proud to stand by your side when we're walking hallways full of shame and disappointment
it's what you do that made me realize a believer of God can love a doubter of his word, an opposition to my morals
it's what you do that made me believe some blessings are everlasting, like you
it's what you do that makes me wish I could tattoo my kisses on your face to remind you that I love every inch of what you don't like when you look in the mirror to make your insecurities irrelevant to what I admire
it's what you do that makes me see that comparing galaxies to your eyes don't do them justice
it's what you do, that makes me love you as much as I do, as much as I always have, as much as I always will.

In my dreams
I am too powerful to ignore.
I've learned a thing or two there.
I've got a flinty stare
And a chip on my shoulder
Things I hide beneath a meek smile
An unimpressive little girl voice,
And an eagerness to help.
But behind these eyes
Is a creature that craves power.
My only fear is that I know I have it.
Once I tip my hand,
Once everyone sees it
What will I have?
What's my ace in the hole
If everybody knows I know I'm strong?
In my dreams
They'd be everyone else's nightmares
In my dreams
I run through rainslicked streets
Chased by gunmen
And I feel alive.
I smile, feral,
And I laugh as I fight.
I want that in my body.
I want those bruises and that sureness,
I want my power.
In my dreams when I am set upon
I think
Finally
And I give it my all with a freed laugh
And a joy too wild for waking hours.
I am too powerful to ignore.
I am too powerful to stay hidden.
When I rip off this flimsy skin and step forward
I want to be naked and smug.
But I am afraid that I will have no power
If I don't hide mine.
If it is seen
Is it lessened by the viewers?
My secret
My secret
My secret is I am not
Afraid.

And with that wound to the heart born of cruel enlightenment -
I am affected, and afflicted, to find that He has finally decided to love another.

Who might She be, so superior to me?
How beautiful, Ethereal, Godly must she appear to Him?
Whom could never suffice to provide,
how lowly then am I?

I surmised as engaged that which was nothing but courteous exchange.
His pity shed for foolish me, anguished for His affections,
I was so simple and narcissistic, to imagine any potential ever living.

With that, I am crushed by the weight of a deserved but savage modesty.
How insignificant to His life, diminutive, unworthy must I be?
The sinister sentiment - that He has chosen not only not me, but She - devours all sureness of self and all of my esteem.

Spiteful as I am, I will deny Him tears.
I will cease gratifying such an immense ego and perchance depart with some pieces of dignity.
It is so hard, despite it so long since His immensity last gratified me.

He will never realize the plague on me He's infected,
Never witness the wounds on me He's inflicted,
Never recognize the hopeful heart He's afflicted.

After all this time, perhaps I've accepted that when I come back to You I meet Defeat.
This time, instead, perhaps I take what's left of myself and leave.
Perhaps, I beg, perhaps...
We'll see.

[because not everyone understands what i mean,
though it's obvious to me]

when i say
"you are beautiful"
the meaning
depends on the
[context]
if you know
(and everyone around you knows)
you are a striking
shining
beautiful woman
then i mean,
"you are beautiful."

if you are a person
that has just
spilled their guts
their art
done some
amazingly selfless
act
then i mean
"you are *beautiful."

however,
if i'm speaking
to you*,
and i say
"you are beautiful"
i am saying it
in a
g a l a c t i c
                      |cosmic|
(cellular)
e l e c t r o n - like way

i am saying
that thoughtful look
that comes across
your face
lives in
my heart

i mean
that when i see
your body
i
temp
orar
ily
lose
my
breath…
and my first instinct
is to pour
glitter gold glory
over
you
which would
bring me to tears

when i say
(those words)
i mean that
your neurons are firing
in perfect time
that every decision
you make and
emotion you
reveal
is
right

for you alone
- these words -
s t r e t c h and
enfold
and include
trust and love and
judgement
without these
[there is nothing solid]

i don't call you
an     a i r y    beauty
or a flameless cute or
a lone handsome
your brain connections have
shown themselves to
be level
calm

you are beautiful
because i said i
wanted to give you
something
    and you said
       you already had everything
  and i knew in that moment
             that you meant those words

you are beautiful
because your voice
was made for me alone
to hear my name being said…
   so that it sounds like a drum

you are beautiful
in the blue
        of your eyes
   and the little part of
      your ears
the corners of your mouth
   the softness of
your hair
the hardness of
              your thighs
   the strength in
    your arms
the sureness
          in your chest

my beautiful one
i only want you to know
    that since i found a
beautiful
      cosmic
   ethereal man
like you
  i want you for myself
      i want to show you the way

if others have failed
   to see you for who
you are
     then they are
vile creatures, indeed

when i say
you are beautiful
   i mean i see the creator
                  in you
       the spinner of reality
   who deftly grabs his
warped or broken world
         and shapes it anew
without leaking dark bitterness
onto others
      while plucking strings
   and summoning images
            from the wild vastness
of imagination

you have caught my
eye     my
      ear      my
            body
wild one

in your presence
i listen and i connect
       i watch and i remember
              i feel every touch to the core

in the stillness
these words bombard me

because i could never
say this to your face -
   i would sound
    like a silly
          over-emotional
                   unstable
girl.

so instead i lamely say,

"i really like you."
"you are beautiful."

but believe me,

i am no girl.
i am not silly.
i am not over-emotional.
i am not unstable.
i am simply a poet.

i see, i feel, and the words come.
these words are true and rather
   un-emotional at times
        more like scientific facts
being fed from the environment
     and filtered through my senses
             my brain
                     my chemicals
and spit out in
data called poetry.

here is the data regarding your beauty.
interpret it as you will.

I drove slowly down
The depths of the dusk
As she chewed on the stems,
I tried on the tusks.
As she entered high
And I crawled down low,
I wished for the truth
Of what she soon would know.
Oh what joys could it bring?
Patterns was she seeing?
I wondered in silence;
A sleepwalking being.
I admit I cannot,
Though I wish that I could,
Or not that I "can't",
Rather, if I should.
My stability's lacking
My sureness unsure,
Good trips need good backing
And a soul that is pure.
As of right now,
I am less than demure.  

So dull grey is life,
Forced laughter is love,
But the answer to existence
Lies in a questionable, edible drug.

Sitting,waiting in the bus shelter,
the mind is led by roving thoughts
from the now and here
into fields often not explored
whereto the feet hesitate to stray.

I sit there seeing the world hurry on,
not really looking at the people all around
but thinking back;thinking about those
who used to walk these same streets
who used to hurry off just so.

The roads may have forgotten their tread,
their faces blurred by time,
their voice masked by life's din,
soon to be faded into memory;
our love glossing over their faults.

But what of their stories?
What of the things left unsaid?
What of the questions unanswered?
What of their talents not passed down?
What of the bonds,the people undone?

Are their stories lost?
Never meant to be finished?
Small and unimportant enough
to be cut off,be discarded?
Lives destined for the void?

But what of those left behind?
Stories tainted by that void?
Hearts burdened b their absence?
Eyes wearied of waiting?
Dreams filled with longing?

The bus arrives with that sureness
of the things that come and go.
Boarding it,I sit next to a window
and let it carry me away like I've let
those things that come and go.

Gazing out the window,
I see life rushing past me.
And a desire takes hold of me
for this journey to go on,
to keep moving while immobile.

I think of those stories unfinished,
stories seen through a man's eyes,
read with a man's wisdom.
But what if that is not all?
What if there is more?

What if some questions are
never meant to be answered?
Some things be left unsaid?
Some talents never to be passed on
but define the person lost and him alone?

What if the stories left behind
are meant to be tainted that way?
To bear a fragrance like no other,
the void marking them for perfection.
What if people are meant to be undone?

What if the stories are not lost
but merged with the living ones?
To fuel them,to further them,
to be a muse to spur them,
be a core in their shaping?

Wistful thinking all,devised to soothe.
The mind awash with torrential thoughts
still hears a small voice of hope,
holding on to it while hanging
above a chasm of decadence.

Every night we go to bed
trusting the angels guarding us
to let happen what is right;
slipping into peaceful oblivion,unsure
whether we will wake from it again.

All these thoughts,these stories float
as leaves on that river called Life.
Whether we be afloat or under,
it flows;the grand story goes on
crafted by The Great Writer.

After all the broken hopes
dare we still hope on
as did Abraham of old,
hoping where there is none,
seeing life where there is death?

Dare we still dream on?
Dare we hope our stories
will not be left unfinished
thinking,wanting to believe that
Life is Hope is Life?

all my life, i have waited for promises.
she left, he left,
they dissipated with ease,
smoke fading into the morning air
i have learned to stand
on my own two feet,
a little unsteady &
a little unsure, but
i’m still here after
trying not to be.
swallowed poison, spit food
from my stomach, sharpened
blades against my skin.
& here i am.
isn’t it beautiful?
isn’t the world worth
staying a little longer for?

now, i know enough not
to threaten myself with
certain oblivion.  that i will not
be another sad story.  that
there are somewheres i have
never travelled, *** that must
be had, faces i have not yet
split into smiles with my own.  
& i don’t quite know who i am,
no certainty nor sureness, but
i’m ready for the good to come.

& now there’s you & i don’t think
i’ve wanted this badly.  me, i’m on the verge
of becoming the best of myself &
then there’s you.  give me your forever &
i’ll kiss you every morning.  give me your forever
& i’ll never regret a thing.  give me your
forever & i will go until no end
to love you for the rest
of your days.

i’m sorry to sound so confessional but
after trying to sink these feelings to
the bottom of the seabed, i learned
that words float.  you are not a shipwreck
waiting to happen.  you are mine
& i am yours &
let’s just see
what sort
of world
we are
as one.

Realm Piercing lives
“You may either win your peace or buy it; win it by resistance to evil buy it by compromise with evil” John Ruskin: The Two Paths.

We forget we were born out of revolution another war is known by all ignored by the majority
Take tentative steps yes but take the steps why because you’re missing your rightful advantage
Look down your ordinary street it leading somewhere not just along common paths its rarity
There are gates in common lanes made of light fused glass this is the portal to new understanding

Why are people bored morose disgusted they forgot they were created by a creator dreamer
First thing people do is follow the herd mentality it doesn’t fly in fact it crawls in a hole and stays there
You put ten people together the potential is mind boggling if only they thought so you need a redeemer
Not just the spiritual but a natural one fix your eyes on the impossible then work and achieve it

You were made for feats not the fears we surrender to and let the best of life recede into nothingness
When I see children they live in magical wonder they are wise beyond their years trust their secret
Their responsibility is that they are on the greatest journey one of discovery it only takes willingness
You are the sureness that makes it all possible as you embrace joy and it shows they are enlarged

You give up childlike fantasy and you’re limiting all roads that were made and lead to success
The morning is the bow this hidden bridge will carry many a load into a knew and unknown land
Stand tall within the rich shadows of those who built empires they only show the way to access
They proved the inaccessible heights are reachable by any one determined and brave enough to try

Wide awake, the restless moon
Shone and sang its bright white ring,
Casting shadows long and purple,
On every silent flapping wing,
On each tucked in, dreaming child.
Playing while the whole world sleeps.

Yet, one small child does not sleep
For he gazes up to the white lit ring.
Ghosts and rumors haunt this child
His only reprieve the song of the moon.
He rests safely under its wing,
Living his dreams in shadowed purple.

Sureness mounts ever in the purple
Haze of night, when strangers sleep.
Seemingly year after year, out spout wings,
As he dances, swaggers, in midnight’s ring,
Learning the luring song of the moon,
Creatures run wild, and no sleeping child.

Until one day, he’s no longer a child
And all he lives is the world of purple.
Child to the seductive moon,
He knows not the world of sleep.
Yet on he dances in his endless ring
Flapping forever with his useless wings.

Then, he shouts, these are my wings!
I no longer hide in the dreams of a child!
So he dances his dance, in his last wrung ring.
And preying on his dark world, purple
With quiet, lonely with others’ sleep,
He glides from a lovely capture, His moon.

The song he learned from the moon
As he wakes, still sprites from his silver wing.
Heaviness on him weighs from sleep,
His body shrinks, fragile as a child.
Yet still in this world he craves purple,
And the song in his ears still rings.

Now, as he looks at the moon, its song yet again does ring,
And he wakes from day to purple, and stretches his molting wings,
With the mind of a man and whimsy of a child, he vows the world his for as long as they, and not he, sleep.

Let's have a conversation
we've never had before
where I dazzle and surprise you
and you pin me to the floor
and the world falls out of order
in a new and perfect way
and we wake up on the faultlines
of a fascinating day
Well I know you have it in you
for myself I'm not so sure
as my hinges they are rusty
and I can't unlock the door
We have calcified in comfort
we have fossilised in fate
and I want to shake the sureness
before it gets too late
And it's not that I'm not grateful
or would rather be alone
but we owe it to each other
not to cast the world in stone
So let's have a conversation
we've never had before
let's take the wrong road home, love
and remind ourselves there's more.

Carolina stillness
A loving daughter goes to say goodbye to mother unknown paths she must now trod though the way be among the steeps with
Angry black clouds of sorrow overhead torturous lightning bolts that pierce and burn and sear the tendrils of the soul dear one
Release her to eternal bliss then come home hurting child you will find love has been ramped up and though your souls bed
Resembles A sheet being laid over brittle limbs and sticks know that God has prepared blankets of love a soft one as unexplainably as the
Touch From their hands and fingers that touch your arm or shoulder will pulsate with love instantaneous connection to their souls
Depths will be felt and known in the family and out you will know and feel a current that feels like surging rivers that converge with
Yours these will be full bank to bank at flood stage with emotions and memories of times in their lives that they suffered loss they
Will bolster your life some will be trees of awing heights this will generate your need to feel empowered and not small and helpless
Another will be as the weeping willow you will know you are welcomed to shed tears at any length you desire and have need of
A mighty oak runs through your husband’s family you will see the deep burned scar of lighting that names the tree in finest detail
It reads Jack lean on it rest under its shadow when reality burns to strong you are not expected to bear the brunt of its scorching
Blaze while you are sheltered there let your mind drift among Carolinas mountain pine if they are inland they still hold the breath
Of Atlantic’s waters in this you will be soothed rocked and cradled mothers arms now spiritual will rock you and hold you as when you
Were the smallest child know her personality character and essence passed to you at her final farewell motherhood stretches before
You as in spiritual matters you will surpass her who was your teacher and blessing giving to make you strong life has head winds that
Must be experienced not endured but grappled with harnessed then used to make your travels swift and ports of call will be
Educational informative giving you the roundness you need and the squared sureness that will hold against all storms your husband
Will be you your rock at times flint for you to strike there will be times you must burn useless and out dated feelings that would only
Weaken your resolve in the warmth of this glowing fire you will know profound happiness so come home dear one it has been readied
For you by your heavenly father