"sureness" poems
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 ]
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
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.
3k
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.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Power pulsating between my legs
Irrational intrigue between my ears
Alacrity asunder between my ribs
-Heretical human blender-
Serving up cleverly crafted cocktails
I am
Spouting sureness from between my lips
I am
Stirring in sweet sultriness
Soliciting sour sabotage
Submerging you in salty squeamishness
-Colloquial courtesan, curtly castrating consumers-
Inebriating you equally with inevitable irrationality
Welcome to my "Reader’s Digest"
Prepared especially for you with my psychologically indigestible
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
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.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC
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.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
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-shit 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.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
It’s being kept safe from harm. Being kept away from any physical danger or injury. Kept from bad company. Kept away from illness and misfortunes. From misdeeds and misgivings. To be safe and sound.
It’s being kept from hurt. Safe from emotional distress, from emotional pains and heartache. No more tears in your eyes from that. No more scars.
It’s being safe in His good graces. Safe in the strength of faith to hold on. The empowerment of one's own will to overcome hardships. It is the sureness to be able to overcome anything. It is a promise of goodness in life, in the hereafter and forever.
It’s being loved, and knowing it, feeling it. It’s being happy and content, with whatever you have. It’s knowing that you need not sigh of worry or regret or sadness. That the only sadness you have in life is entitled to you, instead of ones ****** upon you.
Safe is knowing love in the pureness of its meaning. It’s seeing the nakedness of the beauty of life. Safe is seeing that there are no two similar shades of colours in this world. Safe is knowing you can close your eyes wherever you are, and take in a deep breath, and tasting the air on your tongue, and feeling it fill your lungs, and not even worry about the beating of your own heart.
Safe is knowing that no matter how many times you've fallen, you get back up just the same. Safe is looking back at burdens, however heavy, and knowing that even they cannot bring you down. Safe is the helplessness you feel when you see just how vast the universe is. Safe is knowing that there is fear, but not one that can consume you. It is knowing that life is so much more than a set of rules or your own heart to follow. It is seeing how complex life is, and being able to forgive that complexity.
A safety that is not to be sought after but to be found. It is not a person, a thing, or a forever, but it is in small moments, that there is a true and absolute tranquility throughout your very being, from your very core, one that brings a smile to your lips instantly. That in that small moment, everything is so grand. Everything just falls into place. Everything is alright.
Safe is being hopeful. It is feeling hope.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
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.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
The holiness
A very certain inspiration
----
Dancing naked in a unique
Way
In the sureness of your Eye
---
Finding the truest power of your mind
And
Keeping it alive
--
Holiness
Every single child
Every street---?
Heavenly
.
(Paved in gold)
--
Holiness
On the midnight of the dream
The soil receives
Each and every seed
In good earth sown
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
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
?*
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
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.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
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.
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 12:36 AM UTC
and the truth is undeniable
despite the sureness of my heart
and the confidence i have in
you and i
one day the bombs will fall
and with my world shaken
and my chest pounding
i will build a bunker
to last out the storm
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
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.
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
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.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
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.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
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.
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 4:07 PM UTC
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.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
I remember I fell head first to your big brown eyes
I hummed my favorite songs to the thought of you being there listening to my lameness
A bottle of Crown couldn’t ease the emptiness at night
I could tell you were sure when you fought for us, when the faults were mine
I painted a picture of your head on my chest with my imaginary paintbrush
I’ve been taking it gentle with the help of solitude
I’m trapped in a prism full of memories of your blank stares
I’ve let go of the pain but I still reflect on it
Expressing my feelings on it like if change came that easy
Seems like it was just yesterday we were arguing about the little things
Questions on how to strive, I never knew
Displacement of our paradigms, I always thought so negatively
I could’ve found reasons to shed a ray of light into us
Now all I have is a hologram in my mind that I try to touch and just goes through
I remember my first daydream of our future
You were wearing a white dress and all I could feel was sureness
I lived by that truth of you being mine for a long time and I was obsessed with it
I was obsessed with you and the ideas we could’ve brought to life in time
I’ve realized that you’re perfect and my feelings are just a glimpse of what’s truly real to me
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
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.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
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?
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
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.
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 9:13 AM UTC
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
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:49 PM UTC