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Traveler Apr 2017
Your Earthly
Myths and fears
Fall *******
Traveler's ears
(Yes there's many of us)
You bound yourselves
To earth
Where your
Superstition has giving birth
But if you truly seek
The real deal
Fear not to breach
A greater free will
Come with us
To another dimension
Where being of light
Need no inventions
Be a master, not a slave
We were never created
To be trapped in a maze!

"Cné"
Desperately
I long to go
Where creativity flows
No fear of the unknown
Or of some maze that is shown
By light, warm and unburning
Star littered night skies
Observing
hair blowing in the wind
Bright eyes shining with a glint
Unbound by time or place
Before the lost of innocence, faced
I'll give my hand, in trust
to another dimension, or bust...

"Temporal Fugue"
Through the mirror
Traveling the unknown maze
Gazing on, site's unseen
And setting them, ablaze
Through the universe
Pausing to explore
Perusing the next, traverse
And wanting, so much more
Masters of discovery
Trust, holding out her hand
Knowing forever and a day
Just a woman, just a man.

(Was that a yes or no?)
Traveler Tim
Grey Oct 2016
Electricity runs in my blood,
Painting the trees a more vibrant green,
Than the unburning eye can see.
The taste of the air.
The burn of ice in my lungs.
The charge under my skin.
The world moves in slow motion,
But my heart beats fast in my chest,
And I feel warmth run to my upper lip.
The red is startling,
Sends my mind into fright,
But I soon relish in the feeling.
Seemingly alive for the first time.
Seemingly dying.
The feeling of birth and death as one.
The feeling of life and decay as one.
The feeling of adrenaline and sleep.
My hands are shaking.
My hands are shaking.
I got blood on my sleeve.
I want it in my mouth.
I put the fabric in between my teeth
And ****
But I can taste no copper.
I am trembling,
The chalk lodged in my throat.
I am flying high,
So high.
And know it will pass.
I am Icarus flying by the sun
I am Daedalus, ashamed of his failure
My fingers do not craft wings,
But words.
Endless, nonsense words
That my mind deems sensible.
But I am Newton.
But all things must fall,
And gravity has it’s hold of me.
It never brings me down gently.
All things must fall.
Even stars must fall.
Even stars.
Even angels.
Even lovers.
I love it,
love.
I love love.
I love to love.
I hate to lose.
I miss it.
I miss loving.
I miss falling.
I miss the natural drop.
This is artificial,
Electricity holding my wings aloft.
The wind whispers no poetry.
This is not beautiful.
This is not harps and angels.
This is not making love in the hay fields.
This is not a dive off of a cliff.
This is the bass in my ears.
The whispered hush in my head.
The shaking of my desperate legs.
And I hear the beat drop.
All things must fall.
All things must fall.
Even girls must fall.
Even boys must fall.
Even the place between must drop to it’s knees and beg.
See me.
See me.
Watch me as I burn myself to the ground.
Watch me hit the ground.
All things must fall.
BB Tyler Aug 2013
Flame unburning,
ever bright,
turn the darkness
into light!

Eyes uncovered,
sacred sight,
turn the day time
into night.
𝓷𝔂𝔁 Nov 2020
This is where I will love you,
from the waves of your storms,
and the echoing wind from the east,
they are no anchorage,
but the way you sound—
it was close to home.

Because truth is darling,
your brokenness is the place
where I am going to stay—
forget the unburning cigars
you left on my lips—
it burnt me off to the
patches of your kiss,
the swirling black holes
you have tug on my chest—
all warm with the rainfall of
chrysanthemum petals.

This is where I will love you,
no sunrises or moonfall—
it does not entangle with
star-written poetry
you took halfway,
the late-night drive
that ends with
laying down on
your chest or
the subway walks
that we ended up
chasing the moon.

darling, this is where I will love you,
from the ends of your fall,
to the last bit of your
sunsets.
Lexie Jul 2019
he is coals, almost unburning

I, grass, covered in dew

we lay, in the earth

until the sun makes us new
trying a different style, idk
I'm not ready,
   to hold a heart.

I've been too long apart from my own.
Today is just the beginning.

I'd love to see love in another's eyes again,

But,
I don't know I'm ready,

To hold a heart,
Unprepared,

Will tear apart,
   the very bones and thoughts,
   you thought were yours.

So be ready.

Hold your own heart,
   Until it no longer burns.

Do not lay your aflamed heart in another's hands,
Just to watch them burn.

Be ready.
Set free the flames that be,
And breathe deep the air you've never seen.

Then you may hold a heart.
You will hold them together,
With only the unburning flames of a true love...
A love,
That costs nothing.

But today...
I am not ready,
To hold a heart.

~Robert van Lingen
Asleep in their nests
birds dreaming out loud
Just outside his window
new questions aroused
The moonlight not finished
what it started before
The church clothes still hanging
on the back of the door
What once he thought ended
returning again
What never befriended
new searching begins
The glass in the parlor’s
long myopic hall
Illuminates squalor
and all he recalls
The ringing alarm
signals all bets are off
As the birds start to sing
of eternity’s cost
The revelers revel
the sanguine proclaim
The church starts to fill
and they’re calling his name
Any proof in the pudding
has curdled and soured
As the chalice gets cleaned
and the vision devours
The mood is enhanced
and wine slowly drips
The light through the stained glass
distorted in bits
The reasons no matter
alone as before
And sanity worships
death closing the door
His dress shirt went on
white starched and unblessed
The sermon made ready
for those at behest
And what might he offer
where prisoners hide
Salvation most proffered
when funded by lies
The eyes looking back
fixed silent and low
The eyes looking back
from pews far below
Surrounded by neighbors
and men who’re once bold
His eyes were then only
but thirteen years old
The distance seemed fatal
the distance seemed slim
But now looking up
it was all about him
To one then so young
and so new and so fresh
Still wanting to believe
in not leaving the nest
Surrounded by elders
deceivers and friends
Dressed in his finest
his hair slicked on end
His eyes remain down
as his thoughts decontruct
His face never changed
as the sermon ramped up
“And what must the youth
think of me on this day”
The Vicar’s thoughts looming
praying mantis to prey
The height differential
the power sublime
The stairs leading up
for the blind then to climb
And once at the top
all so distant below
And once at the top
nothing new left to know
The birds dare not enter
the sparrow or dove
The belfry stark empty
devoid of all love
The peacock dismembered
in colors of blight
The peacock remembered
in times that were bright
The hand bills are placed
at the end of each pew
A message designed
for only the few
Caught up in the fable
caught up in the lie
To burn down the manger
lambs scream as they fry
The church social breakfast
has started out back
Hoping for: “Great sermon Parson
had to hold my tears back”
But the truth knows no teller
but what’s told in the end
Whose message stays mired
where all messages end
Belonging to no-one
to him least of all
But forever himself
as he must heed the call
The blamer blasphemer
the architect *****
Silent screams from the pews
that they need something more
And in silence he struggles
his collars’ too tight
For clerics who bombast
portend and then fright
The moral unlettered
the reason unschooled
The soul when unfettered
no one left to rule
He knew the time short
few stairs left to climb
That boy once malingered
to always remind
To start at the beginning
to restart at the end
To start where he stopped
as a stranger again
Overpowering reluctance
consumes him today
And with cryptic delusion
he parry’s and feigns
Beget not begotten
claiming unto himself
All virtue forgotten
all feeling unfelt
If it mattered whenever
if it mattered just once
The parson calls out
to approach and exeunt
Reversing his trust
shouting but to himself
“Betray now adroitly”
this ice cube to melt
Benedictions unburning
inside the unhost
All tides are returning
last turkey to roast
The *** is left thickening
ruination sublime
Intention most wicked
coming only from mind
The cowards stay victim
the bravest rejoice
A knave neath the roundtable
never his choice
The bend in the circumstance
the straightening lie
The clue that was missing
the unquestioned reply
Walk up to the pulpit
three steps that don’t end
The pride and the fury
pontificates rend
Looking out at the parishioners
their eyes staring down
He knows without speaking
rivers crossed, bridges down
As he takes his last breath
speaks his last final words
What once was a boy
separates from the herd
He steps down, turns and leaves
without once looking back
The parson stabbed fatally
his parsonage wracked
The breakfast is ransacked
left plundered and frayed
The devout are heard neighing
like a horse without hay
Heading straight down the lane
neither bowed nor *****
No breakfast for him
celebration dissects
Walking in through the back door
his Aunty Ruth smiles
Asking, “Is everything all right”
you’ve been gone quit awhile”
He says: “Everything’s fine
as his father distills
And closing the window
say’s: “I’m feeling a chill”
He walks up 13 stairs
and sits down on the bed
Looking straight up above him
childish images dead
Asleep before dark
in a dream meets his peace
Knowing surrounded by doom
he must tomorrow retreat
He is up before dawn
and back out on the lane
One sack over his shoulder
one orphan to claim
The walk to the harbor
is rocky and steep
His gait ever steadfast
a promise to keep
Signing onto the first ship
that’s ready to sail
Setting a course still uncharted
in a sea of travail
The clouds getting darker
the waves though they fall
His soul is on fire
his spirit on call
With the ship looming outward
beyond sight of land
His future to clear
his mission at hand
That first day on board
and first night below deck
Were the first that had ever
held him safe in their net
With dawn’s light he climbed
to the crow’s nest above
And said ‘Thank You” to providence
vowing his love
And he sat there for hours
his past to enshroud
New horizons were calling
— he never so proud

(Oregon Inlet: June, 2003)

— The End —