When I too long have looked upon your face,
Wherein for me a brightness unobscured
Save by the mists of brightness has its place,
And terrible beauty not to be endured,
I turn away reluctant from your light,
And stand irresolute, a mind undone,
A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight
From having looked too long upon the sun.
Then is my daily life a narrow room
In which a little while, uncertainly,
Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,
Among familiar things grown strange to me
Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,
Till I become accustomed to the dark.

High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,
His proud imaginations thus displayed:—
  “Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!—
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,
I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent
Celestial Virtues rising will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate!—
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader—next, free choice
With what besides in council or in fight
Hath been achieved of merit—yet this loss,
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more
Established in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer’s aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there
From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise may speak.”
  He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up—the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th’ Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:—
  “My sentence is for open war. Of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need; not now.
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest—
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend—sit lingering here,
Heaven’s fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his ryranny who reigns
By our delay? No! let us rather choose,
Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once
O’er Heaven’s high towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps
The way seems difficult, and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe!
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our porper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat; descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low? Th’ ascent is easy, then;
Th’ event is feared! Should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
To our destruction, if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned
In this abhorred deep to utter woe!
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus,
We should be quite abolished, and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which, to the height enraged,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential—happier far
Than miserable to have eternal being!—
Or, if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.”
  He ended frowning, and his look denounced
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous
To less than gods. On th’ other side up rose
Belial, in act more graceful and humane.
A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed
For dignity composed, and high exploit.
But all was false and hollow; though his tongue
Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low—
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear,
And with persuasive accent thus began:—
  “I should be much for open war, O Peers,
As not behind in hate, if what was urged
Main reason to persuade immediate war
Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counsels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable: oft on the bodering Deep
Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise
With blackest insurrection to confound
Heaven’s purest light, yet our great Enemy,
All incorruptible, would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th’ ethereal mould,
Incapable of stain, would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope
Is flat despair: we must exasperate
Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
And that must end us; that must be our cure—
To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated Night,
Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows,
Let this be good, whether our angry Foe
Can give it, or will ever? How he can
Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
Belike through impotence or unaware,
To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger whom his anger saves
To punish endless? ‘Wherefore cease we, then?’
Say they who counsel war; ‘we are decreed,
Reserved, and destined to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we suffer worse?’ Is this, then, worst—
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
With Heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought
The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed
A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay
Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,
Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames; or from above
Should intermitted vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? What if all
Her stores were opened, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,
Designing or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled,
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
Or racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse.
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike
My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
Views all things at one view? He from Heaven’s height
All these our motions vain sees and derides,
Not more almighty to resist our might
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we, then, live thus vile—the race of Heaven
Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here
Chains and these torments? Better these than worse,
By my advice; since fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
The Victor’s will. To suffer, as to do,
Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust
That so ordains. This was at first resolved,
If we were wise, against so great a foe
Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
I laugh when those who at the spear are bold
And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear
What yet they know must follow—to endure
Exile, or igominy, or bonds, or pain,
The sentence of their Conqueror. This is now
Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
Not mind us not offending, satisfied
With what is punished; whence these raging fires
Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.
Our purer essence then will overcome
Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;
Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed
In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain,
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light;
Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting—since our present lot appears
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
If we procure not to ourselves more woe.”
  Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason’s garb,
Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth,
Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake:—
  “Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven
We war, if war be best, or to regain
Our own right lost. Him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain
The latter; for what place can be for us
Within Heaven’s bound, unless Heaven’s Lord supreme
We overpower? Suppose he should relent
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive
Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hyms, and to his Godhead sing
Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits
Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,
Our servile offerings? This must be our task
In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome
Eternity so spent in worship paid
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue,
By force impossible, by leave obtained
Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state
Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear
Then most conspicuous when great things of small,
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse,
We can create, and in what place soe’er
Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain
Through labour and endurance. This deep world
Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst
Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven’s all-ruling Sire
Choose to reside, his glory unobscured,
And with the majesty of darkness round
Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar.
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? This desert soil
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;
Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more?
Our torments also may, in length of time,
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe, our temper changed
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain. All things invite
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state
Of order, how in safety best we may
Compose our present evils, with regard
Of what we are and where, dismissing quite
All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise.”
  He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled
Th’ assembly as when hollow rocks retain
The sound of blustering winds, which all night long
Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull
Seafaring men o’erwatched, whose bark by chance
Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay
After the tempest. Such applause was heard
As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased,
Advising peace: for such another field
They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear
Of thunder and the sword of Michael
Wrought still within them; and no less desire
To found this nether empire, which might rise,
By policy and long process of time,
In emulation opposite to Heaven.
Which when Beelzebub perceived—than whom,
Satan except, none higher sat—with grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed
A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven
Deliberation sat, and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet shone,
Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood
With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer’s noontide air, while thus he spake:—
  “Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven,
Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called
Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote
Inclines—here to continue, and build up here
A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream,
And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed
This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt
From Heaven’s high jurisdiction, in new league
Banded against his throne, but to remain
In strictest *******, though thus far removed,
Under th’ inevitable curb, reserved
His captive multitude. For he, to be sure,
In height or depth, still first and last will reign
Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part
By our revolt, but over Hell extend
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule
Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.
What sit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determined us and foiled with loss
Irreparable; terms of peace yet none
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given
To us enslaved, but custody severe,
And stripes and arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return,
But, to our power, hostility and hate,
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow,
Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice
In doing what we most in suffering feel?
Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need
With dangerous expedition to invade
Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege,
Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find
Some easier enterprise? There is a place
(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven
Err not)—another World, the happy seat
Of some new race, called Man, about this time
To be created like to us, though less
In power and excellence, but favoured more
Of him who rules above; so was his will
Pronounced among the Gods, and by an oath
That shook Heaven’s whole circumference confirmed.
Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn
What creatures there inhabit, of what mould
Or substance, how endued, and what their power
And where their weakness: how attempted best,
By force of subtlety. Though Heaven be shut,
And Heaven’s high Arbitrator sit secure
In his own strength, this place may lie exposed,
The utmost border of his kingdom, left
To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps,
Some advantageous act may be achieved
By sudden onset—either with Hell-fire
To waste his whole creation, or possess
All as our own, and drive, as we were driven,
The puny habitants; or, if not drive,
****** them to our party, that their God
May prove their foe, and with repenting hand
Abolish his own works. This would surpass
Common revenge, and interrupt his joy
In our confusion, and our joy upraise
In his disturbance; when his darling sons,
Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse
Their frail original, and faded bliss—
Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth
Attempting, or to sit in darkness here
Hatching vain empires.” Thus beelzebub
Pleaded his devilish counsel—first devised
By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence,
But

A little girl in handmade dress.
           Black shoes with  
White knee-high stockings.
                       Shy eyes framed
By and hiding behind
            Long  curly
            Blonde locks,
Waiting with me at
                   The bus stop
Each school morning.

Vulnerable  
             Protected from the harsh
Outside world.
               But nothing can completely
Shut out its
                             Cruel essence.

The outside
                       Can creep in or the
Inside holds dormant
                      Outside influence
Like the eggs of the proverbial tree
                      Lizard laid among  eggs in a
Bird's nest  
             Remaining dormant to eventually
Hatch to feed on the newly born fowl.

Faith soothes the pain
                     By daily standing
On the sidelines
                     Of the pantomime
Of the mundane

As lush dense
Ivy reaches
                         For the sky but must
First slowly crawl
                              Over a cold
Gray wall of stone  
                               Reaching
For dreams and ideals
                          Once clearly seen
On the horizon of the
                      Unobscured  plains
Of childhood.
                    A bit harder at the myopic
Foothills of youth.  
                       Now harder than ever

At the jagged  
                  Snowcapped mountains of
Adulthood.


The curly locked
                             Little girl still lives
After all these years.  
                             Lives on to
                         Balance the weight
Of disappointments
                    Compressed by daily
Reminders of that

Once dormant inside
                       Influence unleashed
In the innermost
                      Sanctity of trust. Lives

In the security
                        Of ideals gradually
Becoming reality.

                       That place in the heart
That no one can touch  
                             That no one can
Invade.

Thank God that home is where the heart is!

                     ¤¤¤

Wild and uncontrollable
Fresh air
To the vestibule
And saint's alive
Life is a headlong dive.

Flying squirrels
Little girls
Unpredictable
But equally lovable.

People feel things
Like kids say things
And everything
Is under a microscope.

Hate is a long game
Love has short reasoning
Feelings drive emotions
Fueled by everything but reason
Logic
Makes us murderous.

One plus one plus it's all ****** up
You can't swim out of this pit
Too soon to tell
But I think
You're going to hell.

But the future is unwoven
The Seamstress Union is on strike
Yarns of every color
Are scattered on the floor.

An industrious imp
Tosses in a steam-driven loom
It eats up all the bits
And spits out new histories.

So genes collide
In their secret unions
But messages get crossed
And we welcome new mutations.

In the wake of a mininova bang
Conciousness is all-grasping
Freedom unobscured and No Trespassing ignored
Tucked away in safe corners
You keep all your real answers.

Restless Ulysses calling seaward
Wave-crest and trough on water
Bark seal slap rush
Carve one sweep, two sweep
Push and the wayfarer
Boot, back, and shoulder
A life neatly bundled going on
On and on and on; wander
Because no god is present
Without vastness, surrender
Fire lick crackle burn driftwood blue
On the sand in the gravel
And restless sailor calling seaward
Take the horizon to break
Spine and sinew ironmonger
The old and elderly will fondly remember
These days when we were strong
And the stars unobscured by smoke

a tideline is much too fast, i think
to obscure every detail of
i know this isn't a crescendo and
yes i realise it's not always
but there's not enough of a
distance to turn the light out
you're farther than i can reach
but everything settles
a simmering of muscle under skin
unobscured and heavy.

They always were as they are now, weaving there
toes between the earth. Do you know how many footsteps
can move the earth beneath the impressions of the
gravity of there every single motion.

                                                               "No neither me,

But their inclination of premature motivation is the
driving force between every footstep that greets with
forward motions. The phosphorescent blossom that
is held within each others possession that neither will relinquish.
                                                     ­                 
                                               ­  "Does breath extinguish hope,

No it revitalises that which was given luminosity through
words of encouragement, for when the foreboding Cimmerian
clings to the edges of what was vivid but now dulled by the
effects of a stain that inclines upon the naivety of creations breath.

                                                      "­How many flickers make a light,

That was the inevitable questioning of everything that followed,
every breath that was extinguished suffocated from existences
unobscured exhalation. But breath cant be asphyxiated if each
hold an respiration of a lingering flicker. Each did breath for the other.

"Though a radiance  is extinguished,
                        *"There is always another burning bright,

You are always be the first to pick the flowers when they blossom
The one who sees the light in all dark corners of the world

One who sees broken souls as potential unobscured entities
But cracks can always be seen even after a broken being is stitched together

An infinite caisson of emotions
Caged emotions
Unable to roam free as the ones others possess

Old soul
Ripened far too early

I know you more than you believe
Maybe not comprehend
But know

You're beautiful
Not just appearance
You're truly beautiful
A soul as pure as yours is not capable of hurting and selfishly treading into and out a vulnerable persons life

Truthfully, I don't know how you do it
Helping and guiding as if you yourself have no demons to fight

But be careful
Spend too much time on broken people and you will begin to break too

You're admirable
Amicable
A person of wonder
A never-ending aurora

Ode to The Epiphaner:

Verse:

So all the silence and emptiness
Is just so I can grow endlessly and free
Unobscured by the foliage’s density
All the oxygen won’t be stolen from me

If the soul and mind can’t hide
In the darkness of the night
How can I ever collect
The fruits of the dreams I strive

Let me
Climb upon barren rocks of greater heights
With the abandoned groves in sight
Every yield is mine
Sometimes a no man’s land
Can be the most beautiful place under the sky  

Chorus:

Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die

Bridge:

If only leaves and lone stars reside
In the ultramarine midsummer sky
How short and trivial will be my sight
I want to be the century-old desert tree
The Watcher of the waning moonlight
Without the ceaseless River of Praise
I still won’t go “gentle into that good night”


Verse:

Why only distance and unreachable gaze
Could testify the true believer’s faith
Like watcher of the lost, the pale moonlight
I have to shine bright in the starless nights

I have to lead the way
For the broken and dazed
For them to escape
This bleak and hopeless place

Upon the
Land of nothingness and desolation
The road is calm with a sure destination
I will be on time
One day I will be there
Perhaps still the only one
The Lone Soul basking on the other side


Chorus:

Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die

CODA:

If there are more vessels than waves
In the tides and curvature of time
How tedious would the voyage be
I want to be the eternity shadow
Ever unrequited, loving the sunlight
When all matters in the universe die
The abyss would still be my paradise

Distance fades all things known to exist. All matter, all memory consumed by the horizon. We live in chasm between the past and the future where the only clarity is now. This enigma is intrinsic to our theoretical realities. That is unless we move with our eyes closed. Maintaining the vibrancy of the ruins in our path. Retaining unobscured echoes from all who came before.

My entire life I have struggled with reality.
It is a darkened street on a full moon
Where banks of fog encircle my small existence,
I can only see a few feet in front of me, and
As I glance backward, only a portion of my immediate view
is unobscured.
I squint, but
I cannot look into the future
I cannot look into the past.
I can only see my fate as it unfolds, step by step, in front of me.
It is only my footfalls, the drapery of water droplets on my skin
Swirling in and out of my lungs, pressing against my eyes.
I walk, and I feel myself strangely enough
trust in my own steps,
trust in the moonlight I cannot see.
Like the whirring of the contemptuous wind that rattles
The valley below,
A hindrance tugs at my soul
The brushing of fibers at their very tips
A chalky, dusty substance that irritates membranes
Something has constantly bothered my soul.
I've written more about death
Than I have about life.
I've written about what could be stirring behind the edges
Of that fog.
I can make out the shapes of bare limbs and branches
Suspecting this realm of which I walk
Is but one forest in the infinite galaxy
Of my consciousness.

I grew jealous of your naivety
your sheltered life
the calmness of your thoughts
and the safety you found in your pristine house
A house that had not been burnt to the ground by uninvited visitors
you still held your innocence within your hands
grasping tightly onto the hopes and dreams of a child
the spark in your eyes yet to be extinguished

I was envious of the positivity captured within your soul
the nonchalant filter through which you viewed the world
your vision remained unobscured
the cruel reality of the world had yet been revealed
your life remained normal, uneventful
Everything I lacked
everything I desperately wanted

Someday it may come
That your heart no longer beats beside mine
And someday may we no longer cry
But cherish the beauty we used to share
Between thoughts words and sighs
Between tears pain and cries
And every mark I branded on your skin
Will become little more than footnotes
Unimportant, unobscured patterns
That may eventually lead you back here
To feel my heartbeat once again

If not, my dear than all I can say
Is I hope you find solace somewhere
Amongst the wreckage of a lonely world
That somehow possesses a beauty recognisable
To lonely hearts hiding in the abyss
Often buried in fear and conflict
That is almost as real as the way
Shielding blood flows through our veins
As if keeping us here as long as we need
To discover each other once more

Þis world ain’t so vast and different
From þose found in what’s written
             We write grand and tremendous of all þings
Þat we’ve imagined and delved deeply
              to try oh so potently tu give revealing
Yet when we look about and just see unobscured and clearly
       Unperceiving and wiðout þinking
             Giving þe world its chance to speak frankly
                   It’ll display tragic n pretty
                         for you n me þose þings most true
                                 Beyond suggestion ann interpreting
                                       Just simply incessant beauty
                                            in an unceasing locomotion

Shapes and perspectives
Form over the room
They dance all around
From an angle of gloom
Unobscured by the blinds
And the puppet stage screens
The art journeys across me
In skeleton scenes
And the messages written
Encoded in time
Are the buzzing brain bumbles
To my hornet mind

The grey in your fire escape window view
encompasses the sky and reflection
the glow you've missed for years
fallen from the sunset

a smouldering reminder of the dull days
you see ahead of you, a charcoal expanse
spread across skyscrapers and rubble
in that grey sunset reflection

oh, how the colours you miss so dearly
long to clearly see you, unobscured.

The last words I’ll ever write
Her
Unobscured
For each day spent without her
To with ‘er inured
Rest assured
My finality
For her  
Undoubted
My feelings no longer
Illogically
Shrouded
Confounded she’d so much
As suffer
To take me
Unbounded
Awaiting
Her heart
To erase me
Or dare I hope
Soulfully,
Solely,
Embrace me
Again as she ever has
Tried to escape me
So let again lonely
Consume and unmake me
Replace me eventually
Fading from memory
Mine left to rot
In her absent
Serenity

"We've gotta get you a hat that actually matches your clothes!" she said playfully, flopping her elbows onto the counter of the bookstore register, and leaning onto her hands with a big smile that could have stopped my heart
(surely it was pumping blood overtime this day)

It is a haunting smile. It follows me everywhere I go. Over time I've thought of it less than before, though it lingers like a phantom whose presence I've grown to accept; that I must accept.
It is attached to me and will not loosen its grip. I hope it never does.

Sometimes I can see it when I close my eyes. It's somewhere far away from here, standing at the foot of a porch as it beams down from above me. I lift my gaze and the eyes that catch mine are like obsidian--dark as night, but reflective and beautiful, full of life and mystery; captivating.

The clouds part and we're stricken by holy daylight. Do I really have to leave? Can't I just stay here forever?
I squint as a huge gust of wind kicks up the dirt and our hair and her lovely white sundress, now dancing in the breeze like a pale apparition.

She's handing me a packed lunch and she holds me tight before sending me on my way. I squeeze back and close my eyes. This is my home, I don't want to leave my home.
I feel the wind sweeping away the earth around me, like a fading memory. Somewhere in the distance I hear a soft echo: "I love you, I love you too."

I open my eyes. There's nobody behind the counter of the bookstore register now. The wall stares back awkwardly, pitifully--almost mocking me. The dreadful amalgam of dull, dusty wood and pallid beige wallpaper looks obscene and out of place;
I'm not used to this view being unobscured.

I take a breath and one last glance in vain.
And as I turn to exit, I can still see the glint of a crooked white grin
cutting through the void.

It’s the fact
That I still even laugh
I’m assured
At the end of my rope
I have not yet endured
Unobscured by false hope
And allured by despair
Grown inured to rock bottom’s
Idyllic nowhere
Seen it clear
As I know you still know
That I care
That the soul consciousness
Of the universe
Pales
In comparison to
What the two of us had
For I still read it gladly
As you see me sad
Think me mad do you,
Well,
Maybe unwell at best,
And at worst
Still alive
As the day that she left

Been infallible
Idols
And I dole out
Judgment
Save all of the punishment
For my repugnant
Begrudging
Bewildered
Beleaguered
Bedeviled
Form-fated
To fade
Disappearing
Disheveled
Upon revelations
That I do not make it
Don’t tell her I love her
And through my heart stake it
And take with me
Only the burden
Of buried
Across
The flow souls
Like a river
I’m ferried
For there we
Once were
Once contained
Me and her
And it murmurs
Its resonance
Lulls its allure
Unobscured
In translation
That there is no sacred
No vow
More profound
Than in darknesses
Naked
Admitting
Confessing
Professing
Our faults
Our disgraces
Our destiny
Meant to be
What this exalts