Isn't it funny how his blood smells like his blade.
It must be the metal, quantum level the same.
Every possibility in time lead to this line.
A faceless man writing this rhyme.
In a world so messed up he thinks it's his fault.
Turning to drugs, he lost all his hope.
And now sits alone worrying how to cope.
Can't stop smoking dope.
He never visioned he'd be happy,
And it shows.
scanning from my perch
staring out the window pane
imaging my path, a quiet place
visioned the trail
i have followed in vain
i to the right
as the herd left
did i hold back
or stand in judgement
above the rest
still hunting a clue
while guarding the line
what is there that i might find
survey from my grave
peering out the window pane
could i have seen
the window a mirror
and i my reflect
First draft. I might tweak this some more. I have been accused of over analyzing. This may be a reflection of that propensity
I thought of you again last night.
Dooming myself to repeat the mistake
of revising the memory of a muted light,
our quickened breaths, our hearts on fire.
I visioned a fantasy of you last night,
where my house is empty and silent,
and the heat tells the truth of what I really want to do,
taste the lips that once belonged to me so violent.
I hated you again last night
for how you make me so vulnerable to miss
a body to hold next to me in bed
the countless times you gave me bliss.
The times when the aching of my heart only meant
I had too much love to share,
and not the selfish need of wanting to feed,
to lust and touch and cast away cares.
I thought of how late in the night
our new year's day dance is not all I want back,
I want the comfort of your smile as you so confidently say
you love me like you did on a now distant day.
But I thought of you again last night
in the only way I know how to,
shedding the meaning of my lonely pain
for a momentary passionate touch of you.
I thought of you again last night
and promised myself this time was the last,
for I cannot spend the night longing for a kiss
I know I will never get back.
The other day when I saw your soul
Sparks unbroken and lighted
evolved, unconsumed and starry
focussed in and around my being
and your brightness faced all my dark
The day when the cresent moon illuminated
fixing all the strings between our distance
and your smile solidified my heart
as our spirits conjoined in a dance
untensioned, visioned and explosive
Everyday I am drunk in your withins
filled in a tray of unending happiness
and my whole feels transparent and known
and the wind I seemed to chase is calm
released of chains by the writing on the wall
Now I Know..
A blank gaze
Of a pitiless Sun has
Ignited a flame exposing
Painful perceptions of
Separation and anarchy..
These vexations of centuries
Are now visioned
As garments clothing
My rough beast
Bethlehem for a
Flaming reentry and
A naked recognition
Of what I am...
Now I Know...
This is a response to:
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
~~William Butler Yeats, 1919
— The End —