Visionless is no way to be:
having sight, yet unable to see.
Soul's blindness that's dark and deep
indicates your spirit is fast asleep.

Use the Word to ignite your inner spark
and awaken your slumber by the Lord's Light.
To have Life's purpose and meaning for self
promotes character and personal delight.

Having vision is intended for all,
so get fitted with some new glasses.
Accomplishments are attainable, provided you're
willing to use God's Word, while getting off your....

The world becomes apparent when the unlit eyes receive the visionless light.

I

Here’s the mould of a musical bird long passed from light,
Which over the earth before man came was winging;
There’s a contralto voice I heard last night,
That lodges with me still in its sweet singing.

   II

Such a dream is Time that the coo of this ancient bird
Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending
Mid visionless wilds of space with the voice that I heard,
In the full-fuged song of the universe unending.

Thoughts of the self-spoken
Left me wandering;
Tangled into the parable visions
As we gaze through the celestial eerie.
Mirrors from side to side,
I still can't see the myself inside.
Mazy patterns were confusing my mind.
Despicably appropriate,
Whereas the heavens of alas contemplate.
In this empty vast,
We see light from present to past.
Scourging sun diminishes darkness
Over light in distant visionless.
Blinded to see the real vision of the race;
To acknowledge the imagery painted to praise.
Entire race failed to obey,
Garner the intellect of marionettes strings,
Puppets of the mischief,
Puppeteers of a sheep,
The scent of the blood,
Descends a ripple from hate.
Cast the spell upon yourself,
And let the bloodshot eyes tell
How it visions the dark world's hell.

Between the cool-quarried kitchen
and paint-faded south facing door
runs a windowless wall
sugar-papered with childhood dreams.

Memories of roughly folded gifts
squirreled in satchels,
crossed creases still intact;
curled corners fixed with shiny pins.

Luminescent paint heartens the darkness of a pitch grotto
anticipating a flicked switch
to illuminate dimmed histories
of abstract symbols, visionless figures and countless fingers.

The small pink fists that captured
Time's most precious pieces,
now live with vaguely painted hope
of sheering unsteady walls
in their uncertain world.

but I'm a **** good worker
at being so unhappy
it takes a lot
to be this naive
I've had to turn my back
on so, so many
**** red flags
and paint the frown
and fill the cup
and empty my mouth
like I empty my stomach
all at once
and walk home alone
and tell my mom it's fine
when I sound bad on the phone
because it's getting bad and I'm alone
and I've had to do so much
to keep my blind optimism
as visionless as ever
I've had to smell my shirt
since it had your scent
pretend you're there
for more than my framework
for more than that
turn my head
when I know you aren't
when I know you're not
when I walk home alone
after we've touched
and I just feel
that I deserve this
to be recognized
as the most hopeless
neurotic,
unconscious
**** good worker

yellow pages, with thin lines
held stiff, within a black spine
hard to uncover, yet so divine
the pages were empty, but the
smell of them, enlightened
the dusty places, in my mind

i sunk my hollow head, into the book
visionless, there was nothing to look
i sunk my heavy head, into the book
and the smell of rain took-
me away to the land of rain
and brown drenched wood-

the place i loved could only be
visited, through this pocket book
my home will always be between
the yellow pages of your book

-Kaya

Long journey ahead on dirt road, Dust fills the paths can't see past it, the suns heating our heads, two hot heads on path of destruction. She's so weak and tired, I give her the last sip of my water, though she's got a bottle in her bag I don't know about, thought I knew her so well.

We hear voices telling us which paths to take we turn but there's no one there to help, as end of the dirt road nears the dust gets stronger by the step, we can't see ahead we are walking visionless, I endanger myself to keep this dying flame alive, I try and try but comes the end of the road where we departed, becoming strangers and faded Memories to existence that once was.

Awoke last night in the deadest of hours
From a visionless sleep
And in that deadest of hours
I began to weep
Perhaps it was the emptiness of the night
That caused the rivers in my eyes to flow
Perhaps it was my sick heart that decided to explode
But when the blackness I saw was the back of my eyes
And no longer the complete lacking of light
My mind revealed this scene to me:


Standing naked in the mirror
Flickering candles
Dancing shadows
My lover behind me, drawing nearer
Holding me warm, close, tight, safe
A kiss on the back of my neck
A fire inside, I need you
Stay
A sharp knife starts to cut
The kind of sharp not felt at first
My lover worked to filet my flesh
Dripping me hot, red, open, scared
He backed away and watched, repulsed
I wrapped my wounds, a slowing pulse...


Saved from my nightmare
By morning demands
My head knows,
Please help my heart understand

I close my eyes in crowded rooms
Filtering through the voices
Each telling its own story
Some booming with laughter
Others soft and sweet
Then those ridden with terror
In a visionless world
I enter these tales
Taking role of passive observer
Into the auditory jungle

It was when I counted my wallet
That a coin fell down.
It rolled down the granite to under a chair;
My eyes followed behind.

I, as any average man, bent down
And crept to my lost possession
Until a foot stepped on it.
‘Finders keepers!’—that was his philosophy.

It was a bar, and alcohol smoked in the air.
Red visionless eyes sang drunken songs
And drunken minds danced like clowns lost in the dark.
Glasses slipped and shattered - the scent of whiskey red.

I looked on my enemy, drunk than me.
I demanded my rights in the boldest tone.
He spoke a silent no.
I spoke next with fists--tables broke, chairs crashed.

He plunged forth -- we fought and wrestled;
We were drunk in beer, ego and money.
Clothes tore, blood spilled, bones nearly broke.
Giving up was not our ideal.

I hit that dog like I would have killed him.
I made way to my money, but before I could,
He kicked my fragile jaw--I was pinned.
The game ended – Mammon was pleased.

I collected my last inch of power, fired with fury;
I grasped the broken bottle, and dived
The blade to his chest.
The coin fell off his hand, his life off his body.

The crowd looked on in silent horror.
I gaped immobile. The blood accused me.
The coin shone silver in the blood stains.
One by one, I counted my tears fusing in the whiskey.

In the summer nights
The owls see the world
The world, the simple eye can not
In simple eyes
Vision is distorted
Wrinkles of reality
Lines of insanity
All that the simple eye can not
With simple eyes
Reality is within the visionless.

Long ago
one stormy night
beneath the
roiling sea
long ago
one stormy night
there lay the body of me
watch the ribbon in my hair unfurl
and skin turn grey
a lackluster pearl
marvel at
my flowing skirt which does so bloom like a flower
and my visionless eyes which
had held life
back little more than an hour
do not cry, no do not weep
I should think I'll enjoy this eternal sleep
for I've lived my life and I've lived it well
for this rhyme it serves for sorrow to quell
yet still you sit morbidly enraptured
as my death takes hold long's my soul been captured
while still you watch morbidly aghast
as cold takes hold for now my time has passed.

I struggled
I hurt
I put on a brave face
I pretended
Carried my burdens
Boy were they heavy
I could carry no more
Reset button

I found peace
I find it everyday
Unconditional love
Wrapping it's arms around me
It conquered all
I never fear
Grace is here

So I believe
Eyes on the promise
How ever foggy it may be
To some I seem blind
But the visionless will not see
That HE lives in me

Lurking in the bellowed silence
A nameless note fills the void.
Passive aggressive mid-tone
Too high strung on this expectation
To linger a lullaby in this remorse.

To whisper soft the fallacy in mind,
To brush off the redemption with
A subtle sweep of a hand-cherished wind.
Murky and visionless wonders abound
To the closing of a tether-less heart.

Be it that sounds play vital veins
Or illusions part reality to satisfy
The conscious limbs of a devotion
Touching the world inside the field
The fission of the split second.

And it was love.

© 2006

Oh this human condition,
A mortal coil it's said
          An amalgamation of contradictions....

I have witnessed as observant
A silent servant
(Like a punctuation,
A grain of sand am I then)

Debris from vast beyond
A whirl from cosmic maelstrom and
Now this here, we are
Alive as bone begotten
From stellar stones higher than
Our cloud valhallas

How relative the chaos
Stranger still for its distances
To parallel - how storms also do
Possess a spectrum.

Now this here, as a heavy carcass
With visionless eyes
As fragile as glass
Riding tornadoes and catastrophe
Like roller coasters
Blast
Off
Since
We are no longer from nothing,
We no longer fear
But third eye mind still blind
An intelligence that's forgetful

Of that of which is relative
(Living proof)
In every passage
We are mortal with
Each morning
Doors we enter thru...
(Yet few recall the lives before)

All I know is how to be
A better form of what I was just
Yesterday
When passersby keep on asking

"Did you find yourself then?"
This too shall also pass
                     Memory feels more far away
I say:

"The story's not yet done"

What path you choose, the one you love,
Is the same path
Of awe
Of beauty
Of Grace
I bare witness
To this life
Still trying to love it all

Oh woe is me!    
    (felicitously)
Oh, This mortal coil, how beloved
Life I see
               A universe of mystery
Together
We shall see
               Riding our tomorrow
Like a maelstrom
Fearless
On great tornadoes...

I bare witness
To thee. (I'mmortality)

Why do you insist to be visionless, claiming that your eyes have expired pass their youth, when you yourself have witness the contortion of the cosmos, and why do you declare yourself a mute, when your words carry the power to sway nations, and why do you block out the sounds of the earth, when you are able to hear the most infinitesimal of vibrations. You tell me inorder to obtain euphoria you must disregard all pleasures of the world, but how are you to  neglect what is not there? You make it appear as if this is a grand burden to bare, saying numbing yourself is a sacrifice, but I think other wise, because to be oblivious to ways of the world is a genuine paradise.

Record a history, personal
    a personality a view complete
a movement made
     with you and I and
posterity
      in rhythm
a hymn sung
           of a future
demanding a vision
         colorless compounded
expressions of blinding
             visionless memorial days
a future resounding
          in words made true.
And you and I
             can do.

The low oriented ones,
The visionless bones,
Ignorant to every innovation of life,
They are ordinary with foolish as a wife.

They with no self esteem,
Their future ugly and dim,
They always to be there,
But no one cares!

Tear drops full up basket,
They wish to be high like rocket,
they  lost hope and liberty,
They can't face reality!

I am blind
I am silent darkness
I am blacker than black
I possess no knowledge
I devour the ones who question
I receive nothing but questions
I take and do not give
My words are coldly spoken
Every step taken cannot be known

I am sight
I am the loudest light
I am whiter than white
I possess all knowledge
I preserve one for the future
I give all and ask for nothing
I seek and look forward
My words are warmly spoken
The sun and the moon and stars are your guide

Darkness is the most painful drug
It never goes away
It lingers close by
Feeling the depth of the blackness
It’s the pain and hurt that doesn’t allow
The light to come through
It consumes all that is good
The hardest path for the visionless
Is to open your pounding eyes
Giving them a chance to see the light
The shining light will pursue
And burn what is soaking

I am blind
And I will ****
I am sight
And I will heal

The visionless depths
Of angstful arrogance
Serving false narratives
And depolarising our axons

When words go blind
Tracing one ideas: or ignoring
Would be so hard to recalled
Through darkness one will fumble
Leaving a life of consequences
Visionless: exactly; exactly

Does faith make us stronger?
I do not trust my work place
Ten percent of us do the right thing
And ninety percent do not give a ****
So, be smart take care of yourself

Take that ten percent for you and your family
Break down your life in four parts
Love yourself first,
Be vigilant,
No more giving others 100 percent of you:

Make every hour in the day work for you.
Always take half an hour to look in the mirror
Before going on to the next hour..
The man or woman in the mirror


As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.” ~Proverbs 27:1

A poem invaded the headspace around the pillows- here
where sweat and sleep lay beneath the crushing pressure of heavy thought
crushed into the outline of a man, visibly staining the upholstery of this temporary coffin
that stores the undead, dreamless, visionless
on the verge of consciousness like the continental shelf drop-off
wading back into the self towards a cold, dead lighthouse beneath
a the cosmic horror of a black hole North Star
this aerial battle, dog fight, swatting beast palms with futility at the waves of planes
sent to deliver a dose of thought, interpreted however one will
an atom bomb lands straight between the eyes, with a meek groan
to all the atoms, a roar that splits the fabric of space and fulfills their purpose
the message, delivered, and the colossus, monstrous, slow, creaks to life
though for prayers of pity, and begging for sympathy, take flight elsewhere
to a friend in need, with these words, that would greet the world through the filter of poetry
so early, so wearily, so tired, dragging from the lair of impenetrable haze
would it even be an act of love, if these went away
and there was peace and quiet, mouth-waters this monster
to lay-about alone and wallow in for days, could that lethargy be forgave
that is faux to the empathetic gift of this burdensome inspiration
hailed generously as intellect, and attacked viciously as always the joy of imagination
by the joyless, those that purposefully fail to see it is pure to put the mind towards creation
tiny little fighter planes, bombarding with their ideas and leaving behind the radiation
the negativity in traces of memory, they enter into a mausoleum dedicated to self-flagellation
bent on desecration, this invasion
leaves behind fires on the mind, meant to express the desires to express
self-aware-selfish-selfless martyrdom, this energy should not solely belong to the slothful titan
whose lust for solitude is truly wherein lies the greed
the dilemma of mischief is convincing oneself not to do a self-justifying misdeed

How does one nation embodied by this giant, move another back to life in their love of writing
and if these thoughts that spur these poems are what it takes, an invading force, would it be an act of love
to commit an act of war in wishing them upon another?

How can Justitia be impartial

                              if she is visionless.

Lady Liberty turned her myopic

                             eyes to the BIPOC.

Yet, she purports to be a symbol

                 of racial equality, universal

freedom and fraternity.

          She is the embodiment of Eris,

Erida and Enyo.