There is a light, an internal glowing sun
Radiating heat throughout the entirety of the world
A belief built up of mortared truths;
Or, thought provoking definitions of feelings expressed.
I believe, more than what’s real to view, of me,
of the unmistakable bonding of a mental language intertwined with faith.
To understand just enough to conceive that more leads to more
These unpredictable side roads that find themselves heavily traveled with those of
us searching for the back way home.
To battle and win against the timeless tickings of today, fight the hidden figure of patience
and submit to eternal prayer;
Or, the self-reflections that illuminate the beating heart, burrowing its tomb within.
Acknowledging all of the players willing to lessen the burden of carrying the weight of the
water pumping out of the ground
The sustenance flowing towards life, engaging in the act of unrealistic domination.
Even when we found ourselves underwater, we knew that we are never really alone
Enough hope offered to help keep afloat from drowning in the layers of theories and plans;
Connecting to sound and listening to every word.
Permanently stamping the bold letters that spell out “The End”
Realization, that you could wait until after the completion of the last chapter.
What will you do when you remember what it means to be a man, to be human, and feel the guilt resonating from the bottom of heel to each of your sweaty palms?
To allow yourself the freedom to hide your faces behind the random psalms,
organized attention and commitments of social importance,
So that no one can see the many personalities available for view and for purchase;
A kind of fake love offered to the highest bidder
To watch you climb up the social ladder,
Trying to soar higher than all of us who could never compare
As you scout the land for an Utopian spot with the greenest grass,
Examine every blade until you’re sure it’s better than all of the rest
All of the while anchoring yourself down to expectations that
Will haunt you in your sleep, in your dreams, memories that you’ll one day regret
Shutting down any ounce that’s left of acknowledgement,
Encouraging each step towards forgetting what it means to live, to love
To self-reflect and see in yourself that being square will always be enough.
Sitting here with a bucket of rocks, throwing out each memory like smooth rainbow colored skipping stones
Letting go of the only piece of yourself that you left me with,
The questioning, the wondering if you ever loved me at all.
A pitter-patter knocks out from inside the wall
The creature patrolling the parameters of his forest
For the popular wayward travelers such as Rumpelstiltskin and Red Riding Hood;
Such an awful imagination for a mouse.
Who always comes out, to offer a friendly goodnight
All of the while, only hiding behind the smiles
Of a shady cheek, covered by the various shades of darkness;
bouncing off of the several different glances of the loner’s only possible companion.
As I lie awake, always as of late
I don’t sleep, instead I try to memorize the counting of the sheep, until those said sheep bah out their names and stories; my favorite,
About a little girl and her little lamb
A daughter, child Mary
The objection to the ultimate salvation, to analyze and find specific temptations, as if on a mission to create:
A tender lovingness of youthful compassion, without abandon.
To abandon dreams because I can’t sleep, another opportunity to remember what to think, how to think
Listening to the mouse scurry, as if illustrating his own version of the story
The vermin, or just a thoughtful eye
Perhaps a reincarnation of a true romantic?
A simple pleasure, one sip to drink
Smooth clay ridge fired to perfection, sensual on open lips
One cup, maybe seconds
Steaming, steeping, boiling.
The beginning petal falls, floating and twirling down until finding its resting place
The first question asked in regretful contemplation and resentment
A hope based off of the encouragement of the task
Keeping hands busy to avoid any idle mischief; temptations that haunt, linger in the shadows, staring in through the window.
The second piece flies, is set loose from its home, tossed aside; familiarity is boring
The truth sets in, of course there is no love, no respect, only judgment and selfishness.
A stem of a flower, an anchor of each fragrant blade, so tall and mighty
Holding up the fragile pieces of color, or at least claiming ownership, never wondering what it means to give itself to the admiring passerby
But when the riddle consumed the last pretty petal, the stem found itself alone
Just another blade of grass lost in the field.
I imagined that it was how you would look
Like the heat’s effect on a summer’s pavement
Flashes of an iridescent glowing, painting color on air,
Nothing; complex and magical
Mystical, in the way that makes one believe
To spread an offering of a love so pure, so strong, we can feel its warmth
Enveloping body, covering flesh in the sticky grasping of a humid sweat
Layers of awareness of body and self
And the connection of heat, the wonders of touch
Letting fire consume, tantalizingly engulfing, until the flame burns blue
Only visible through squinted eye
Shielded to protect, to tempt, to restrict
To limit the overall portrait so that
Nothing could ever be said against, to distort the meaning and convince
The mind of action, of punishment?
Only the worse kind of enslavement to endure
But we suffer and we succeed.
I am Muse Writer
A temptress of pen to mystify the responses of language
To gauge the limits of what it means to be “human”
and to suffer with the mortal heart;
Such a fragile shell of life, love
Pumping light through veins to fuel the soul
As passion ignites and bursts in certain moments of an unresolved absence of control
Self-inflicted tears to carve the pathways down, from the escaping break of my eyes
To remember the roads traveled, to remember each journey’s lesson
To believe, past the rational mind of a creator’s image;
The mirrored reflection of humanity and how it is represented to the person staring
Like me, into the glassy pane of contemplation
Of imagining a self-image and trying to capture the picture
The Polaroid to determine that who I see is me
Sometimes, I catch a hint of shadow that convinces the eye to glance again, asking to be noticed, remembered
And I travel;
As a creature flying higher than the average liver; a messenger of the night
Soaring over the ocean, wispy tendrils of hair sporadically flowing into the water
Until the forgotten sea monster swallowed me whole;
Being sheltered in the belly of one of Moby Dick’s monster spawn
Accepting the revenge of the memories that plague the inside of the creature’s stomach walls
Until abandoning ship and being spit out into the lost city of Atlantis;
A paradise for lovers.
And why my gift to give is a random thought of awareness that breaks through the night;
That can be seen by starlight, bright flashing beacons of truth that bow down to me, and you
One precious life, a willing heart to guard an Angel, a voice of Heaven
To know a man who outshines the light of the rest, creates a hunger
A thirst for knowledge and a taste of your acceptance in resistance, your calculations and stories
Because of course, there could never be a writer without a muse,
I decided this under the swaying pine trees of our home.
Words to saturate the soul, creep in until you can’t see anything else
Humming tugs of blurred vision, thoughts that interact with more than the glowing glances of the last few moments
Shattering phrases to tempt the mind, to suspend forward motion and bend it a little
A crooked railroad of emotions traveling from city to city,
Underground, out of sight, faster than the speed of light
Digging holes deeper, down into the soil, rooting its new home
The poison seeks, seeps up from beneath the grass
Suffocating those who stop to smell the closest flower
Decorative cameras, retinas
Detaching from the surreal pictures that are swimming
Into the gates of hell where everyone is thinking
Contemplating the freeze frame while in the yellow wallpaper waiting room of decision making
Patiently preparing for a visit with the devil himself, sitting in old blue chairs with wooden arms to rest upon
To lean an elbow, and awkwardly gaze, self-analyze, examine,
Reflect, amongst the other dreamers, seekers
Who live dying until the dream exists;
Until the imaginary is real, not just one of the Grimm fairy-tales
Nor, any of the wayside memories;
for children to cherish as significant life lessons
To give certain feelings reasoning, more emotions to embrace the mind
To flow in and out of the barriers and beg to see a little more
To explore, what we all inherently wish to see
Even those who sleep;
Even the engineers, the inventors;
The magicians of the objects of the world
Using resources to create anything at all;
With their calculations and evaluations, judgments
To harmonize the thinkers of society
To escape the walls that lock us inside of the 3D boxes
Letting numbers and letters flow interchangeably, shedding light only to those with the deepest sense of living
To understand when a unity is worth sacrificing and developing;
To design the story of a new picture-show movie that,
Will play the entire book of our lives