Credit: photobank.kiev.ua
we are all robots with our industrial legs and arms
emitting static data through chained sprocket mouths
chewing down on metal teeth while spitting out sparks;
tasteless words to condition into subjection
the accomplishment of production as day’s profit
obtaining satisfaction in facilitating the genocidal submission
with one’s own expiration date stamped axiomatically;
one by one we live, work, and die
I am grateful for the heavy hearts ❤
Memories and Reflections
12-12-13
Standing on the hill with a random breeze catching on
His strawberry hair ruffled and soft to the touch;
Succumbing to the force within the currents of the wind
The sun and the moon endure their usual aversion of each other
As they sit on their thrones to enjoy the splendor below;
Loving the thoughtless creatures of mortal limitations
Of this one in particular pretending magnificence
(As a peaceful representation of living in perfect harmony
and fighting the fear of indifference
while promoting beauty in the uncertainty,
or at least the everyday moments that the
World can be too busy to notice)
As the ordinary miracles catches his attention;
A man of notice and the gifts of perception
Breathing in the reality tasted by the events determined
From the recordings of the subjects in question;
Their memories and reflections of them
She’s Not Me
7-7-15
I heard all of the rumors and
The messages that she sent
I thought maybe I was her but
She showed me that we’re different
Her wounds bound her together and
Although they seemed similar
I knew that I was only myself, that
She was not me but someone else
Another drifter saying the same things
Thinking the same thoughts day to day
Except she claims to see more
As if she knows the future
Or maybe bits and pieces of our
Memories shaped together
Dagger
7-8-15
I’ve got the fire burning in my belly
My heart is pumping strong
There’s a few words I’ve been thinking
That lay balanced on my tongue
I thought you were my brother
I called you my best friend
But at the first chance you got
You shoved a dagger into my back
Supposed Friends
7-8-15
Calling all supposed friends!
Oh where Oh where have y’all been?
I’ve found myself among the wolves
Their howls keep calling me home under the moon
Have I died and been gifted a life reborn?
I woke up soaking wet and standing alone
Dripping droplets of their bitter scorn
Leaving puddles of poison on the floor
The grass is always greener in this war
Battles of greed to keep us wanting more
You can claim all of the fields of clover
A fake reign won’t live on forever
I am grateful for lost thoughts ❤
You think you have us all?
Your hardened eyes of intimidation
Gazing out past your mind’s view being
directed by the tip of your nose
Egotistical, sprouting seeds of hate
that wilt in sickness in between every
sidewalk crack and old pavement road
of the crumbling cities
Spreading across the earth with the poisonous vapors
catching on the wind of all of the mouths;
breathing out silent screams of hatred, lust, and painful sorrows
Perfect white teeth, once braced, now
shielding the sharpest blade this place has ever heard
Twisting, rolling, folding, until truth is created
We ride tonight
We ride tonight
(Two times for the dramatic effect as it clicks in your head, remembering similarities)
Do you ever feel afraid at the repetition of intensity?
Snapping you out of your purchased complacency
brought to you, kindly, from advertised drugs
We’ve always said that our Ghost Horses
were better for riding through the clouds
I bet you look over your shoulder and
wonder that very thought
Do you see me coming for you yet?
Everyone loves to live and forget
Perhaps you’ve misplaced the lines that trace my face
As it’s gone absent and has been replaced with the
disillusioned and treasured pictures that you see now
Moving on to the next distraction of popularity
Changing looks, bodies, and thoughts
Each day passes brings us one day closer to reality
(I am he as you are she as you are me and we are all together)
What is the ultimate plan again?
I’ve repressed the madness building up
within your contemptment
General Cronie I am at your command!
I’ll drink the poison sold at
your 7 Day Store
I’ll gulp it down as you howl
“As You Were!”
Swallow Swallow Swallow
Three sips and I’m still thirsty
Come on, come On
I’ll cheers on the last drop;
we’re all a little bit crazy, right?
I am grateful for 25 cent fortunes ❤
My tears fall down
drop…drop….
Draining my soul
as I think it does
What can be said about
the monsters of this land;
From a time before we were
promised the mystical “everything”
and nothing but a happy ending?
My tongue’s cut out and
wrapped up in bloodstained linen
My eyes sewn shut while
my wrists are bound tight together
I tried, Dear Child
to stay alive long enough
to fight
But there are those who
choose to be the wiser
of this world
Sacrificing it all for the
perfect escape from truth
Blinded by expectations of brightness
while we all drown in the light;
begging for blackness
The power lies within the
weight of our pockets and
not within the weightlessness
of our minds.
I am grateful for the many faces of humility ❤
I was looking down
one step closer and then the next
Feet light, bouncing
to the rhythms in my mind
The blue skies stretched down
their hands full of love and contentment
Kissing my clothes, my hair, and my skin
With a destination unclear, I knew that the only way to go was straight
forward, aligning myself while
maintaining my distance between the borders
Of the protective trees standing tall
with their green leaves waving
to say hello and
grab my attention at a particular
moment, my face turning to
take a look
You were there and
I knew, even if my eyes
didn’t want to believe at first
Not much taller than me, you
appeared shorter under the
massive pine trees hovering above
but that’s just the first response
to any questioner’s thoughts
Until I saw your face
and then my heart just stopped
You were happy, the happiest
I’ve ever seen
With your red flannel plaid shirt
and acid wash holy knee jeans
Just you, standing there facing me
wearing a noose tied around
your neck as you held
the other side in your right hand
Now, heart racing uncontrollably
Feelings peculiar and potentially uneasy
The world in 2D with its
shiny pictures and glossy scenes
An alien to the plastic smiles, or
so I want to believe
Unless there is still hope
but you didn’t speak and
now I regret these thoughts creeping
into every story that I hear
or think to understand, any of
These reactions that I’ve fought
Could you possibly relate to any of this at all?
I am grateful for changes ❤
At the bottom of a box I found a book
A thrill, really
An excitement to begin someone else’s story,
without really knowing anything about
any of it
The pages turned, the words placed elegantly
across the off-white surface
Calligraphy adorning the beginning
of each chapter, the first letter of
the first word
The writer was good in displaying his craft
Creating time portals for lost souls
to try to find their bodies again
A fascinating relation of one person haunting her while
she haunted him
The battle of love
retold in the countless war stories
of the oldER, ordER
I opened the book wide
Folded it out and laid it upon the wooden
desk, as I continued to
flip, flip, flip
not noticing the time
passing or the music echoing somewhere
from some corner
of the room
Until I stopped on open blank pages;
as if it didn’t even exist
The story just ended
I am grateful for shorter days ❤
We were talking
as we always tend to find ourselves
Midconversation, without even realizing
we’ve said anything
Words of explanations to escape the pain of
dealing with it all firsthand
A discharge of the unhappy breath of
a man known as nothing, and me observing;
what is it we claim to believe, really again?
He looked at me with an intensity
that only he could seem to produce
The words spewing from his lips in
a disgusted contempt
A snarl changing the shape
of his face;
as he thought about what he was saying
“NO!”
I said
The only word I was brave enough
to interject his vent
To disrupt his train of thought and offer an
attempt to break through the brick wall
of his layers of strength and of sickness
Overlapping and intertwining
intermixing with the drugs he’s been buying
In result, the mind turning on, off, on, off
A familiar repetition to anyone who’s ever been
afraid to feel
I saw it then, the look in his eyes
The flicker of fire
Somehow he’s managed to
still have a shadow of smoke
burning inside
I couldn’t breathe
As if he needed my breath then
sucked it into himself
to fill himself up with the thoughts
running around in my head
and the feelings that I’ve felt
A quick gaze into my soul to
continue his practices of exploration
Never thinking that he could
open himself up to me
As he stood there vulnerable to comfort
facing in my direction
As if we somehow forgot the threaded string
roping us together
Chest to Chest
There was never a mirror, nor a piece of glass
There are no fairy-tales nor explosive tragic endings
There are only the imprinting golden lights of
memories shining in our dreams
Who cares what to believe anymore
I am grateful for live music and talented musicians ❤
The mother silently weeps
The tears echoing her pain
as Mother Nature imitates her misery
The women of the world;
birthing heads and
giving life to us all
She gently rocks
Backward to front
The figure engulfing in her
sorrow, to witness it all
Empathetic motions to offer
her own condolences
Where her words could never mean
anything worthy of mention
In her head she screams
Shaking from the force to try
to keep it in
A haunting loss of control
that bounces in between the dark
corridors of her mind
A plea for mercy
A penetrating message for anyone
who understands,
those who can relate
Begging to a land beyond the frame
that she’s currently hovering in;
the ideal representation of grief
Feeling alone instead of connecting
to Father, Mother, Sister, Brother,
Neighbor…
Protected from the world from
the very source that keeps us allied;
even if some refuse to see it
She gazes out
With her wrinkled wet face
through the rain-splotched glass
Seeing past her garden,
The land where she was born,
The places she has lived,
the cities she has traveled
Ignoring any boundary laid upon
her memories
Only feeling the mourning and the fear:
Skin vibrating, tingling feeling
Hair standing straight on arms;
the first responder to the
aching hollow
burrowing beneath her pariah chest
Carving away flesh until heart is
discovered, hardened to the
blackness
The owls are calling out tonight
Who? Who!
From the skies
from the trees
Their constant cries
their incessant why’s
and their ever knowing
Who? Who!
Three sit on a branch,
only by happenstance,
Feathered wing tips touching
other feathers
The first one there
lightly reflecting in the night
More resembling the canary,
Looking out of the neighbor’s window
through its cage
The other, a more handsome color
With specks of a gold so orange
Shades that overlap and create
their own unidentifiable appearance
Almost camouflaged in the darkness,
Almost
But the last one is a smaller breed
Wearing the dark grays of shadows
appearing like a bunch of dried
leaves, if seen by glance in the night
The ghostly figure emanating the
gratitude of
Distinction that,
She can make those aware of her
only with the calling out of
Her monotone chirped voice:
Who? Who!
I am grateful for quotes: “The person whom you would like to do away with is of course never Mr. X but merely a disguise. If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us…The things we see are the same things that are within us. There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.” ❤
Eerily quiet
In a way that escapes the modern ear,
typically
A blank canvas filled in with white
A bold emptiness inviting anyone
to create a mark
Or to fill a hole
Whether the colors resemble anything
remotely perceptible
Some, hear the saxophone lulling into the night
With a heavy heart of understanding
outlined in the pinkish hue of love
The echoes vibrating off of the porcelain keys
A duet of hauntingly beautiful music
to complement the mood
Others, afraid of the uncertain
See darkness in nothing at all
No direction nor meaning
No sound, no saturation, no feelings
A mysterious sullen shade of
shadows and silhouettes
Misunderstood, perhaps
Wintertime is merely the feminine
shifting of emotions
Of acknowledging the
empathy for the differences that unify
everyone of us
A season of physical touch and self-awareness;
A memory of warmth and of the
glowing sun.
I am grateful for John Coltrane’s “Everytime We Say Goodbye” ❤
Muse Writer 