being

A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes

 

harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away

 

Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression

 

I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection

 
Like
 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.

 

Monsters In The Dark

Now listen to what I have to say

For the wicked hide in the shadows of this day

 

You know nothing of what is of me

You may know the color of my eyes

But not of what they are capable to see

 

Now here, I've warned this upon you

For not every smile is ever true

 

Everything is not set in stone

You may say there is an answer

When nothing is completely known

 

Close your eyes, please understand

That what you may rely on is a blood-thirsty hand

 

Unknown of what they truly are

Watch think before you turn and talk

Someone so close to you can be so far

 

So remember before you go on and say

"But why would anyone do this to me anyway?"

 

Human nature can be full of evil and greed

Unwatched, A monster born within the shadows, full only of self pleasure and need.

Her Perspective

I found a girl, and saw her perspective
Silent, yet surprisingly reflective
They claimed she was away, entirely defective

But I knew otherwise just from the look in her eyes
I saw through the silent, and closed off disguise


And from there, I saw the immediate connection
Completely dissected, but still searches for true affection

 

Her warm, yet crooked emotion
A calmed, yet broken devotion

 

Silent, but struggling for her sound
and yet, still not a face found

 

Her skin torn, gone and rotten.
Her mouth stolen, words lost, ignored and forgotten.

 

She was exposed to all of the morbid things
Corrupted lies, and uneven broken wings

 

All she wanted to know if happiness was true
This is what I saw, this was the girl I knew

 

And she left sudden, without a word,
Her existence she seen was too blurred

 

Before I could realize, she was gone and done
Did you ever wonder what life can become?

 

All she wanted to know if happiness was true
This is what I saw, this was the girl I knew..

Bound

Bound by the cities

Bound by another one's pity's

Expect a place to be

Or expect not want to be seen

 

And I'll take you as walking money

I see you as a pretty big funny

We and I, all have found our place

And you my dear, have barely found a face

Bound to me, and to my briefcase

I'll lend you a smile, but you're a secret disgrace

 

Find the comfort in another's eyes

But in reality, another girl will have them hooked on their clever disguise

Find a place to be

Or expect not want to be seen

 

Stuck in a rut

With no qualities, not knowing what

Who are you and what are you in this city?

Gone and withdrawn, alone and all shitty?

Expect a place to see

Or expect us to be mean

 

For you are bound

What goes around, comes around

You are stuck here, forever with me

With no voice, or founding plea

 

For you are bound

My slave, to paint my sacred ground

The Start of a New Day

When does morning start?

When a creature awakes,

Or when the sun rises?

Yea, the morning is

When a creature awakes

To find it starting anew

In the world dominated

By mortal souls.

 

The human wakes up

First by opening its eyes,

Then stretching its muscles

And sitting up in a position

To retreat from the bed

That held it prisoner 

During the long, dark night.

 

Out of bed it goes

Attending its normal

Robotic morning routine

Whilst thinking of the future,

Of what the day holds,

And how the day will go.

Either gleefully or woefully

Does the human think of this

For not all mornings 

Are filled with happiness and glee.

 

Fearful not is the human

Who takes things as they go

Wave by wave.

Wave by wave harassing it,

Wave by wave attacking it,

Wave by wave saddening it,

Wave by wave entertaining it,

Wave by wave knocking it down.

Each wave the human does take

Accepting each as a challenge,

As an opponent, an obstacle,

And one that must be rid of.

Defeat is not in its dictionary,

For there is no defeat

If one can rise again,

And face the same challenge

To only be victorious.

 

The human does not give up,

It does not ponder on the past,

But it rises from its ashes - 

Waking up to start anew

In a world dominated

By mortal souls.

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silent warrior

the road to
self-fullfillment
is paved with
the thorns
that prick
the most tender
places in the
heart.

 

our yearning to
fill what it is
that we cannot
see is already
there, can
show to us,
a ghastly reflection
of who we are
in ways that
compel us to
project our
darkest side
onto others
in an attempt
to run from
our personal
power.

 

and all the while,
we smother the
quiet voice
that tells us
the things we
fear...

 

...that we are
human beings,
unique, and
individual...

 

...that the doors
to opportunity
for both denial
and a chance
for love are
always open...

 

...and that the
only real war
that matters
is the one we
choose to partake
in with ourselves...

 

...and that it is
through embracing
our very flaws,
and human frailties
that we arrive
at being what is
referred to as
'whole and
authentic' loving,
sentient beings.

 

 

6:35 PM 5/10/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

the psyche, the soul, the purpose, individuality, duality, life.

Never-Ending Story

I really do want to believe it's all here,

That it's real, and that it is as great as everyone thinks it is,
Strong and indestructable,

Powerful with meaning and substance,

So that I too, exist here, but why?
These objects made of wood, steel and concrete, glass and fibers,
Clawing an scratching at my spirit day and night,
Begging for my touch to make them real,
And walls, walls, walls, that separate,
Real as this figment of my own imagination
Who I call myself, the existential being I believe I am,
The objects speak in tongues,
And languages unheard of
But understood with senses forbidden
And cast away from what man has deemed to be 'real',
And objects, material objects, jumping out at me,
Talking teapots, spoons and candlesticks,
From stories out of the depths of another's inner world,
Jumping into my world! How dare they come without knocking!
What is it they want? What are they asking?
"We are here just like you", they said,
"Why do you want to be here?"
So I replied, "Why do I want? Maybe I should just be!"
And so from then on I began to just be.

In case I should ever again need a shrink,
I shall first consult the kitchen sink.

 

4:21 AM 4/18/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The illusion called life.

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my ode to abundance

Folder: 
spirituality

Abundance

 

I defy you to define

A word that’s so sublime

Abundance the word is

In defining it what gives?

Sounds like a lot of something

In reality its everything

 

It is internal, not external

More than just epidermal

Every inch of your body

It’s anything but shoddy

Like a tide, in and out

But within range no doubt

 

Abundance is a state of being

Certainly not a state of doing

There simply is abundance or not

Yours to stop or adopt

All abundance is total too

Its either in or not in you

 

Are your glasses half full or

Half empty and wanting more

Abundance is in everything

About your life; feeling

About life feel good today

Have nothing to be dismayed

A billion on earth with no food

Betting this don’t include you

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