The Conqueror
She is the conqueror..
—a girl from the
Spanish conquest
As if dawning like
the sky, —instead of
conquering, she got
conquered
Indeed, ingenue and young,
If only we all knew
Carl Jung
Never faulted in our
fault-finding sphere,
the casuists called
her dear
Fragility of the heart,
too insurmountable
to be broken by concrete blocks
—that some called art
Hell no! (Millennials disagree!)
We are all just suffering
from anomie!
befallen heavily on a dreary window
doused, but not
teary eyed, for someone
as haughtily remembered
her commanding spirit
stoking the carbon's fire
to let her own sulfur
in the nightsky—fall
just when the twinkly
sky holes under
the blackness of
his inimical blacklight
how many renaissance
should there
be in the starlight—
the beauty therein
laid down starless
in her dark gown
—darkly galore!
should their passionate
voice(s) be emptied
like a shell
a gunslinging
bad actor in a
criminal film or gore
in all its horror—
it's never a fight to
the finish,
still remaining in
their leashes
love undefined
for contrasting viewpoints
like untoppled realism
how the angels speak
in religious experiences
studied in mysticism
say hello to the Great Flood
and the world of the
metaphysical,
we can't all be fishes—
stoners name-calling stoners
the peaceable reed
the peaceable reed
(of their ilk),
like the bountiful
rice variety
so nice to look at
—those slender
stalks
like the idylls
of European creativity
in this case,
any person that talks
all conversations
that have that potential
for explosive eruption
the friction is everywhere,
a gruelling task
normal life's allusion
now, may i ask
how she
managed to endure
such horridity?
(answering the plea—)
boy, it's not love..
but
just affinity!
calling it love (yet involving cultural variances)
it's as if they know—
how to lift their wings
to fly
only to be able to reach
that glorious blue sky
it's when city dreamers
really, really
could dream high
yet trying to go on their
own particular ways—
not even finding relief, sigh!
would you still hold me
until the golden dawn?
tell me what year are we now, again?
we're here, olden.. but then
somehow
we still have
fallen apart, as you joked
again..and..again
—that you bleed—
(unrequited love?)
that's how we
pass the blame to reality
but really, it could just be
an untranslatable word
for perfect love
unconsciously—
misunderstanding
mere affinity—
untitled (former working title: true music)
as if one have
all the value judgements
in this—
tribulation period,
if only wind
instruments were
invented to share
a message, —
would souls
truly speak
in the present moment?
time & its insignificance
like metanoia
—a paradigm shift—
suddenly, anxiety
changing one's drift
from kabbalah
to phonetics
linguistics, semantics
hermeneutics of the Torah
from ancient
to the renaissance
what more can
one presage?
neither—
if a believer
prays to a false God
[of an othered religion]
permitted but
wronged sainthood
senile syllogisms & oblivion
candy tears
in the dead of the night
she whispers
again while
singing
i knew she was
the music
that she listens
to
dreaming—
it is the unfoldment
that scares
us mortals
because of
our undistinguished
petals
longing—
we long for
the perfect honeyed
world
to
unfold—
to come to know another
(a breakaway discovered
among groups of birds)
to come to know me is
to deep dive to me
to not resent
the unanticipated
cavernous dark
sides or hues
what an awful
surprise that would
be if you had
that false image
before you love
an idea far-flung
gets into your
morality,
then let birds
fly away
forgetting everything
in their flight—
in that one-way mirror again
high up in his flying train,
he gathers up his
thoughts once again
a seeming intersection
while the Tokyo music
was revivified in his
digital song collections
sure, they never admitted
their needful urges just to
warrant their utmost desires
to live in heaven peacefully
but the firmament,
where was that exactly?
we may forever escape
our scathing and snide
remarks thrown unto each other
the overarching cultural
relativism, capitalism,
individual differences,
language barriers,
denialism & its power
your misdeeds are forgiven
by him, like a muscle twitch
unlike when he needed to scratch
whatever it is when compared
to an itch
he came along
she was the song
but just without words
and tender caresses
of samurai swords
—like a moonless twilight
the dead of winter
make things
not right
not all countries
dusted by snow
to their heads alight
it does speak
through our fallacies
and biases alike
our dreariness,
longstanding,
dreaminess,
like a moonless twilight