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Posts Tagged ‘Ink’

Zephyr

Our lives are zephyrs
In hot Summers of love,
Not just to exist,
But each with this unique, determined purpose.
All the while,
We combat, kiss, kill, care.
We are savages, hostiles, heroes, the hope, servants, Kings & Queens,
We are peace and we are war.

But at first,
We are whatever,
Satisfied in any direction,
Coerced by gusts and birds,
To formulate our own purpose,
Where we grow into our ambitions,
And eventually, restless-

Mind, body, soul
From within,
With a trinity of agreed certainty,
Will leap to the tip of the tongue,
Like a gold finch’s first flight into the serene,
To Drizzle fantastic colors beyond rainbows over
The torpid hues of a day in the life,
Over others lost in the dark,
Or withheld by excess of light,
Or stuck in the grey,
Ones who haven’t tasted a breath of fresh air in ages,
And for that, they have gone mad.

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Dreamy Realism

Quiet cities scare citizens,
Scratches upon metal grated ramps,
Into the hollow subway lit by
Flickit flourescents.
Hidden under the hyacinth,
We would sip chamomile tea and chatter about
The branches of life spreading from the tree of existence.

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Wise Enough To Know That I’m Not Wise Enough

 

In the act of eyes, I’ve judged with momentum,

A sweeping weakness of mine

That leaves an innocent soul to wander the desert of desire,

Digging up sands of sparkles that disintegrate with the push of wind.

To learn that the only thing that is worse than fear is hunger,

Love is a danger, and everyone’s a victim,

Love is a blessing, and some are gifted with its grace.

How I swear, and how I close my eyes,

To watch the sun rise, in pallets of orange, red, and tan,

And to watch the fireball drop,

Into oceans, behind mountains, under sheets of glowing ice.

Even as wise as I think I am, I’m astounded by how little I understand.

Springing from a coil of disbelief, to raise my hopes like waves on a full moon,

Is a rare cosmic occurrence.

History of its past resembles the beheaded chicken on the block,

Dumb bastard…

The full moon elicits blood from the savage.

And a hunger for prey that seems so small in the act of your eyes,
That your judgements could harm a fly.

Shoo.

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Awoken Past

On broken wings, I ride the angel till’ she dies.
What serenity- a flame that licks and doesn’t burn.

A round, silver face, broadly flaxen towards the sunrise,
In the light we all become alive, thirsty pupils to learn.

An everlasting crusade condensed in ancient, thick outcries,
Written beyond the stars, fueled from The Pit of Fire & Bleeding Eyes,
Presumably, it’s God’s turn.

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By Fate
Roundly hollowed out by fate,
Between the dangling tresses of trees,
A pure light beams down,
Revealing floating dust specs
In still air,
And your attention.
To you, it means more than you know.
So you snap a photograph to study later.

My feet meander and compress the fuzzy grass of a park,
As my thoughts run ahead like children.
Ahead-
A slender tree with long, parted hair pulls me from a directionless path
To sit on its naked root for a while.
I lean back on its trunk and look up.
Warming my nose, a pure light beams down
Between the dangling tresses of the tree.
And all feels right. To me, it means more than I understand.

So I snap a photograph to study later.

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Not Everyone Could Understand

Would you like to know what makes a man break down
Until his brittle bones lock like steel?
Where instinct salivates between two, dry flaps,
And there is no going back?

Starvation is a disciplinary, the drive that forces a tiger
To sink teeth into fur & flesh. *Glass Eyes*
Many black nights, and close shades to it, under moons,
The inner peace ruptures-

Starvation awakens an internal drive in me,
But its pain is a grey fierce,
A right against wrong fierce.
To stand on my own legs can be the most difficult task.

An empty fueled mind spitting through a grinder,
And poured into a cup of coffee that I slurp to replace the hunger,
But the pain intensifies, blocking thought.
I cry to seek an answer.

Once upon a time, I hadn’t the money to eat for three days.
On that third night, a man came to my door
And gave me a loaf of bread he had baked, himself.

Why it happened, I will never know,
But why it happened is how I mastered starvation,
My disciplinary.

But sometimes, master or apprentice, caught in the moment of hunger,
Anyone has the ability to lose that, kind, cultured smile,
And transform into the tiger.

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Beyond The Window

The sky falls in fat blots of ink,
And I collect distasteful droplets with my tongue.

How ghoulish I must seem to you, there-
Stopping to observe your window of life
With a thin line of hope.

You blinds cross and cover it all.
And I fear that all is lost.

Do you hear the words in each drop?
The sound of a story.

The door opens,
With a white umbrella and towel in hand.

Everything black around you dissolves it coating,
Amidst the storm,to return a natural color.

Under the umbrella,
The ink that soaked my skin dissolves.

I wipe my feet on your welcome mat, just in case,
As you lead me into your home for earl grey.

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