Rosary

Prayers smooth over the glass-beads of my eyes,

palms paired in an attempt to preserve your grace,

my salvation suspended on the verge; between my thoughts and your tongue.

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The Executioner’s Axe

My speech for freedom was a success,

and thank darkness for a cloudy night.

For I could not afford a single soul to see my face as I stood,

de-masked above a dying crowd.

 

I roared about the actions necessary,

should we desire an end prettier than the starving crows…

though thus urging riot I simultaneously guaranteed a revolutionary’s final date with my counterpart’s sharp claws.

 

It seems to me that the powers which confine us,

are afraid as wild youth as it nears its end.

Natural life will always be the outcome.

What is up has got to fall; and isn’t that sometimes a reason to be quiet?

 

When one whose life is so alight that they react to their ‘nurture’,

they will burn a fire in the hearts of dead-men walking.

 

How this army will march united… I wish I live to see.

So that my eyes may dry and hate subside –

my axe no longer need divide,

my self in two as one who raises freedom and beheads it all the same.

 

My axe chips as does my soul whenever a revolutionary’s crippled.

This is how an executioner prays:

LIVE LOUD.

FIGHT HARD.

EVADE SOCIETY’S AXES AND BRING LIFE BACK TO ALL MY DYING PEOPLE!

Python

There is nothing in this world but mist,

blanketing over exposed convulsions and…

lulling our lungs to calm against our raging will.

 

Calm is a universe,

so separate from this -me-

so presumably occupied that it is left to loneliness in Her sadistic romance.

 

Worn out;

Our eyes struggle to make home within our mist,

they remain closed in wakeful struggles –

never seeing the colors surrounding our often too narrow grey paths which;

in the arrest of guilty breaths all lead to one central eden.

 

This guilt,

this… gift;

received with so little resistance is often no more than a domesticated python.

So why not tame it?

Re-name it… make it yours… own it and see;

a python does not revel in eating souls as a hobby.

My First Poem

I am unashamed to say that every love was my biggest.

That is to say;

No one else mattered when I was yours,

besides…

I hadn’t even noticed that we weren’t the only ones.

There are only one-and-only moments…

So I made the best of ours and then carefully stashed them away in my garage

full of “special memories”.

 

At midnight you walked into my room,

your eyes were a river source,

your hands – what propel earthquakes.

You stretched out your arms towards the stars on my face

and I wished I could wipe the honesty off your eyes – it cannot be unseen;

the deep breath in my ear will not go unheard and

the pulse between my thighs is feeling itself so bad

I imagined you proving it wrong with your mouth.

 

There is a plum in my throat and you are kissing her.

This pulse between my thighs turns into

an accidental spray of chili-pepper juice behind my eyes;

and you tell me she has enough milk to heal all of the blind.

 

I’d rather go meet Morpheus in the darkness and remain there.

I’d rather not hear that you know I know how to love you best of all.

 

I’d rather go blind than to have seen that truth behind your longing stare.

 

At midnight…

After you walked into my room; the ball and chain off my heart finally broke the link with their weight, and I am willing to praise you for this act of grace.

Come save me while you break her heart,

Come heal me while she bleeds all out,

Come kiss me while she’s turning blue,

Let past death birth our future.

 

Let’s be the only ones

Let’s have our one-and-only moments…

Let’s play them on repeat, press record, produce and own them.

 

The road to awe…

Be the journey I would choose even if I had a million tries…

 

I am unashamed to say that;

Every love was my biggest one.

And baby… oh, by the way;

Her forehead had suddenly become the home of a trillion sweat droplets

The scent of a lost race against emotion was on her like a stale ashtray left in the middle of a tiny room for decades

perhaps the ashes of that which can never be repeated were exactly that

and the thoughts; no matter how consistent could not

clear out the depths of the buds; the heart that beats without feeling

the eyes that see without seeing

the sound of music without reaction

the dripping of sacred juices without an allure of passion

 

And baby;

That phrase will never be repeated

baby

that home will never be rebuilt

skin, fingers, flowers, and hair

are the forefathers of a numb heir

to an empty castle

with naught but walls, bars, creatures, dragons and demons

 

the wolf alive in me alone will continue

baby

but wolves

oh wolves love once only

and… baby..oh by the way;

once only

Lullaby! (To Dad)

Dear dad!
I miss you.

It’s been a while and I know it’s my fault mainly
I really should write to you more often
You speak to me in a way that no one else knows
Like the chirping of the bird outside my window while my stone heart begins to waken
And it is pain at first
And hopelessness
But then a spark of life happens in my wolfy veins
That is barely noticeable enough at first
Then day after day you whisper breezes of wind in return of the scorching memories and fears…

Years have passed since I truly felt like a weaver of words;
I knew I died then
Perhaps with you – is it beautiful to finally be a part of everything again?
Do you miss her?
Whoever she was…
I think your love for her inspired me so that I could not help but fall in love with that planet; a woman!
The galaxies of female curves I have seen
Left me broken dead and empty.

I am much better now though
I’m learning to forgive
To let go of the things I cannot change
I think I’m learning how to live.

Are you proud of me?
I still feel like your little girl.
I have written so much just tonight only to avoid telling you for the first and only time : I am hurt

Hurt but still breathing
Crippled but healing
With every cell in me that yearns to be
Someone worthy

Tomorrow I will continue my quest and I will fail a little less at disproving the impossible
And fail a little less again the following day
Until impossible is nothing

Because I think not even you believed in what you chased
Not even you could dream that big
Oh but you insisted that I learn
And so I did

I dream a little less these days
I focus on success
Not in material value though I’m sorry; I’m quite alright with just being me
But I succeed a little more each day
I manage to keep me complete.

I have started learning how to be brave
And yes
Yes dad, she’s teaching me.

That nothing is ever really worth it unless it hurts a little at least!

The Gentle Of Unspoken

Next to me
A sample breath reduces
The fear in spaces otherwise preoccupied
A thought descends of spoiled tenderness
A kiss on screens with
Compositions of romantic sentences
Not allowing the same…

Next to me

The gentle cupping of scarred hands
Temper with inadequacies imprinted internally
Showing nothing,
Feeling
Feeling
More than what this here could ever describe

A broken mirror
I am

Unable to reflect
The heartfelt
Perhaps united soul and anguish
Keep a sacred mask under a key
Of the true self
Within
And
Next to me

A beat is audible
A
1, 2, 3…
Poking out from inside my chest

For the first time in millenniums

For the last sake of smitten mittens in winter
Dividing the dead cold from the
Living
Warmth

And in a
1,2,3

The footsteps
Up the wooden stairs

Next to meSAM_3203