What Crones Up Crows Drown
September 27, 2018
And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust.
Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed.
Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning the flirt.
Algebraic equations tunneling the mind, make it difficult for her to follow that big bunny’s behind.
And since I am no neologist, dreaming in ratios and gold, I can understand what the Jabberwocky’s point was in being told.
Oh and ahhhh the joy in those frabjous words interlocking the tounge with the mind as it does.
Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.
You’ll find that man who claims to be of scripture filled with Mach·i·a·vel·li·an sound.
And that human who won’t work, it’s only because it left its soul in the hurt;
something those pecking birds feast upon in deserts.
But fear thee not and believe in thy all,
for a Tureen of soup may cure the fall.
And if ye shan’t believe in thy might, I suggest you take an absence from this thing you call sight.
Go ahead, be brilliantly bold, as blind as a blissful old bat,
fill your belly with the stars till its round, fruitful and fat.
Go on twaddle twinkle, trip towards your leave;
as it’s won’t be quite difficult in more than six impossible things to believe.
-Magnolia
Acrylic on canvas ♡
( © 2018 Magnolia HL )
What is Bliss?
September 14, 2018
What Is Bliss?
But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.
Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.
Mixed with chilled white milk and
Stirred inside endless clarity;
Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.
Coated with crying, frothed cream,
just happy to be apart of something.
Half-done, half- raw, half -baked, all-together.
Dreaming of filling in the space of unsealed lips.
If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?
Undressed
January 13, 2014
By:Magnolia
You’ve revealed me.
Broken flesh ripped from the bone, unfathomable like song seeping from a closed lip stone.
*
I felt the trail of your lips in deep slumber.
It bound then bled the breath out of me, like starving rose vines clenched around a brittle tree.
*
You occupy the space betwixt anguish and revelry
Crystalized, like a happy sea pearl, bathed recklessly; You move me.
*
Cremated in the ecstasy of risen dust, I am a composition made of sentimental leaves, the nights beating lights and dirt, fermented & churned to rust.
*
Molten your thoughts.
Like grapes swallowed in the belly of a hungry hand, pick, bite and swallow me whole ;
And if you abandon the complexities of pride
you will feel me with each mouthful.
*
Let the heft of your visible existence sink & die
And I will be the waves on your shore that rise, crash & cling to your every side.
*
Undressed & transparent, tunneled between softened ribs, is everything to you I give.
First Said Last Words
December 14, 2013
By: Magnolia L.
Foreign eyes, thou art my fere companion.
I prithee, only one thing,
That thou not wait for thy slumber of permanence to embrace me.
Rather, drown me now in the hours before the final escape of breath in thy rich pleasantries;
Bountiful in its tangibility.
Merely allow a plume of deep considerate breath to slowly emanate from thy soft lips.
Side-winding, thine words shall trickle down mine sleeping ears and find home in the midst of my silent storm.
And then take mine hand, unraveling curled fingers, ever so softly, one by one;
And with adoring tenderness place upon mine palm thy pearls of possibility.
A glimpse of what’s to blossom.
For what am I, but buried hope, pushing inside a sculpture that breaths;
With eyes that are free, and lids that are shut.
Captivated in the promises of grand rapture stirring inside mine gut.
Stuck Outside the Dream
September 2, 2013
How does one determined the line between dream and reality?
This tells the story of an old woman who has spent her time in sleep building a relationship with a man who is deemed, in our concept of reality, a dream. She contemplates whether his ability to prevail so tangibly in her existence is due to them having a love that stands the test of time, society’s notion of reality and reincarnation itself. These are the thoughts of a woman ” Stuck Outside the Dream.”
Faint as a memory, vivid as a dream,
That’s how I remember him.
His hands firm, ironed to fit the concaves of my weathered skin.
His love vivid, shaped to illuminate the shadows of my being.
He was a soft vision, only unlike any phantom I had ever seen,
For I had felt his touch.
His hair always smelt of plucked roses, a soap given to him on our 20th Anniversary.
His lips, provoked by the beat of my heart, were always filled with the vowels of kings.
But at times, when I’m awake, I can’t help but wonder, hath my senses played a trick on me?
Am I interwoven inside the womb of my own insanity?
In love inside two worlds, I, we, both were trapped.
A communion derailed by the coming of the sun and the yawning of the moon.
In my sleep and in his awake I am found.
My life with him permeates of promethean heat, of longings quenched, of rapturous immortality.
The pleasure of his skin stacked upon my soul only deadens my being when I arise in the day.
For empty is my bed and I just a mere lump of clay.
Alone, it is intolerable, for one cannot function & absorb the torture of blocked possibility.
So I have chosen to live in sanity.
For what’s a dreamer to do when trapped inside their awake,
but to bridge the gap, rescue the dream from being lost, at stake.
The origins of this life that exists inside black lids, I know not of.
Perhaps a love, so benevolent, a man, a spirit so prodigious, that no conceivable birth from nature, reincarnation itself, can interrupt.
Conquered, our breath hath focused its way through time.
Pillaging the process of winter, summer, spring and fall;
We decided upon inseparability through any means at all.
And now, his reality is my dream.
Expired are the days of wanting,
As he remains surrendered to me, I shall remain my feet off ground my heart in heavens, un-yielding to my awake.
Varnished we remain, I clinging to him, like warm bark upon a shivered tree.
For is it not in our insanity that we are truly free?
Engravings from a Cerebellum
August 31, 2013
What started out as a hum became a boom of unmanaged thought.
Staccato beats biting in the measure of grit, clamped against his cage.
Provoked into becoming, he did not look before he leaped.
And what was once dull, complacent, flowing water trickling down a lane of satisfied tissue,
Became jagged hunger aimed at swallowing everything whole.
Thickened desires shackling the senses and sharpening impulses,
Gave way to choking the vices of a freshly lit butt stacked in-between the violence of his teeth.
Clench fisted and with trembled brow, a plot of smoke slithered in-between the fractures of his mind,
While dank internal narratives bled from his axis.
And behind his eyes was the freezing heat of brazenness, freed from constraint.
A beast billowing from behind his flexed peeled skin
Ripped through the carnage of his cerebellum,
Whilst zoetic engravings oozed from his lucidity.
And palm to ground, with flexure vision interlaced in roaring grandiloquence, he sired the earth.
12.8.12
Uninterrupted
August 30, 2013
By summers end, I kissed his lids beneath a tiered willow tree.
Sweeping in the wind, it’s lazy arms enlivened us with each touch.
And while I lay upon his beloved chest, his hand in mine we clutched.
A perfect day.
Crickets swallowed silence with infectious songs, while
bees and crimson roses embosomed all night long.
Further, in the afternoon, like kings we partook;
Sliced oranges tangled in white lace, webbed buttered croissants, delicate and warm. And a medley, of green, purple, red
and yellow leaves, an ode to a summers passing.
Upon the suns genuflection we built our nest bellow twinkling eyes and in the graces of a smiling moon.
We were the makers of dreams and the bearers of empyrean possibilities; a love uninterrupted.
July 16.13′ 1:14am
Conception
August 27, 2013
( Story: Star-dust+ Egg+Sperm x Spirit= the Human Experience: ENds&JOYs)
It began as a long corridor, painted with nine moving figures, almost like, a welcoming party, only they were not bent on saying hello, rather, they were occupied, with focused intoxication in detailing my voids with purposeful movement.
As I made my way down an expanding hall, a room found me.
It was pale, still and wafer-thin with time. Upon greeting, painlessly and with no hesitation, it peeled back it’s skin.
Buried inside the layers of wall was half of a room. The other half, well it was only to be reached by climbing up a ladder propped against a bright light.
Whereupon I stood, my face met the celestial breath of night and the warmth of an eclipsing light. Bewitched the darkness perambulated beneath my scintillated lids.
Galvanized, I stood feeling the inception of behemoth black while it drowned wanting lids with star dust and polished pebbles.
Fire and earth cavorted forming an allegory of love crashed into the soul of a blind guest. I had become rebellious star-dust born solely to answer to the call of my own crux.
Behold my first vision, spiraling stairs, cascading upwards into a place where mine eyes could not reach.
Transfixed I was until directed to go forward.
As I climbed the stairs I felt myself, like a train barreling down an unknown tunnel, being thwarted past perceptibility and time.
As I reached the top I strangely felt bits of wet clay squelching between my toes. 
It wasn’t until I was still, and caught and held one silent breath that I realized that in order to become whole I needed to dive in.
So I ran. With drunken madness, I traveled into the belly of a salivating creature; it eager to envelop me in its womb, and I eager to be cloaked.
The very moment I was consumed, was the very moment I was released into the chasm of euphoric realization, and I did not hold back.
Unbeknownst to me, in that exact moment, I shared a pathway with an unknown figure, and he too had been thwarted, leaped and consumed.
We met in rushing waters. Inseparable, from then forward, conjoined we sailed.
Within the time-span of nine heart beats we absorbed
storming clouds and riveted sunsets.
We were synergistic in our combustion; together creating a polychromatic being.
Through the bombastic force that at times shifts the earth, two beings, meshed as one, arose through a tiny fissure.
This being was miraculous, perfection unfurled. It’s first steps although slow, defied all the laws of gravity; it was pure possibility wrapped in earth.
It’s eyes, a cloudy treasure chest, binding the secrets of its soul.
And it’s armor, ingeniously infused with electric circuits, charging for movements to come.
At first breath it unfolded, followed by a revolving stretch.
This being, spun by dream weavers, had inside its belly a cup of un-spilt passion, bequeathed by star-dust and fastened by the undivided attention of a ready soul.
Sword drawn and consciousness ready, it smiled with its face pressed against the world. And with dreams in heart and painted reality at bay, it had only one thing in reply to the challenges it was soon to face, “En garde.”
CONCEPTION
It began as a long corridor, painted with nine moving figures, almost like, a welcoming party, only they were not bent on saying hello, rather they were occupied, with focused intoxication, in detailing my voids with purposeful movement.
As I made my way down an expanding hall, a room found me.
It was pale, still and wafer-thin with time. Upon greeting, painlessly and with no hesitation, it peeled back it’s skin.
And inside the walls was half of a room. The other half, well it was only to be reached by climbing up a ladder propped against a bright light.
Whereupon I stood, my face met the celestial breath of night and the warmth of an eclipsing light. Bewitched the darkness perambulated beneath my scintillated lids.
Galvanized, I stood feeling the inception of behemoth black while it drowned wanting lids with star dust and polished pebbles.
Fire and earth cavorted forming an allegory of love crashed into the soul of a blind guest. I had become rebellious stardust born solely to answer to the call of my own crux.
Behold my first vision, spiraling stairs, cascading upwards into a place where my eyes could not reach.
Transfixed I was until directed to go forward.
As I climbed the stairs I felt myself, like a train barreling down an unknown tunnel, being thwarted past perceptibility and time.
As I reached the top I strangely felt bits of wet clay squelching between my toes.
It wasn’t until I was still, and caught and held one silent breath that I realized that in order to become whole I needed to dive in.
So I ran. With drunken madness, I traveled into the belly of a salivating creature; it eager to envelop me in its womb, and I eager to be found.
The very moment I was consumed, was the very moment I was released into the chasm of euphoric realization, and I did not hold back.
Unbeknownst to me, in that exact moment, I shared a pathway with an unknown figure, and he too had been thwarted, leaped and consumed.
We met in rushing waters. Inseparable, from then forward, conjoined we sailed.
Within the time-span of nine heart beats we absorbed
storming clouds and riveted sunsets.
We were synergistic in our combustion; together creating a polychromatic being.
Through the bombastic force that at times shifts the earth, two beings, meshed as one, arose through a tini fissure.
This being was miraculous, perfection unfurled. It’s first steps although slow, defied all the laws of gravity; it was pure possibility wrapped in earth.
It’s eyes, a cloudy treasure chest, binding the secrets of its soul.
And it’s armor, ingeniously infused with electric circuits, charging for movements to come.
At first breath it unfolded, followed by a revolving stretch.
This being, spun by dream weavers, had inside its belly a cup of un-spilt passion, bequeathed by star dust and fastened by the undivided attention of a ready soul.
Sword drawn and consciousness ready, it smiled with its face pressed against the world. And with dreams in heart and painted reality at bay, it had only one thing in reply to the challenges it was soon to face, ”En garde.”
Fools & Kings
August 19, 2013
By: Magnolia
Their love was the cause of levitation and crying leaves.
Upon first sight, he beheld blue dust; speckled inside the iris of her reflective mirror,
They lingered, spellbound & bogart.
While gold and pink light, soft and incandescent, spied between the fissures of his fluttered heart.
Their interlocking dewy eyes, congealed in-time.
The musings of tomorrow and yesterday, evaporated outside the bloom of detangled vines.
And with the zest of a king and the heart of a fool;
Mouths unraveled so rapturously, that as they stood,
From form to dust and water to a paphian musk,
They became every form of life, rising and sinking, from dawn to dusk.
They lingered, spellbound & bogart.
Their love was the cause of levitation and crying leaves
The musings of tomorrow and yesterday, evaporated outside the bloom of detangled vines.
Upon first sight, he beheld blue dust; speckled inside the iris of her reflective mirror
Their interlocking eyes, congealed in-time
From form to dust and water to a paphian musk
And with the zest of a king and the heart of a fool
While gold and pink light, soft and incandescent, spied between the fissures of his fluttered heart
Mouths unraveled so rapturously, that as they stood
They became every form of life, rising and sinking, from dawn to dusk.
Enigmatic In Its Ways
August 6, 2013
Post-feeling and pre-thought these words arose
Exalted and fastened into possibilities untold
Hope carves itself into polished dreams
As life tip-toes on a glassy balance beam
This destination beats in the rhythm of filling in the spaces of a journey, screaming in nature and roaring at heart
Bleeding immortal purpose, defined as abstract art
And while I stand plied in position and seeping of visceral avidity
I know not when my mind will grow beyond the gentle winds and sand-castles of my yesterdays
As I cower at the tall buildings fortitude to mute the suns illuminating rays
And my ability to defeat them, today
And as the sun rises I have yet to reconcile the weight of tomorrows set in motion by the dead
So taciturn in my dealings and concealed in my being I am fastidious in my head
Awaiting what, who, chance and luck
To feel the embrace of being freed, lightning struck
Enigmatic in its ways, this cog is smeared in beauty and durable ways
Nov.23.12′ 1:23
By: Magnolia Lafleur
The Rarefied & Colorful
August 4, 2013
Albeit barely born, by the time he hit one, he had already seen and created the world.
And while letters had not made sail into his unfurnished mind or wrangled between the columns inside his vacant mouth, his heart spilt of stories in far away lands, undiscovered pastures, roaring seas and of a friend in whom no journey was improbable.
It was upon the back of a pictoric baby elephant, the young boy would fall asleep.
Bobbing inside of sequestered thoughts, his head lay warmed by the sloppy and playful movements of the babes frank and floppy ear.
The sun pressed heavy against his lids, securing a passageway for careless dreams.
Smirking in the golden light, with eyes shut, the boy saw the earth extended and rising; the very form of natures ample bosom evaporating into the mirth that exists inside of a formless habitat.
Illusive was the rushing wind sliding betwixt the window seals of journeying butterflies dipped in ink.
Surrounded they were by birds thrashing about in a performance with grand sonority aimed at pleasing a slumbering prince.
Connected to his dear friend, his hands became prismatically interwoven, holding the very same print.
Sprinkles of mustard dust swirled with black night, flushed into scarlet curves that drowned inside the reflective skin of emerald leaves.
They were one and the same.
Together they journeyed to the ocean, where, through keen magnification, they observed the condensation of a violet sunset cavorting, in blustered fervor, with thawed foliage and sunken clouds of white.
They wondered past caramel mushroom abodes, deers trapped in necking, phosphorescent trees and hospitable vines.
A world built upon the back of the collected musings of the an emblazoned mind.
And as he grew, in him the elephant remained; a token of remembrance of all uncharted dreams and to the prodigious mastery that rests inside the thirsting veins of not merely a Walter-Mitty, but a conjurer of immeasurable possibilities.
Not to Look but to See
July 31, 2013
Does the evening black blind thee from transparent truths?
Before I knew my wants
it ’twas you I desired.
Strangers we are merely by flesh,
but thine heart, ’tis thine heart that I know best.
Why amongst a strobe of lights
’tis thine eyes that affect and excites.
And while thou covers thyeslf in a sheath of fears soaked in the anxieties of olden, crooked paths,
know that the more thine release, the less thou must combat.
Embraced ye shall bask in the merriment of an undiscovered place.
So I say to thee in this breath, as though it were mine last, that infinitely I shall bend towards you,
for thou art my sun!
So if ye shall not rise with me,
then let there be no dawn.
First Art work by the brilliant Sergio Albiac:
Sergio Albiac:- Dotted bust of a young woman – On a sculpture of Josep Reynés (1850 – 1926)
Second Art work by the brilliant Sergio Albiac:
“My True Love Hath My Heart” By Sir Philip Sidney
July 29, 2013
My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a bargain better driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me on him his hurt did light,
So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
Porcelain Cup
July 10, 2013
And held between my knees and this gray old cotton skirt,
A porcelain cup it rests, with swivels of you in melted dirt.
And inside these swivels of you, are looping, daydreams
Sparked by deeds, not done, and never ever to be seen.
*
Steam engulfing reveries swimming in my pretty porcelain rivulet.
And all the while I take long
loud, visceral, sipssss
Close my eyes and let the vapor stroke my eager thirsty lips.
*
Sitting here, tapping my foot to the beat of my pen
Imaging you walk through the door,
over & over again & again.
Foam tracings of what was once suppressed, now expressed.
And I delightful in it’s proclivity towards daydreams tasty & undressed.
*
Oh so flushed and out of sync,
my fancy for you makes me re-run & over-think.
Proliferating feelings of upside down, right side up, see-through, covered,
so in & sane this love drunkard.
*
But until snow and wind freeze you on my way.
(Warmth being the thing you feel with everything I say.)
I’ll spill my ink on willing leaves and scribble away brain waves.
Stare into heated porcelain and see visions;
Falling leaves falling for me, jellyfish stinging you in your head and having you wake up in my storm happy bed.
*
Transparent cravings bottled in the angst of firmly, fixed fingers
Pressed against floating like fuzzys, sealed in my coffee rim figures.
“But they say if you dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true. “
Shut Eyes Kept Breath
July 5, 2013
That’s where she existed best.
In the dark, in the light, high upon the rafters,
Perched above the clamor of civilization.
Where fog embraces light in the form of bulbous clouds.
Where the pangs of sorrow are dulled by the atmospheric civility that only floating can offer.
Where tears find home in rain,
Calmness in the breath of nothing,
and stillness in the charm of fluttered roses.
And just the mere possibility of all this, that desire to break free from skin,
It cruised beneath her heart and pushed against limp veins.
Like leather tightly wound against screaming bones,
She felt the itch of wanting to escape;
To melt past rattling walls and bursting bubbles.
But only with shut eyes and kept breath could she find the courage to leap.
And spinning in the solitary moment of her first step was truth flashing upon somber lids.
It was in the rain,
It was in the wind,
It was in the beat of the sun
and in every crater of the moon.
She was interwoven in the bliss of this deserted place.
Every night bathing in the light of the stars
And every morning dancing with a flock of wings.
In her despair she had surrendered to the dream and found triumph in the crux of her soul.
Pirouetted in the divinity of absolute mirth, alas she was home.
Being Published in Ash Magazine
July 4, 2013
This poem is getting published in the Oxford Poetry Society Magazine, Ash in London.
Between the Gap
By:Magnolia
It’s that small whisper in-between the fog.
Wounds hushed by plush snow,
and woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.
Light, right before the fade of dark.
Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.
It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.
Can you feel it?
The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.
Can you see it?
My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.
Or can you hear the wings of butterflies
pounding against captured air.
Long, rolling, syllables,
thinly spread upon a bed of silence;
begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.
And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,
beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?
I want to subsist inside the gap.
The difference of the two?
A slight of hand,
a slit between being alive and merely breathing.
Of The Night
July 1, 2013
And when it’s sets, with its peering eyes,
like Christmas bulbs blinking through black stitches,
what does it think?
Scarred by reflections of angst yet riveted from illustrious deeds;
That heavy night.
Dense in darkness and lonely in speech,
it enunciates through it’s vastness;
Postured in silent elegance,
it says “Nothing.”
With sedate frequency it dwells in plummet-less breaths.
Infinity,
in.
And then,
languidly,
out.
Watching for the world to look up, seductive in its gaze,
it’s cloaked in the madness of ticking hearts
conjoined with collapsed lips.
That heavy night
Like the coat of a romanced black stallion it rouses embracing and beckons the moon.
And I like every creature, with one foot vexed inside the tremors of olden slumbers, and the next,
detailed inside the scarlet breath that is now, stand erect, faced pressed agog, against the black, overbearing night,
That heavy night.
Not a mere curtain to the end, but a prelude
to newly imagined beginnings.
A dwelling place for dreams to drip upon a vacuous canvas.
Oh that heavy night.
What Is Bliss?
May 28, 2013
But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.
Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.
Mixed with chilled white milk and
Stirred inside endless clarity;
Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.
Coated with crying, frothed cream,
just happy to be apart of something.
Half-done, half- raw, half-baked, all-together.
Dreaming of filling in the space of unsealed lips.
If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?
The Laughing Heart
May 12, 2013
By: Charles Bukowski
Your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but it beats the darknes
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances
know them.
take them
you can’t beat death
but you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous the gods wait to delight in you.
Facing Up
April 24, 2013
Punch-drunk in a persuasive sea
I am caught in a bottle bound for beleaguered shores.
And around me dizzy trees and mountains roar.
Clouds shock themselves into tears
While I stare, facing up, thinking of you my dear
Tip-toeing inside the black, you gently waltz across evening shadows
And suddenly whizzz across the sky like an eager arrow
And all the while inside this noisy night
Pondering is swallowed by the twinkling of lights.
Etched between the moon and stars
are the arches of your smile and your lips, the hue of Mars.
And while I want to crash inside your heavens dust,
You cannot hear me above the oceans rust.
And though the sky has not offered its hand
I sit watchful with each breath ready to compress then expand;
Until the dusk peels back its skin
And I am kissed by dawns begin.
By Magnolia
Between the Gap
April 17, 2013
By Magnolia
It’s that small whisper in-between the fog
Wounds hushed by plush snow.
And woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.
Light, right before the fade of dark.
An abandoned desert first touched by the print of man.
Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.
It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.
Can you feel it?
The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.
Can you see it?
My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.
Or can you hear the wings of butterflies
pounding against captured air.
Long, rolling, syllables,
thinly spread upon a bed of silence;
begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.
And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,
beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?
I want to subsist inside the gap.
The difference of the two?
A slight of hand,
a slit between being alive and merely breathing.
Her Speech
April 4, 2013
By: Magnolia
Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.
Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,
was the birth of a whisper
ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.
Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.
“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,
I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,
if not a dream.
And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds
I have abandoned my internal needs;
Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.
I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,
To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,
and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.
Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.
For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,
alas, has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home
upon electrical wires breathing life into a paralyzed heart.
I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,
that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.
Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.
Fair exchange it was not.
For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,
and merely numbing it in the process.
But now with exhumed vision and frail valves,
I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.
With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,
And with the seed of creation rousing a previously unemployed heart
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”
— |
Plato |
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”
— |
Plato |
“According to Plato, we don’t learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.”
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Misty – Diary by Chuck Palahniuk |
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
