o n e l i n e a t a t i m e
Readily,
my heart races to its end.
–
I have had the love,
that churned to bitter,
and the calm that became the storm.
–
Sincerely,
my mind sets into cumbersome.
Toiling at its weave.
–
Dust devils whip their tails,
singing to deceive.
My very soul entangles ease,
with every falling tease,
of endless nights
and sorrowful days,
that embody the being
I will die in.
–
–
This is where we stand now,
afraid to expose our souls.
This is where we are now,
hiding from their bitter cold.
–
No more wandering freely,
exploring the open world.
Cowering to take a walk,
dread and caliss, their convenience.
–
Can I do this, can I do that?
These are the internal chant.
They stand with death at hand,
pointing and saying, “you can’t!”
–
Now we walk in tiny cells,
waiting to be brow beat,
unable to afford oneself,
among their vile heat.
–
Color does not make a man, or woman,
truth in action speaks,
if not, you lie within,
and the worms will continue to feast.
–
–
Last night was the first night everything fell away.
I was left falling at a standstill.
A subtle calm conclusion.
Laying by the wayside.
–
At either say I pardoned away the leaves.
A breadth of air that carried me.
Wayward across this journey, somewhere deep and hidden.
–
Divided against its will.
Deriving at an extent that follows.
Loaning its moment to no one.
Coveting the arrival of everywhere.
–
Only to sink into conclusion.
–
–
There’s a sadness in the rain,
just a trickle of whats unsang,
pouring down the lens of hope,
where willows used to wallow.
–
Wisps of breeze unseen through greens,
the shades that used to follow,
now gently set their feet aground,
among the setting ways.
–
To think that once we called it life,
now wage a war and battle,
long ago where time was gifted,
has become a knowing prattle.
–
Let loose the raves that take us all,
and cry to wave your blade,
there is no care in oneness,
because the unity is washed away.
–
–
Tender ways they lead me stray along the straight and narrow.
Fraught with branding irons or nano tech tipped arrows.
.
Camo and gray are the colors of day when the light is dark as night, and real-world dreams are nightmares on the screen, and many are in the fright.
.
But lo, the winds of change are coming, and the sleepers will fall away.
Those awake will find their footing and move to brighter days.
.
Adagio cantata
ever on the flow
ever re-imagined
causeway along the tide.
Swaying to the heady wind
casting side the sorrow
quietly settle one stride.
.
Where-about one seeks
against the cursed flight
rummaging for the cause
size up the wrong and right.
.
I can be this
I can be that
rising up to nothing.
exacerbated
saturated
thinking.
.
Hold that thought.
There was a vibrant glaze to the stoic vision of nowhere this morning, it was all a shone in glittery nights and melancholy daze. The candle with which one stared into voided the glass brimmed darkly, amusing the ritual of scorn. That simplistic life that one takes over serious, making it so rigid as to falter and split at the slightest temperature change.
And the motion does altar into shades of light and dark, smoothing the line so that the blur no longer needs appealing. It just shifts to whatever degree is burning brightest. Consciousness has slid into the depth of a fractured dream, a reality that does not hold.
A cell that brings forth its cunning resolution to its finite instruction, and the mass of blubbering flesh bobs along with the current. Its masterful insurrection in all the glorious colors of its wavering moment, blewn to the stormy winds, tore down by violent outbursts, that all are blind to.