Poetical Psyche

Fickle Nights Unadorned

2014-06-12T23:49:00.001-04:00

Aural pleasures span the darkest caverns,

Unearthing scenes dispatched to furthest nooks recessed beyond the transcriptions filtered in mundane,

Blind to tumults spawned by inconvenience spared, the watch spins in sternward approbation, coveting a valance oft ignored, tempering uneven folds with carcasses of lost oases

Curdled regurgitation spindles up the larynx cold, smothering voice with misplaced improprieties, discourse measured in startling degrees—calculations that once seemed so grand, retrospectively tense at the thought of invisibility shunning predication

Feral codes bewildered through mismanaged indiscretion, cultured by the harbingers of satiety, wilting pomades and soft-etchings embedded superficially upon the iris of the third eye,

Focus has been condemned

To a hazy retro-gradated piercing

Born from unsubstantial illumination,

Built beneath the corroded buttresses deemed unfit for the staging of this or any other…emptying out

This theatre with handbills piled at the door.

I haven't written anything in quite sometime, but found this on a notepad I wrote a while back and thought I'd post it.

Synchronized Utopian Idyll

2014-02-12T23:38:00.000-05:00

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without a single word misspoken,

It was a dynamic synchronization,

Where not a word went unspoken,

Inspiration doused me full,

Caressed me and kept me still,

Drenched head to toe,

But in the end, not a soul would even know

It was a dynamic inquisition,

Without those awkward moments of intervention,

Not an abstraction spun; not a vice untouched,

It was a masterful interjection,

Where only a pause disconnected being from breathing

Where only the pause separated hear from here,

As time progressed

I felt red to have previously guessed

Things would’ve gone differently than they would,

Thinking there’d be an intense transition

As I waited for the lies to come

But they never came, nor ever could

Not a lining torn or a truth made of elastic

It was the deepest of revelations

As each question produced an answer,

Where each sound to slip away beneath parched tongue,

The more it continued, a voiceless man I therein became

And you somehow understood, you somehow understood things about me, that even I couldn’t comprehend

To have been given so much respect

From someone I could not have ever known

To have been treated like an equal,

From someone filled with so much devotion

Giving me the honor of unparalleled recognition

Those words, those words—

Could only serve as stones—thrown

Across such stillness—skipping forever on and on and on—

Until we each found our Om

In whatever it was

That circumstance just happened to have

In this space most precariously spun.

Something's Hidden

2014-02-11T00:06:00.001-05:00

Away from the wrested stone

A jewel etches its image upon

Juxtaposition

Where it was and what it never could

Be, to fathom’s length, I bestow

Whistled meanderings, delivered far, unto

A crested portico of everlasting sights unknown

The fantasy’s off-balance whereas

The congruency paints vivid premonition

Vacating the probable,

Forever residing

scarcely in-between

Stasis (Ephemerality)

2013-12-07T02:00:00.000-05:00

There is no such thing as time.

Never-ending. Never-beginning.

Always There. Ever and Ever more.

What is now, is also then and that is also what has been.

{Cue the neat opening credit theme music. Something that gets the audience in a particular type of mood, say unexpectedness, something that preps them for what’s to follow, and we want them to think that the future is profound and deep…if only to eventually slap them across the head with what comes next}

But of course, only if what comes next is

Something that’s happened since.

Of The Eye

2013-12-04T00:15:00.000-05:00

Eyes awaken,

Right first, then left,

Stardust clinging to the lashes,

Refusing to concede

That wondrous moment was but dream

Leaving me alone

Comforted only by the memory

That this is all but a part of reality

Long Division: Strains Of One

2013-11-26T01:35:00.000-05:00

Dainty figurines, collide-expand

Upon the altar, knotted-stained

For which they stand; warped and dated

Like the mores buried, still, straining to inhale

Knee-deep down, beside, within—

The Laundering of time pronounced, for without

Borrowed—procured ceramic, forgone—

As it is with the stuttering of art, from in,

Unknown qualities emerge, myths and absolutions

Laying bare before the mantles, and within

All illumine beneath each face it makes appear.

“ Strength bemoans the martyr, as the power of fear, is concealed within each face before you here—those of strangers and Judases alike—whose stones are visibly clear, not in hand but in the discoloration within each their eyes”

Freestyling

2013-11-25T00:48:00.000-05:00

Body on an axis, a plane all it’s own—

Vertebrae stacked, aligned,

Proportionate to the space above

And the depths below we hope never shall we know

One arm—let’s call it right—

Up and out, down and in—

Stretched and placed

Cutting through—

While palm collides

Over coursing, invisibly aligned, the metacarpal shifts, turns, turns, turning,

All the while returning in, unnerved yet unnoticeably misinformed…it’s only the observant eye, the kind that can catch the ghosts that live between and through the chasms of the breath…bearing a structure;

An angular procession; with pulling tension, culling

All about, contouring what connections

The body feels, as it does, until the cycle

Spurs parallel, another action pushing further,

Away, and out, delaying all that could have and may still become—a semicircular pattern; a crucible undone, leaving only milliseconds before the symbiosis shatters all the ills that never were, yet thought had been, completed sums…Shall we…begin again

HOW many breaths will you choose to take in between?

Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric

2013-10-19T01:23:00.001-04:00

We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions

Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,

Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.

TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…

Intuition

2013-09-19T00:38:00.002-04:00

It’s that song drifting in your ear,

It’s the pattern swirling in your drink,

Where only you can see, only you can hear

You shake your head in disbelief,

You pinch yourself to spur relief,

Yet it won’t stop and it won’t end,

There’s no use in trying, no sense to pretend

Because no matter what it is that you think

There’s something more out there for you

And no matter what won’t disappear

One day soon, something better will appear

And the greatest thing of all, is that until you take the leap,

You’ll never know if it’s truth, in what your intuition speaks

Firecracker

2013-09-07T23:52:00.001-04:00

Firecracker—soda pop—routine quenching of the mortal verb, Blissful bullet-points banter about the pre-pre-lingual pause—submerging aftertaste in the grandeur of the plunge

Addictive trinkets of euphoric punch—punctuating the blistered awakenings found atop the ridges of the bridge—where with it’s carbonated siege, all pleasures are revealed—as possible and real

Shoulder Of The Road

2013-08-30T23:55:00.000-04:00

I’m at the shoulder of the road,

Meters past the vibratory bumps,

Inching towards,

Where the wheels and lamps align,

Sidled up, parallel as can be,

Beside the painted lines,

Under the lamps that hang,

And here,

Where gravel and grass unite

I watch the flash of life speed by

The eyes focus as long as they may,

Until either the darkness overtakes the

Landscape, or another pirates my line of sight

Disheveled Ignorance

2013-08-29T23:25:00.003-04:00

Lines blur as energies emancipate,

Time becomes just an artifact clinging to the nail,

While we are all made of flesh and red is the

Color of blood, the hand of the present hour darkens the premise that commingles with the air…

Mankind is blue on the inside…

Stereotypes distort the freedom our forefathers so selflessly fought for…

Castes depress the potential from perhaps the most brilliant of minds… but never mind…do not be concerned, with that does not defect you….keep on blinking…as innocence is belied…forced to till the fields at dawn…until sweat merges with the blood of the never spawned…

Platelets…meshing in skewered coercion

Marrow…corroding reality, separating the sinew from the bones broken during a midday matinee…in dream…we flail

Yet we are capable of so much more…more than shaking ourselves clean and clear…we are leagues better than those that witness the warped branches of the abhorred…perhaps even smiling as we avert our eyes

And then from those trees, where no leaf shall ever grow again, we may sigh…wondering where the breath begins…

A Fraudulent Decay

2013-08-22T00:33:00.001-04:00

Inspirations

For an otherwise

Uninspired world.

Stagnation mates with ennui,

Trigger offends frame.

Desperation reeks of fear

Grinning in contempt

Decay

We all do

Some late, some soon,

Some in peace,

And then there are the others,

Those that will eventually find themselves

Prematurely exhumed

Or dispatched as they’ve lived,

A fraudulent canvass is a canvass nonetheless

Trouble Making Sense

2013-08-19T18:34:00.002-04:00

A flagrancy of purpose

Bestowed upon the bountiful beyond

A vanishing, surrendered

While editing the epithet of man

Focus

Respond

Meditate

Visualize some far off place

A palace without the aftertaste

An Eden without the snakes

An apple for your troubles

A dagger for your dreams

So much, so little, so what?

Well…. as to that, I guess,

We shall see

Infernal Curiosity

2013-08-17T00:26:00.000-04:00

Got an itch, got an itch

Fire-red brightly shines

Like a shock of culture in a

Numbing state—Quake

Erupt, embellish the truth and

Watch it rust, flash to dust

Nightly neon, galactic dolls

Shake their triumphs down the halls

Broken record, playing loud

Blasting forward, dismissing sound

Got an itch, got an itch

Scratching the fever from beneath the skin

Digging deep, deep down in

Flamethrower, nitro-sun, blazing bright, blazing bright

Elapsed inferno, tin-tied tongue, shedding light, shed it’s light

Conflagrating fire, burning flames within

Heat is rising; sky’s ablaze, blackening earth, searing skin

Waiting on salvation, praying, that this bug’s been tamed

Waiting for salvation, hoping it’ll end this infernal pain

Temperatures are rising; smokescreen’s filling frame

Hoping for a flashflood, a drowning man’s beckoned

Hoping for a flashflood, to quench the thirst this fire’s sprung

Praying for the rain to come, MAKE IT RAIN, MAKE IT RAIN

To wash away temptation, to alleviate the flames

To damper down the charring and drench the thirst we crave

Douse and spin, Douse and spin

Heaviest downpour, Ferocious wind

Takes away the fire, absolves us from the sin

All comes to a standstill, a silent time for all

Everything’s grown quiet, no motion, no more calls

But it only takes one spark to smolder

Just one drop to light another, to ignite and stir

The accelerant at play, erupting forth, riling up flame’s astray

All to burn and burn again—for mankind’s fire’s yet been slain

As Night Settles Into Darkness Once More

2013-08-17T00:21:00.002-04:00

Five one-hundredth

Shrack, sh……….rack!

A white flash covets the evenings ebon gown

One one-hundredth, Two one-hundredth, Three one-hundredth

SCKERASH>…BOOM!

The stainless steel counters mirror the eyes of a 15-year-old kid—ignorant yet to the way of the world—just happy to have a job—to be up late at night, working, while his classmates are either sound asleep, or just finishing their nightly cram sessions—all in the name of honor roll eligibility…to please?

SKKRack…Skkracch…Skkrach…Blam!

Soap pail in tow, sudsy rag applied to drab yellow walls, eliminating the spackled V-shaped pattern away from view

A cold stutter bellows from within

Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash

All quiet! And the silence persists… …Leaves one wondering

Should the aftermath be explored now or in the morning?

Dialectical Improprieties (The Razing Of The Kaleidoscope)

2013-08-17T00:18:00.002-04:00

Bludgeoning the pursuit

Parabola in disrepute

Lies, shills, burning through

Core amendments digress

Upon a lot of all things hirsute

Every day problems magnify with poverty

Every illness is a damning edict, a death

Sentence, when you cannot medicate, a

Torment to live in such an infernal state

Aspect telemetry

A vision of Gethsemane

Hypnogogic resumes

Bio-energetic mediums

Served cold by flustering hypocrisies

Wretched septet

Barbarian bee

Caustic diadem

Procurer of persistently consistent migraine economies

Tamping down what could have been

In some other facet, convoluted by and then stirred to ease digestive properties…. wistful preoccupations or

Another enduring scapular placed upon

The neck bone of an otherwise removed staple of productivity

Robe—unworthy

For these genes—

False representative to the sea—

Waving to the minions below,

Bellowing inconsiderately

At his entourage, who cast

The vain impression, that

They are far above the

Polities of repressiveness

Forced frenetic scapegoat cur

Born of a plebe with better bite than bark

Star-Howl-Moon-Hollow

Kindred kiss,

Like kissing yourself, but better, much, much better

Kismet is stolen

Fate is betrothed to the enemy of wherewithal

And the bushes are on fire,

The damn bushes are on fire…again…what the…

Coalesce in my arms

Heal as my aura rebuilds you as you were,

Perfect, in ever sense

And if you choose to live—indeed it’s life you’ll have—

Free of debt, there’ll be no chains, no entitlements, no

Rigors latched to blame, no dirty shackles constraining flow,

Nothing, nothing like that at all…just free, forever free, to go as far or near, as high or low, whenever, wherever—even if those places don’t include me

And if you choose to die—I will grieve so much; the tears will smother the ceilings with their ebbs and tides…

The Invasion

2013-08-17T00:13:00.002-04:00

Love lost lacking. Brutal contributions from the master of the filthy undercurrent—swords, bombs, bayonets, flexing madmen and bloodcurdling sounds of dysfunctional regret—

WTF—Belly-side under, still sore from the stumble up the porch—rippled are the emanations my blood made as it sashayed across the puddles in the front hall, knew I should’ve used the insurance money to pay for repairs, but you know, sometimes, just need what you need…WTF, (take a peek out the window)

Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left,

Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right,

Bright lights, not the inner city I’m used to…not anything like anything at all—well, it’s like something, just don’t know what that is, and really, haven’t seen this much commotion since the riots back in ’98, and that was all about some bad call in a game, but Marching feet moving in rhythm and cadence, seriously what the hell, who’s birthday is it anyway, (what is the occasion?)

Sounds above, sirens rise and fall, the streets all cluttered, (better stay indoors), so much metal, so much steel, (be damned if I’m going out there, I’m the kind of guy someone does something to, just to prove a point, nope, staying put)

Loudspeaker off and on, don’t recognize the voice, can’t make out the words, (better keep the drapes shut and the lights on dim. No! Make that OFF)

Cat knows about as much as I do. It doesn’t seem as scared as I feel though…(have to keep composure, have to keep things together), phones all dead, television works but nothing seems to make any sense, invasion, unknown assailants, unknown, unknown, unknown, static…. television about as good off as it is on, perhaps under the present circumstances, better even (guess I’ll just wait this out, let the heroes do their thing, and I’ll live up to expectations just fine in here)

Time, time, turning without a witness to bear…yet ceaselessly parading forth…

(Good thing this house is a piece of crap, they’ll probably think it’s condemned, hopefully that’s the case anyhow, as I really don’t feel like doing anything I’m not used to, this isn’t what I’m built for, this isn’t my mission anyhow, so I’ll just try to sleep this off, but doubt the sandman will come on this particular night?)

I know it’s not going to go away. I’ve seen a lot of bullshit in my small sample set, but, this isn’t like anything I can think of, no comparisons at all, nothing even close, and anything that doesn’t end up with me dead is a good outcome, right?

Luckily I have a lot of cereal and plenty of powdered milk, that should last a week or two and that much foresight, in itself, is beyond anything I’m used to)

Arbitrarily regimented and statistically irrelevant…in a case like this, is all anyone can honestly hope for…

P.S. If the draft is sending chills throughout the floor, then, by all means…

Shut the God damned door…

The Needle Skips

2013-08-16T01:09:00.000-04:00

The same dream, or should we call it a replica,

Burns the ethos of his sleep—Devouring the plagiaristic embers—of comfort, in which the happiness

Has stored, securely, as an incorruptible sheath

Layer upon layers, lies still somehow seep

Through each tier and over the previous, a parallel exists,

To the safe harbors, in which the fears find themselves squelched, amongst the flames that flee the fray

Columns merge with columns fallen,

Once majestic now dull and grey,

Blankets submerge the depths previously kept in submission,

Awakening the collateral—a damage resting silently in place

And to ad nausea, it folds again, and repeats into and upon,

Hovering and towering, enveloping a trance built in patience, embracing the key swallowed by the unconscious deep

Delving far past mortal telemetries,

Protracting what’s left of wisdom…we kneel

As our souls have silently found a place to weep

The Tangent Dream Of The New-Age Scorpion

2013-08-14T23:55:00.000-04:00

I. TANGENCY

CON-descending Lullabies

PRO-tracts unto the counter measure of design

ANTI-trust collaborates itself apart—in a metric reclusion

IN-vested by doppelgangers, the ever hungry thirsts the truth

Where only OUT-bound principles coagulate in exaggeration

Proving that greed and supremacy are both equally capable to OVER-whelm, OVER-riding even the most pure of minds.

TRY TO FIND A HOME!!!

Sycophantic and alone

Chrysanthemums atop invisible bone

II. SMITTEN LIENS

She’s got me all tied up

She’s got me whole

She’s got me to the point

That no one else will do…

To where no one else could ever know

The consistency of deviltry entangled deep inside

She’s got me tied up in a mercury apron

Magnetically pronged by unquenchable tines

There’s a weather shift. It’s shaving back the sirens,

Casting disgrace upon the prophets lost

In that (some) other place, where (some) different crimes,

Caustically taint what grows on sinewy vines…casually commingling beneath this vagrant moon

She’s drawn me in, like a candle does the wind

She’s dragged me through, both the mire and the blame

Whittling away the hours and the cold of afternoon, crafting an otherworldly scene…where a sense of withdrawn eyes remains—housed in sham—caressed by the lonely shroud that is a mind detained

With intense feelings—harbored thoughts grow uncovered—

Reflections unravel into mindsets we oft deem forever lost—

Entrapped, encrusted, upon a web of fluctuating light—transforming shadows into abandoned works of art, ever dangling from gaudy structures that bleed divine—

Now knotted, twisting awry, now dwindling…the snaps that turn askew—leaving me unknowing, what next my heart should do—warping all the wisdom, engraving each a hue that’s yet accrued…where each variance of color can only be found within her…in those kaleidoscopic eyes of paintings unexplored.

III. FLOODED GATES OF CORAL

Nasty skein—wooden cage—comfort blanket, doused in saline—and the board retracts, as the crowd looks on, waiting for the final hook, (one) for the last breath to breathe upon

IV. FUTURE IN DECLINE

Amidst a future in faltered frame

Amidst a frantic amalgam of extraneous design—

Bearing fruits for the witch and warlock—itching, pining, for more and more

Waving their wands, sprouting smoke, contorting piranha

Whereas the amberjack calmly swim beside the sharks

In synchronized waters—blue yet black not quite red…as often the case can become—when observance becomes analysis before the sinking mixture delves through pore

And what time may soon one day become—the theories of the skeptics may also arise—giving back, only the finality of applause

V. NOVELTY OF THE WHITEST FLAG

Disreputable, white flag unclean—Dingy little mutt, sniffing out where the waves drew back from

Unwavering, courage placates the deepest dream—A comatose refugee breathes new life—anaesthetizing the air that dwells deep within

Worlds… adrift in slumber—are fleeting now—away…departing from…unbecoming shades of green…residues that shan’t move…while yet the consumption continues—as is true in most realms dreamers often go— leaving only substandard effectiveness and varicosity of growth

VI. BASTARDIZATION OF TASTE

Ignorance. It commands the faith of soldiers—polarized by the egotist’s unconscious scream—the orders engineer amnesty for the swollen templates fed to swine—this is the sketch that is left outdoors at night. This is the torn-out page, from those books our children color from.

It is much easier to commandeer a jackal at dawn, when stardust has yet repealed the lid of eye. It is much harder to stave off the apocalypse, if the flesh remains a proper distance from well done. Soured certainly…yet edible to none

VII. CONCLUSION (IF SO TERMED)

Spearheading the charge is the overarching romantic. Ignorant of the indemnity that tyranny speaks and spreads about.

Equally blinded are the swarms of anarchy that seem so fittingly applied to an individualistic state where pegs appear disjointed and mangled alone—it is in these moments, within such proclamations of spirit, that wholeness is bludgeoned by exhausting treasons—fears cast about internally—so easily slung about in epochs such as ours—

What a pity, truly…

To daydream of the sky,

While holed up deep inside

Remains entombed the light…where to go, what to do…

…?

Unplugged

2013-08-04T03:27:00.000-04:00

Machinations embody the presence of the modern air—

Yet, take away impulse

And they all just fill space with their cold grey stares

Between blood and flesh exists a soul

One to which only one can truly control

And despite the distractions that comprise the voids

It breathes, it feels, it lives

Although forgotten,

Amongst this flood of technological divide

Constructing patterns that adhere to path

Cannot find deliverance through wires alone

One must bite beneath the waves of efficiency

Unplug to find the gifts granted

When mankind first began

Sometimes one must return to nature in order to build upon what is already there…

Written and shared for tonights Poetics which I'm hosting over at D'Verse. Were unplugging for the weekend, come join us with your poetry…promise we won't byte...

A Communion Of Souls

2013-06-15T15:21:00.000-04:00

Staging and pealing,

Twisting and reeling,

Rolling towards the webbing

Caressing every regret with an ebb-like flow

The striation is a pattern,

A crazy design weaving forth its amber,

A designation ready to remember,

What it means to truly to have a love that can and will only continue to grow

From fore to aft, side to side

An angular procession, blending to and fro

All that is inside and all that forever shall be

Surrounding every memory you forge anew

It’s all a mystery enveloped in a personal,

Yet universally illustrated Mise en scene,

Only polarity can show the frayed and the perfected—

Forever discovering the artistry, what’s already known,

What’s yet to be seen—whether pristine or faded with flaw

The wild hair’s accosting,

Grasping the ventricles of air

The passion fills the tempest

With the most impossible of stares

It’s an airy companion,

Holding true the prophecies of the divine—

Blending history to the present, merging and melding

Yet again, into whatever, however devotion

Will choose to paint tomorrow’s lines

There’s a breeze across the valley

Engulfing the sated and the hungry—(Here’s a secret)—

The craving never stops—yet, the wisdom of the moment,

Is the enchantment that the frozen mind steals from the soul—ever a reminder, to remain open to the thoroughfares of life—whether pretty or demonic, the colorations and the prism’s of attraction, exist if one desires to search—in which, he or she will then proceed to find

The wizardry in wishing,

An automatic cauldron,

Taking chances as it’s misting overflows

Moonbeams and the dewy drops of stars

Holding tight the apprentice

With a glance espied by tenets wide and far,

A portraiture of awe, a sculpture of splendor—artwork

That only the ancient muse dares define

Couldn’t be more romantic

If her eyes ensnared my own,

Invigorating this flora with each vine that love emotes

Casting forth one vision

Opening a common sensing,

A sight that’s only present

In a communion of souls

Imagine a world where the exterior truly reflects the beauty that is ever there, always and forever near

Over at D'Verse we're discussing the majesty and mystery of all things beautiful. I'll be hosting Poetics tonight and would love for you to enchant your night by sharing your own work of beauty and reading all the beauty shared by others. Tonight's a night for the Beautiful, and I can't wait to find out just how the poetry will ignite us with inspiration and the Beauty that is, of course, everywhere and found within every one and every thing.

Can't Break Me Down

2013-06-09T03:24:00.002-04:00

You can’t break what’s already broken

You can’t take what’s already been stolen

You can’t

You can’t break

You can’t break me

You can’t break me down

You never could.

When the head hangs lowly

And when comfort’s gone astray

Just remember, it could not have wandered far from here…

And when you need it,

When you need what’s inside

The heart will find,

The heart will find it there

And then, all things

All those dark clouds and shaded smiles,

Will become those shapes, the epitomes of clear

You always knew, exactly what to say

A Hesitation Spawned Through Over-Anylysing The Importance Of First Impressions

2013-06-09T03:07:00.003-04:00

As prolific as I can be I straggle along when decisions are anything more than theoretical

As in touch, as I feel to be, with the muses that persistently confront me, knowing just what to say here or there, when I reach a point where so much must be said, this becomes the most daunting task of darkened dread

And I ask myself…WHY?

Am I tongue-tied and stifled

Lost amidst a sea of words

Perspiring for no reason

WHY…

I could write a biography, chapter upon chapter, of what there is to tell, what there is to know, and yet, within those populous of words, none work as well, as hello.

Then what comes next…how does one matriculate from salutation to unearthing life’s mysteries. Well, perhaps someplace in-between.

And as I hem and as I haw, doubt creeps in and intensifies it all.

What is there to fear?

What’s the worst that can happen?

Right?

A Hierarchy of Angels

2013-06-01T03:21:00.001-04:00

Forgive me if I fail to see

The flattery in your Joie de vivre

Correct me if I’m insincere

In disregarding the context of your cheer

What’s left tomorrow is often the rejected

Frames of today

Distinguish yourself through honor

Open your heart to verite and

All the lies will fade away

Forgery of purpose is impossible

If dedication is one’s only vice

Destitution of promise is but

A reflection of internal strife

To calm such seas in tumult

Simply intuit the breath, exhaling

All denials and debilitating thrush

And such is the way

And such is the path

To delve fully in such direction

Is to submit to potent tracts

In truth there is forgiveness

In strength one finds the gravity of love

In harmony there lives a peaceful serenade

Serenity one could almost touch

As one walks the valleys of the parent

All allegories are revealed

When one accepts all that is as what is served

There will be a hierarchy of angels revealed