Knowledge is a true blessing,
For knowledge is given.
From the omniscious energy
Full of All that there is and is to become.
Knowledge cannot be personally attained.
Having common sense is not merely enough;
One must be lacking, yearning, seeking for completeness.
A young man may dwell on memories of better days,
Or contemplate on all there is and receive
an idea, transformed to action—Will.
A mouse may seek out his own food,
or he may realize he is being fed.
Tag: poetry
The Center is All
Between this reality and the ones in minds eye, of which do I reside?
In the center of it all, is the All.
Chaos, harmony, ugliness and beauty.
Sirens, guns blaring, and wise words from Djehuti.
The police helicopter circles and the Dove sings overhead—
Serenity amidst disruption.
A boulder in a rushing river.
Life is motion, then it is stillness.
Roots
I am a tree.
Like hands, my branches reach toward heaven.
My trunk is my body.
The roots extend as much below as above.
Although you cannot see them,
It is the deepest part of my being hidden.
I am brought to life from confined abysmal darkness.
— And nourished through boundless divine light.
Man Left Unattended
When man is left to his own devices,
He is temperamental. He is cultured, deep.
He is okay with his appearance, in all forms,
He lacks nothing, for he has nothing.
Descent
Taking his time down the steep dark descent,
He only found her by way of scent.
“Where are you?” Said he, reaching but not finding.
“There is another world up there only found by climbing!”
“Shhh!” She sang, gaze affixed to shadow image on the wall.
A hopeless heartache—if only they knew a fraction of it All.
A Reflection of Heartache
Written Nov. 2012
At this point, we both know it’s over. Your room knows we’re over. Your chest of drawers know. Your walls hanging with pictures of us know. Your sheets suck in the scent of me, only to torture you while you sleep. As you lie there, your mind will unknowingly recognize my scent. And as you reach for me, you’ll awaken alone and cold. But for now, we’ll lay here and think of the emptiness that is to come.
It’s quiet now. You’ve just told me we won’t last. You lay your head on my chest. “I wonder if she can hear my heart breaking?” I imagine my heart as shifting tectonic plates. As my brain scrambles to recognize this feeling, it exclaims “Ah, heartache. We meet again.” My brain relays messages to my liver, kidney, colon, muscles, nervous system, and lungs of the coming storm. They then ready for the great purge of sorrow to come.
The Pale Rider
Walking into to town the others see me coming.
They turn with askance at my rider who sways to and fro.
Head down to shun the sun with the brill of his cap.
Though I be the sober, he be the other.
Drinking water from my trough, he journey’s to the bar.
Avoiding the others at stools end.
Deep in contemplation he seems to be.
Not a glance up, nor the tip of a cup.
Back on the saddle he sways to meet the days end.
Leaving town they bid farewell and see his hollowed eyes.
Not knowing whither to he goes, or from whence he came.
We leave prompt all the same and he asks for no ones name.
I steer him here and there as if I know the way myself.
Wishing on the stars we meet our journey’s end on the moon itself.
If I Could Give You the Stars and Outer Space
What sort of love is this?
Do you think of me when the morning dew hits?
In my arms do you feel any bliss,
A sudden need for a kiss?
There is love, but of what kind?
Confused passion for we are blind.
We are the scars left on another over time.
Or have we settled-assuming true love we’ll never find?
I feel no warmness from you.
When times of happiness are seldom few.
Why do we return expecting something new?
My inmost thoughts you pretended you knew.
I don’t want love like your movies on lifetime.
You should already know me without a lifeline.
I wish we had met at the right time,
Never really felt you to be all mine.
You fight yourself from change.
Both of us can’t seem to act our age.
But I somehow found a way,
Into my soul- things I cannot convey.
If this is what I’m left with,
I’ll have nothing at all.
Love has become some myth
Leading me unto the Fall.
From Bitter Submergence, Loving Enlightenment.
This life it weighs on thee.
Bound to material,
the physical we endure combatively.
Earth-born all is ephemeral.
Ancient works uncovered,
only intensify a burden.
We are fallen angels unfeathered,
—of that I am certain.
Two into one, of three we be.
Yet unto one a return,
and of three they see.
Of transcendent planes we yearn.
Mortality the prescription,
sense perception an unawakened state.
Past loves I’m missin’-
dwelling on the things I hate.
Of those from within,
and those of without.
Some just trying to win,
others filled with doubt.
On heavens light we pretend,
the end we cannot comprehend.
Seek and ye shall find,
an aeon not bound by time.
It’s the bottom of the 9th and I can’t find my bat.
Two roads split off from here,
never felt so open, nor so near.
Too late to breathe, too little to adhere.
My life is a colored path of missed taken steps.
Swallowed my share of mistaken breathes,
all of which I aim to keep, souls I chose to reap.
A darkness held me,
and you always told me,
if I only knew how to be set free.
It came from within,
didn’t call, a pretentious way to win.
Never required science, no nuclear fission.
Just a willingness to see a tardy vision.
Been dead all this time,
Frankenstein’s monster I was a mime.
Most intelligent, all pain, all grime.
Giving life to a thing that had past,
the weight of someones world like steel ballast.
Sunken down the river, hoped you’d never last.
I cursed you like the sun,
a scorn you could outlast.
Now I sit in lament,
wishing you could leave just as fast.
Yet I come as soldiers torches burning the night.
‘Come out my dawn’, unaware you’d adorn a fight.
A war lost-one of attrition, a beggars fiction.
Time is a selfish bitch.
All you did was wish
for a time I was yours,
and emptiness was no lore.
Can’t seem to hold a beat,
liquor knocking me off my feet.
Let us be absolved-be let free.
No longer alive and not nearly dead.
Wish I could take back all the things I had said.
Yet that is the sentiment of time,
no ones truly yours, you are not mine.
So feed your fancies from a screen,
only hope you won’t hear me scream.
Cannot fathom, cannot see,
on this bar stool I’d rather lean.
‘Why are you being nice?’
‘Why do you like me?’
You are the fire that thawed the ice
after years to you it wasn’t likely.
Oh how stubborn the scars that refuse to fade.
Or are they reminders of better days?
No just a reason to stay away.
Four years lost but still love-always.
