Ancilliary thoughts are buzzwords kept in rhythm,
chasing down the laden road
where all of us are minions.
Scry the hidden words
never speak what you will read,
dance softly in the dust of life
where none of us can breathe.
Sunshine Highway
One more time through that fucking door. It’s heavier than ever but maybe that’s because I finally know the weight of all the waste and damage left behind. The broken smiles and hearts in both directions, and only the fucking Gods know what the real goal was. It’s a slog ahead in the best of circumstances, and whether or not it means anything in the end I guess rests on something everyone has to figure out in their own time. Wish I was faster, or maybe slowed down a bit…hell, my fucking stories aren’t even what I thought they were anymore. When you’re the hand that twists the rope into a nkkse, even if someone was dangling it there with subtle suggestions that you might feel like you’re flying…still your hand that did it. So to everyone the helped and cared, thank you. For all the shit that I didn’t and still don’t get that had some kindness or humanity behind it that I ignored or didn’t see…thank you for your patience. For the mercenary fucks that twisted out the last strands of anguish or chuckle at the wounds of another, I’ve done it myself, and it’s still fucking horrible. To the ones I can’t or will never be able to speak with again, you have no idea how badly I feel about what’s gone on. To the kids I left behind in my selfish and narrow world. I will always regret my choices and love you more than you can imagine. Fuck it all…..one last time.
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Night Tan Under the Supermoon
Layer a white cold blaze
in circular pool
hung
where the reflection of day
carries to the infinite
teeming void.
Shadowscape of eternity
ever beyond
incandescent blue skies,
milky clouds,
beyond sun-blinded sight,
always sitting.
Wonderland of possibilities
bending even science
to use imagination.
Endlessly faltering
towards an unknowable end.
The Gods baubles
spin deftly
through the deepest darks
of cavernous black gone noir.
Never bound,
never stuck,
not clasped tight inside
of opulent bondage
as we marching mortals
on our madhouse Earth.
Into that idea –
that dizzy concept which
forged new words
to try and constrain
something so terribly VAST –
where all is birthed
through cataclysm,
fiery destruction,
demises so profound
dust from their corpses span eons,
rages as a furnace
crafts awakening
in billions of new forms.
Peace is found
within mirrored
microcosm eyes
of any
who would choose to pray,
take silent reverie
in joyful awe,
of beauty without boundaries,
and their own
immeasurable nothingness.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 