Dirge on a river
winds lifting up a hymn.
Philosophical pondering
seeking solace on a whim.
Asking questions with no voice
the thoughts come like a sparrow,
cautionary tales spread far and wide
when all our lives are narrowed.
Dancing in the moment
dusk turns into night,
leave behind the mortal coil,
set gaze and erupt in flight.
Duplicate that hardened flow of hate
which wrestles inside our hearts-
where blood will pump and agitate
those impulses which never stop.
Find wisdom in the madness shared
the endless beat of noise against-
where blood will pump and glare
these impulses which hit intense.
Jump the hoops and tangled webs
that wash across our veins-
where blood will pump and slowly ebb,
these impulses aren’t all sane.
Damn each fellow man beneath a river of coal,
driven by demons he’s never met-
who haunt him during times of hope,
scald his soul despite the snow.
Outside the borders
of this unquiet mind,
sit eons of wisdom
woven as invisible mesh most fine.
Alone sits Arachnae,
that fate wielding bug,
completely immersed
playing God string by string,
thud by thud.
We’d settle for reality
if only for thinner air,
know what’s happening,
get right-sized and repaired.
But truth hangs us all,
the devoted or mellow.
Chokes down in the craw,
suffocating like an ungenerous fellow.
So let’s sit side by side,
have a novel discourse.
Talk free will or destiny,
while the galactic spider calls for a hearse.
Catatonic repose
affect flat and bare
thoughts locked in mid-battle
weaving chaos enough to wear.
Halcyon days
under visions of winter sun so bright,
sitting with view turned in
reflecting fiercely in that light.
Mindfulness resides
focuses on action, body, and soul,
a smile branches out
as new knowledge chases out the cold.
There’s a damp wetness that hangs inside
like some putrid pit you cannot shake.
It consumes and expands within you
always seeking to find new areas
ones that are filtered with love or confidence,
special and precious to defining who you are.
As the viscosity of the pit expands
you become enveloped in a melancholy,
a great creeping sadness that obliterates joy.
Dreams become suffocated,
ambitions become fantasies not to be attained,
emotions roll dead and to the beat of failure,
the internal monologue becomes a tirade,
life itself becomes a chore,
and one that is hardly worth the effort.
Enveloped in that wet darkness,
it takes great strength to continue on,
Each soldier who walks that path,
fights a monster inside and well beyond
anything that you can touch or taste,
Merry be the wounded ones who chose to fight,
their battle is so often invisible,
that others aren’t aware of the war being fought,
It is though,
one screaming resistance and determined action at a time,
they battle against something never asked for,
never wanted,
always waiting,
Tactical with your hands
the way you smooth my skin
beneath fingers so cool.
A promise held in your palm
where it blends away pain
into pressure and pleasure.
Your touch sifts away the world,
leaves me gasping in relief
that we are not alone.
Explicitly free,
in empty shadows she dances
underneath clouds,
across ocean swathes of green
tickled with flashing bulbs of brightness,
puffs of color growing
amid the endless blades.
She will not be kept
or locked inside,
always bursting forth
enchanted by the world
the sensation of movement,
the passion of feeling deeply,
the exhilaration of newness,
as it sweeps away her pain
leaving her breathing heavy.
I too,
once touched the underbelly of clouds,
skipping with my feet,
unabashedly giddy.
I ache again for those days
knowing,
nostalgia is a wonderful weapon.
Meandering feet fall between the scent of wildflowers and moss,
deeper into the mountain side this long trail winds.
Water courses on a ceaseless tract towards the valley,
runs furiously far below where the air is cooler
and the sun rains its heat against the rapids.
Summer becomes the tone of fresh and old love mingled.
Of exhilaration, fascination, inspiration,
all put in skin sacks, given names.
Each heat riddled day the sun bakes us,
we are entwined in passionate reverie,
where no mere words will penetrate the sanctum.
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 