beating

essences 1

Folder: 
Nature / Folder 1

 

.........

 

honesty can, and

has been known

to strangle

arteries of 

bleeding love 

that feed a 

beating heart,

but flowers 

that never reach 

their intended 

destination 

only leave their 

scent. 

 

to live half 

of  a life 

is like 

not even 

living  at all, 

but  the seeds 

of dying  flowers 

disagree. 

 

5:48 PM 8/1/2013 ©

 

.......

 

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The river

am I nothing but broken bones? is this beating heart nothing but a burden to myself & everyone I meet..?
as I walk through this valley alone..

the shadows become something i've well known.
your eyes, they magnetize.. the fear in my soul is screaming out "lies!"
where should I try to hide..?

the clouds hang above, as the river i'm crossing over continues to flow..
if I were to fall, would anyone ever know? slipping away from it all, even myself..
glancing at these hands, I wonder what would be different if I was somebody else..

 

this forest goes farther than the birds & the trees..
this grass grows taller than below our knees..
my fate is an open wound.. bleeding.. bruised.. cut & used..
where am I going..? what am I to do..?
too many questions within me.. are we all our own worst enemy..?
on the top of this hill, the sunrise & fall reminds me of Gods undying love..
every memory that follows behind is purpose-less..
how could you think you know me better than I know myself?
every word you spew is worthless..

 

dreams are like looking through stained glass..

all different shapes, colors, hues..
why would you want to watch them shatter.. how could it not matter!?
one thing to remember.. don't give your love away, for the sake of saving someone else...

 

path after path, turn upon turn.. we struggle, maybe learn..
I stare into space & wait.. for something, i'll never know exactly what...
ashes have become of these fantasies..
careful not to let the blood of the past stain what is of my today..
dancing around the casualties.. murder my misery.

 

shed a tear for everything that used to be & let it all blow far over me.
if only we could all perfectly mend these wounds..
fragilties of life, scars of death..
the last time you close your eyes... that very last breath..

 

black night sky with stars so electric..
fragrant & soothing, my boat keeps moving..
row, row, drift away..
feet in the dirt but i'm being pulled astray..
the current so strong & winds full force.
the ocean is taking it's course..

 

beneath the misty swamp, stirs disarray..
where Satan's children go to play..
one by one, two by two.. sinking to the bottom.
he's a theif, can't you tell..?
reeking of that evil smell..
naive indeed as you let him feed..
you act as if life has turned you to this bad seed..
fool, you did it to yourself...
why blame someone else?

 

& finally I jump in the river to drown..
reaching out for my savior, not because i'm in danger..
I need to be taken from this earth.. I smile because i'm hurt...
when my feet hit the river floor, i'll close my eyes, & open the doors..
a light shone through, my hope for God was true...
I embrace... soon free... this body was never me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

7.26-7.27- 2013.

the massage

....

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=hvXL-YLRq60

(right click and open in new tab)

 

...................

 

 

lying prone, face lying in the pillowy softness

of satin, I hear music, and the sounds of nature,

the smell of sandalwood amber and another essential oil

filling my nostrils, carrying healing essences 

whisking through neural pathways, triggering transmissions,

i inhale a deep breath, and hear the sound of the oil,

a swishing together of hands, reminding me of my last alpha journey,

into the space where nirvana calls and awaits my presence,

past the noise, far away from the hustle and bustle of my everyday life,

a place of feather-light suspension that melts the weight of earth,

gravity ceases to exist in my awareness,

and the energy from your hands glides upon the posterior of my shoulders,

then by back and torso, kneading away the stress and tensions

that hold me to the earthen existence,

i drift farthur and farthur away, and the music, the scents of the oil,

and the touch of your hands transform my very life 

into a more liquid state, and i float surrounded in a cloud of numbness,

the only connection is that to the inspiration and exhalation 

of each breath, deeper, deeper, and deeper....every part of my skeleton

feels purged of debris and renewed,

a feeling of utter sanctification overwhelms my senses,

i open my eyes and remember where i am, 

 awakening refreshed, as if returning from a long vacation,

..the sound of wind chimes outside your door is a gentle hello and welcome home.

 

©

 

 

.............................

 

 

12:37 AM 7/12/2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

what a massage does

i neglected to write the part where i drool onto the table from utter helplessness--i think i'm going for another one soon..lol

Inside the Closet

Folder: 
D. E. A. F.

We stare into the black abyss

A world surmised by nothingness.

The only illumination is from under the closet door,

and your only companion, the cold hard floor.

 

You hear them scream, you hear them yell.

But they can't find you, and the dark will never tell.

Curl in a ball and press back against the wall.

Too afraid to answer their call.

 

We are small and filled with fear,

We cannot sob for they may hear.

We don't want to feel the slap of their palm.

Then have to lie when teachers ask whats wrong.

 

When they drink like this there is no reason.

And the slightest infraction will bring on a beating.

They'll yell in your face and you smell it on their breathe.

It smells like desperation and it smells of death.

 

We used to think being in the light was fine.

Until they beat up our body and shattered our mind.

Here in this space, with its absence of light.

Where no matter what time it is the middle of night.

 

We will stay here, stay safe, and hide away.

Not listening to apologies and lies they say.

It's cold on this floor, without a blanket.

But it still is safer than coming out the closet.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's another poem about abused children. Who were so abused they believe its better to live in the darkness than outside it.

Its also connected to my other posted poem "They Call Me It"

Feel free to read that one also and give feed back on both

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