master

The Wind is Never Too Late

Folder: 
Wayward Motions

The Wind is never too late
Minutes and hours may pool into an endless shadow clock
but She cares not for the tick tock tick tock
She has been cast into many worlds
With no hope to ever unfurl

Ravaged with unrest
We seek Her company but know not what is best
For Her

She curls Her arms in a lover's embrace
We reach out in hope
We leave with despair

To Her
we are a ghost of live's past
we are a measure of time She cannot understand
we become dust in Her shapeless lands

And yet... the Wind is never too late
She casts Her endless touch
Hoping        needing        yearning

She is here
She is now
She is always
(The past cannot present itself
when the future was never there)

Sadness beckons, widens, and burdens
And like a loose cannon
we shoot out into the distance
reaching out for anything

To hold
To conquer
To master
To love

But, The Wind... She knows
She is never too late
She catches our follies when we become one with the daisies
She carries our songs which blankets those worlds
She chronicles our stories and heralds them across endless sands

The Wind is here
The Wind is now
The Wind is always

For us
For Her

Author's Notes/Comments: 

After returning from a trip to the mountains I am finding myself in unrest. I miss the wind across my face. I miss the serenity of the forests. I miss many things and yet I aim to adjust the sails of reality and move forward. Hopefully, soon.

To you, Sir

Look up to see your faint smile, and I give a quick nod,

A mutual understanding, as my body begins to grow hot,

The look in your eyes, probably held the darkest of sins,

As the corners of your lips, formed into that devious grin,

Along my skin, I felt those bumps raise, and from your lips,

A chuckle as your hands slowly left their place on my hips,

Up my side, along my ribs, as if you were counting each and every one,

Until you reached my neck, and grabbed my chin, grazing my lips with your thumb,

And in that moment my mind was blank, as always, you had my entire being,

No, at this very point, I was yours, and as you tied that blindfold to keep me from seeing,

I let out a rigid breath, and you paused for only a moment before tightening it enough to make me flinch,

And there was something there, an urge, just a small itch,

To test your dominance, an urge to see where I really stood,

See if I could dominate this time, if I really, truly could,

Oh, but I knew better, I really did, then to test you, Sir,

We both know how it'd end up, you getting what you wanted, and I, hurt,

Just how I wanted it, and though I struggled, we both knew,

That I had given my entire being, to you.

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Pandora's Box

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

 

exhaustion surrounds 

 

permeating her auric feild

 

like a blanket of thick smoke

 

retiring into the darkness of night

 

it is her solace and place of quietude

 

undaunted by earthly storms 

 

the raging fires of voicy havoc

 

 raucous misunderstandings

 

petty misgivings that cloud the path to clarity

 

slowly and calmly anesthetized 

 

by the rise and fall of her chest

 

the inspiration of her breath

 

 far into the depths of unconscious planes

 

dreaming of spatial incongruencies

 

distorted views of the day's events

 

 slip into a place where they make more sense

 

awakened by a sound

 

 a child weeping

 

baby soft skin broken by the remnants 

 

of an ogre's  shame and anguish 

 

after dropping bombs on innocent women and children

 

abandoned by an angel of forgiveness

 

left in the scourge of suffering

 

accompanied by his own flesh and blood babies 

 

 one man's desperation 

 

the cold war has been resurrected

 

a house of horrors comes alive

 

it is up to each one to survive

 

 raw emotion pierces a hole

 

gnawing like lightning through the night

 

 into the core of her soul

 

awakening with cries

 

but after 35 years

 

she is finally alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

10:07 PM 7/3/2013

©

 

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

Author's Notes/Comments: 

What war does. it lasts long after it's over.my father beat me 2 months after my mother's sudden death, and I blocked it out for 35 years of my life.

The Artisan's Throne

I think that just beyond the deepest point

Our souls can reach, 

There lies the place where 

Our children wait to incarnate,

 

And in the darkness, 

 

Actuated through voluminous walls of air,

Gravity sucks them into it's vacuum,

They enter into slimy saturation, 

And flesh and bone begins 

To imbue their being.

 

They permeate this budding existence 

Without defense, or knowledge,

Propelled by the force they left, 

Where they circled in space,

For thousands of Earth years.

 

Now a human, living love essence,

Bound to slice the charred debris

Of our sometimes too well thought out plans,

A step ahead of us they plow their way

To mold us, sometimes scold us, 

Scar and control us.

 

As they journey to become born, 

While seeds of this innate knowing

Burrow deep within their subconscious,

Our eyes, gazing upon the miracle of birth itself,

Project us into blissful delight at their presence,

 

Comforting us as we spar with the hand of mortality,

 

Reminding us in our deepest repression,

The space from which we came,

Taunting our moment of utter euphoria,

A subtle elusive gnawing query, 

Starved, by and through our own ignorance 

And trepidation of who we are.

 

So our retort to this vexatious notion 

Becomes an obsessive adoration 

Of these fleshy creations which do not even belong to us,

 

They are the squires of our purpose,

 

Like projectile bits of sawdust and splintered wood

From a carpenter's saw,

Remnants of the artisan's aspirations,

And humanity's desperation to fullfill the promise of 

A life well lived.

 

I used to love to watch my grandfather in his basement,

Carving fine artistry from rough edged pieces of wood,

As I rocked in the small rocking chair he made for myself,

My siblings and cousins, each taking our turns,

At the artisan's throne.

 

 

 

 

1:47 AM 6/25/2013 © 

 

 

 

 

...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A human experience

The Mercenary and The Squire

The nightly curtain crept across the land
Forcing to life all that are under its command
And by its hand, lustful shadows cast upon a wall
As into a passionate love we do, once again, fall

Soldiers, basking bodies in their master’s lunar light
A practice field where many may show their true might
It is here that in private rounds longing is released
When it is flesh of the innocent upon which they feast

Enter the ring, a ravenous mercenary with many kills
And by his hand he brings along a squire of many skills
To dual away until altered is the purity of her soul
So that come morning he may say it is her he has stole

But smart was the squire whose sinlessness was feigned
By her body and to it so the mercenary would be chained
Unwise was he as he drew her closer by his leading hand
So quickly the she squire gave him all he could withstand

Long into the hours of their master’s reign they battled
Until it seemed that both fighters were visibly rattled
Battered and panting they agreed to a truce
To stay in each others arms required no excuse

Stay like that they did, well into the reign of dawn
But with no fear, for their master had not gone
Wrapped in his curtain of darkness they remained
Safe from the world, their lust filled night contained

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The mercenary is a man.
The squire is a woman.
The night is their master.

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The One I Serve

Folder: 
2011

I know that I have written
A similar one before
But he is no longer in the picture
And it was ten years ago that
I left him way behind

But with you, I never
See myself leaving you
Not unless you tell me to leave
And I will be forced to comply
Because you are the one I serve

So please tell me that you
Will be my master for forever
And a day because one minute
Away from you is more than
A second than I can bear

I love the fact that you do
Not make it obvious
It’s not really a life style for us
It’s just the way we are
And I hope it stays that way

Because you mean everything to me
And I am hoping that I
Mean the same to you
Because I will always feel like this
And you I will always serve

~Chrystal
Written on
December 19, 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was written to Tom Nevelle. This is how I feel about him. He means everything to me, more than life itself. I can feel him, even now, next to me. Even though, in truth, he is at his place doing his thing and I am at mine. We have a connection that is undenable. That is why I couldn't break up with him, when he found 'His Toy'. She is know gone and away from him, and that makes me happy. I think that the whole point of doing that was to prove, he is "The One I Serve'.

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Why I Love You

Folder: 
2011

How do I love thee?
There are too many ways
To sit here and count
So I’ll just write a few reasons

I love you because of
How sweet you are
How considerate you are
And for your patients

Yes your patients
Of dealing with me
Brain injury and all
Even though I may forget

The little things like
When your birthday is
I don’t forget you
Or anything like that

I love you, Master
For forever and a day
And that I will serve you
As long as I live

~Chrystal
Written on
November 25, 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was written for Tom ___. I may soon be able to put his last name here. So I will go through and change all these poems. Until then, you have to deal with it. :P

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