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Crystallize: The Angel with Crystal EyesShe, like no other woman I've met, has a heart that is as sound as my own. It beats for one thing alone. Life. From her experiences it sings a dark melody which then crescendos into a symphony of resolve absolute. My God, how her body rocks along and dances through the air to that enchanting tune. All the while, twisting the world around her into a resplendent light show; that challenges the Godly phantasmal beauty of the ether-real.
Yet, not one of her features holds me more ensnared than her eyes of crystal blue. They generate some glorious sense of faith, in this universe sublime. Therein lies the true nature of her that has caught me in muse. The soul she carries, is a true paragon of serenity, and even though she has faced against the most terrifying aspects of the dark. That bright miracle God has bestowed within her is still pure.
Yes, she is my friend from the mini-mart.
Journey Home(IV): The StruggleI did not hesitate to grab it from
its rest, nor did I think of the actions
that would be response to this soulful act.
A boundless energy then filled my soul.
It was as though this object had always
been a part of my destined path to walk.
No more time passed between my acceptance
of the sword's light and being at their sides
in the struggle against the shade so dark.
Lugnut stood still as the shadows encroached.
Not a worry adorn upon his face.
From his hands, like a deck of cards, appeared
Small rectangles that overlapped, creating
a mighty and bright dragon. So bright that
the trees around it dissolved with shade.
I turned to see, back to back, Starwind and
Moonshadow. The angel wielding a wand
and the elf a hoop, both equally bright.
Then there was the sprite, Pyro, who with strings,
did vibrate the forest with a low and
chilling song that vanquished many more shadows.
Where was my place with ones so divine?
Journey Home(III): The QuestionStarwind spoke so soft and sweet the question
that had been mounting. “Young Jakall. Where from
is it that you have come? For we exist here,
Yet you seem to exist else where and that
troubles me greatly.” My mind began to race.
Not a thing could I recall, say the Gate.
“I cannot remember how I came to
be in this world so dark. Though, something calls
to me, and assure me this is my place.”
My words were backed by a wind so mighty
that when I stood the flame erupted. From its light,
I could see the outline of the forest.
Amidst the trees were shadows strange. That moved
all their own. Starwind and his companions
drew from the air, weapons. Each bound to them.
Moonshadow's voice wavered, “Then it seems you are
lost. Those who are so do not often last.
I suggest you are quick to find your way.”
The four of them moved so fast at the shades,
that I was left all alone at the fire.
I am lost. How am I to fight this truth?
Then from the fire rose a sword. My
Journey Home(II): The OnesAs the way grew brighter, I came upon
four majestic creatures. Each of whom was
playing with the light around them. In fear
I spoke, “What are these things I see here,
Are they some form of arcane magic old?”
I can not well remember the moment
That passed before his answer, but among
them, an angel came forth. His eyes piercing
with light so grand it made my being ache.
His eight wings spread wide, each one its own flame
from which a great many shadows were born.
The other three creatures stood and joined him.
It was then my answer came. “We are not
some many things to be feared, rather we
are most likely friends. Sit at the fire.”
He gestured towards flames that had appeared,
and obliging, I stepped forward to sit.
They took turns telling old stories, at first.
Then after time, introduction by name.
The angel, Starwind. The sprite, Pyro. The
elf, Moonshadow. The enigma Lugnut.
Then in return, was my own name Jakall.
Journey Home(I): The PathIt was that I alone had seen a dark
and dismal existence, Wherein she was
a goddess painted by the night around.
Oh, deliver me to that place again.
Take me to those wondering woods, so that
I may find that happiness, and whisper
Back to that wonderful girl, my true name.
It's in darkness we're willing to speak truth,
and yet when we approach the light so bright
There is not a thing one won't do to keep
it close at hand. Who were you beautiful?
What possible message could you have had?
It was then I found myself at the gate,
the passage between two worlds. Far away
music still floated through the night, but here
I could feel the eerie silence building.
With each step the world grew darker, then
illumination was salvation bold.
Along the path was laid symbols begetting
a wondrous and profound light calling
for my further adventure foreword still.
So then I went alone, unto my dream.
DistanceYour eyes in digital sight.
Your mind that challenges mine.
If you're hand were here I'd kiss it
and show you what defines this Misfit.
All I am is words,
that lead you to speaking my name.
Whispering in the cold night's air.
If I could warm you,
I'd use this solar heart,
whose definition sparks insanity.
That's what I'd call it,
Sweet, pure, and great love.
Disconected: Shadows of the past.In that moment he finally felt alone. The trees were his only companions as he walked. The light of the moon eclipsed the scenery around him in a pale and eerie glow, but he was comfortable here. This place was his favorite hide away. The pond where he'd spend many days fishing and many nights starring out at the stars.
He leaned back and allowed the ground to catch him. The soft uncut grass cradled him. He resumed his thought as he stared up into the heavens he'd so longingly admired. The gentle chirps and wild croaks sounded in like a symphony. The mesmerizing melody of the night.
“My name is Daniel ya know,” He spoke to the night.
A twig broke in the shadows just beyond the tree line.
“I'm not afraid of you anymore you can come out” Daniel continued.
His feeling of being alone faded when he saw her hiding just inside the shadows of a distant tree. Her pale skin was barely covered by animal skins and a shocked and wild look covered face.
It had been years sinc
Lost in trasnlationIt is from the heart, I write
It is from the mind, I design
my realm is unreal
and my life is a fantasy.
I am a the mercy of the wind,
torn by its bitter tides,
and in its heart, I am confined,
in storms that shall not pass me by.
For life, is my long journey
but love is my quick trip.
Ex cordis scripsi
Quod ex animo volo
vana est regno meo
Vita et luctus felis.
Ego misericordiam a facie venti,
captum a amaro aestus,
Et in corde suo, Ego clausus
quia non est mihi tempestate.
Vita longissima est
sed amor, meum est vivos trinus.
I write from the heart
I want that from my mind
unreal is my kingdom
The life and the fantasy.
I am the mercy of the wind,
torn by a bitter chill,
And in his heart, I am confined,
I have no time.
Life is very long
But love, it is my quick trip.
ChallengeA place in time is all I need
where my mind is finally freed
to do as it's always pleased
for all these many year
wherein I 've seen some fear
make the end draw ever near
and I'm just a kid
after all I went and did
I ran from you, then hid
In the darkness alone
for these sins, I atone
for they're all I've every known
But is time to challenge night
stand up alone to fight
and win with my own light
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
the gardenersMy father is a good man.
His hands, dry and
callused, carry a case
of Corona Lite
to the gardeners in
Big-brimmed hats cast
shadows down their faces,
and a pile of thick,
gray gloves lies
on the glass table.
The beer looks like liquid
gold in those clear bottles,
and condensation clings
to the glass like the sweat
beading at their brows.
My father and the gardeners
drink, laughing like they’ve
known one another for years.
There is nothing
that brings men together
better than beer
on a hot day.
Our destiny is determined
Reliving the past
Enduring the suffering
Visions of the future
Endeavours to come
Representing life as a whole
grow upyou say
i am weak
i have never
worked for anything
i am not sorry
i should take
the pills the doctor
i will never
know what it is to
hurt the way that you hurt,
plant me in the ground
listen to the way my nature sounds
when i turn from something black
to something luminous, proud
you turned me into a shadow, you prick
remember that? remember this?
yeah, the condom broke, you
piece of shit, at least i tried
to be careful, at least when
you cried, i kissed your
say what you want
about my judgment.
my immaturity, my general
lack of readiness for
anything. but i was good
to you, and i tried,
and i am sorry that
you hurt so much
that you can't
do it as elegantly
as i can.
you have never
learned to love
the grit: the place
where my spirit sags,
where my love
as if biology could have been any clearer,
cleaning your spit from my bedroom mirror-
i can smell your genes and
they smell fucking good to me,
but i keep telling myself,
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
The Washed MindI have let the difficulties flood my body
From head, the worries slip to my heart
like children falling through the cracks
of some broken floor
under which is nothing besides me
My mind is melting from the inside
Swarmed by maggots and the meaningless questions:
Would my mind work better
without all these walls
stopping it from evolving?
Where did these obscene problems come from?
Surely my mind was born free
Surely my opinions exist somewhere...
Or is freedom nothing but a joke
to the true me?
So, I ate nails and needles to clear my mind
The bleeding and the pain
were both evil and refreshing
I have learned the lesson
fairy tales are the shadows on my eyes
Now my mind is clear as melting glass
running down my cold spine
washing away the sins,
violent thoughts and sorrowful memories
from the edge of my past
Bitlets 157He says that "You must have a girlfriend,"
upon seeing Lauren's embossed envelope
that he has retrieved from the mail.
Truth is, in that envelope are bookmarks
for me to match origami paper too
and a galaxy of trees,
and while there is simplicity in truth
there is convolution in explaining it.
"Yah, I must."
SunriseDawn is now and I'm fighting for reality
tensions growing ever grander.
Is it right to fight?
That's the question isn't it?
Is it right to hold on
when something is failing,
falling apart so rapidly?
This advancing time
is playing havoc with my life
and I can't explain
what it's doing to humanity.
I want to be the hero
and save the day,
but you see me only as you're enemy,
the nemesis of life's normality.
Let's ride this changing tide together
and conquer our own existence equally,
and in so doing,
find the truth that's hiding.
Make me your champion
against this rising hate
so one day we'll know peace
and this moments tempered grace.
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
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