each cycle ends but i cannot pretend
a part of me doesn’t pray to see your hand at the end
create spaces for you to soak in my head
misrepresenting everything in hopes of the best
keep it quiet and only unravel in my diary
keep it silent and pray nobody can see

I.
There are no pillars of fire to—
gather around; the clouds, they
deluge the prayers to and fro.
The deafened rumblings racing

the pouring torrents, as they
try to reach out, to answer,
and frown like morose protests,
like restless tantrums; and I—

I can only gasp for air.

Like salvations and unmet counsels.


II.
Remembrance follows ever-dearly;
shuffles carelessly amongst hasty—
coronations of dusted amber,
of dubious prints on the sand,

and it comes along, lavishly.
Esperance creeps tauntingly:
I wonder if it’s within me,
to reach out and sear the weave—

with conjoined hands, praying for air.

Like revising sextants and astrolabes.


III.
Dread is a candle in the dark,
nestled tightly into the fingers
and burrowed deeply into—
hands; they choose to hold on.

Blessed are the hands that harrow
and lean to the curtains of twilight,
to the lenses of hindsight:
merely debtors, to the fealty of morrow.

I can no longer grasp for air.

Like rainbows after a downpour, like chrysalides striking an impasse.

.

Freedom may sleep, but it will awaken
For those who love freedom
Can never stay shaken

Freedom may pine, in chains for a night
Yet will always break through
And stand firm in the right

Freedom may kneel, but only to pray
For strength in its purpose
And hope for today

Freedom may falter, and may need to slow
But with renewed vigor
Will get up and go

Freedom may fall, but it NEVER dies
It’s part of our soul
And will EVER arise

Bitcoin is freedom - to save or to spend
The freedom of money
We will ever defend

one of my biggest fears,
the thing that i dare not touch—
hope

and yet, somehow
my fists are bloodied,
my grip bruising

i did deign to hope
held it between my hands:
the fragility of wanting

do not let them see me
here, vulnerable, soft
on my knees

praying or begging,
i may not know
all i know is this:

i have found hope
and it is cruel to me
but i am not letting go

Every time I opened a door
I pray that when I walk through
I’ll be transported to another universe
Where you’re at home waiting for me
On the other side

let me write with ink
staining the pages as I go,
let it resonate across continents,
religions and races,
sparing the blood of innocents

let me plead with ink,
tears flowing as crimson now does on streets
let me show you humanity,
what words I can write, I think of you as I do

for we are in uncertain times indeed,
tatters of humanity, disguised in infants' cries
lost in the hope that tomorrow, the strange sounds will stop
to bring back the sun and watch it shine,
to live in memories of what was once divine

let me give you my love, with ink
gentle hands caressing my pen
oh this world could use a poet;
in fact, it can do with many more-
instead of unsteady hands pulling the trigger
as they go.