thought I was better...
clearly not. I am Tender
Scabs scraped off by time

As the rain falls gilded Hearts are tempered. They fell together but crashed apart
Soft nothings out of reach to pamper
The drops fed my hunger but never filled my heart. That's a lie told by anger the last line.
The waters yielded flowers beautiful but weak to time
Though they bare fruit and seeds without roots it can never last as do trees
We are the soil for our love and enjoyment
We are the plow of our perseverance and faith
We are our beasts of burden and sacrifice

Good with, good without;
If not good with do without.


You be good with you

Glass dome full Of sticks,
stones grown in a broken home.
Windows; mirrors cracked

Keep the sun in your heart,
The moon in Your mind
and so you may see far,
the stars in your eyes

Glass dome full Of sticks,
stones grown in a broken home.
Windows; mirrors cracked

Eyes deep and dark as if linked to the primordial abyss,
It was if you could see further than the blank faces of truths and lies
It was as if  you could clearly see what is and what is not, for you.

I see you.

Voice commanding attention like the horns of heavens army and as soothing as their zithers, your lips it's succulent strings.
How do you move so free fluid in design how you choose to love is invasive with no lines

So let me in

Skin smooth as molasses and ravagingly rich in flavor,  I would imagine, on my tongue.
Body as bountiful as the late harvest, your delicacies just as sweet
when your legs part  blessings flowing, falling miracles, from my chin to my feet;
ceremony, a Thanks giving for this decadent feast.

Get on the table

I crave your assortments curled up, laid down, bent over with all the sides
Greedy for the textures and scent like honey bees are magnolia.
Abundant as Gaia so I'll touch every corner like the sky,
the heat of our sol is ever high; in the still of the night I wish to bask in your moons light while I rise and conduct your tides.

Good times are savored not kept

A self, if I don't help , watering flower blooming how and when ever it sees fit.
Passion like the sun, radiant and all illuminating; like the moon on a still pond, while you seem grounded your true home is in the sky amongs the stars.

What I can't regain
I will create a new, just,
Need to see it through

I choose detachment;
Excitement brings more distress,
It never brings peace.

Sad to see it go
The way you don't want it to.
We stay on the go.

I want to be free
The strings spun a hard to see
But cut they shall be

I: a paradox
Find peace in delirium
Grateful for the skill

I :living a dream...vibrant, abundant and ,just, as immaterial.

‪petty and selfish,‬
‪The path to peace, no recourse.‬
‪I have no remorse.‬

Why stay: absentee?
Why return; to leave again?
Keep the peace: away.

I play with the switch‬
‪turns the light on and off‬,
‪The shine; my soul‬

A weeds confidence.
A heart; strong as a boulder
mind clear like a stream

I make myself so happy for no reason then stick my own back,
melancholic acts of treason, cut and measure my own lesions;
a line between pleasure and pleasing.
Not an pessimist nor a type of optimist but a realist who has mastered the execution of delusion and illusion.
Oxymoronic, Guess I'm just human;

Apparently the semblance of a god,
so making something from nothing isn't odd,
but I was given everything from a soul to my bones, hair to my toes;
Even to me who stays in this, sinew and ivory, home the reason is unknown but I know the weight of this form has its toll.

Ties made are rarly cut
more than the material is used,
bonds spirt imbued,
that which feeds hate and love.
My soul is the ocean my form the soil my mind the heavens so it's wisdom guides the toil.
What I put on to my body will seep to the sea, be it poisons or ointments that is to be seen, my wish for foresight seems obscene,
a noxious tint colors the scene
Ah this is but a show, how else can I explain the tragedies sown.

Who wrote this play?
No
Who paid its commission,
who conscripted us to suffer, no need for permission, no fine print played off as a simple omission?
Actors with no access to backstage
so it is do or die,
freedom in a cage,
the 4th wall blocks our eyes.
we get no reactions for our performance
no real feedback,
so we face our troupe like opponents, for no real reason.
Whilst some seem to flourish in a limelight others perish in darkness
some disappear through trap doors others fly with out harness.

seasoned thespians sometimes show us a way; how to perform our parts, from when they entered the play.
We are told there is a script, so I would say some have forgotten thier lines
but honestly the script has never passed these eyes,
all I know is that somes voices are drowned out by the soundtracks of anxiety and sadness;
The polyrhythms of fear and deafening sound of loneliness and madness
How could the director have this?

That's the purpose of a tragedy; make the watcher feel like they are living lavishly.

Wanted a reason why I find it so tragic.

In the words of Life 'There, you have it.'

Sol oh paniter of visions, curator of those under your light. Your passion is easily confused with fury and your momentary absences are known to be a time of danger and chaos
Basting the blessed and decimateing the ******,a infernal bliss.
General of the soil, those born from it follow your call under you they toil. maestro of the bloom and birds their harmonious notes in the air ,smelled and heard, from the plains to the berg but at the coast is when that celestial sovereignty ends.

Enters,a vision, Oh Luna; soft yellow dipped and dyed in the honeied hues of the horizon or a radiant alabaster, stark and chilled. cut from the heavens, apart of the city resting on that which scratches the sky but only visitors in the sights, you Nobly looking over. Teach me as you are, not as they say ,cold but ever observing seen every day.
You the Choreographer of the waves they dance by your direction, beautifully and brutishly birthing rainbows from their violate bombardments, for the birth of Brilliant ideas they have been the midwife.we lose and find ourselves in your teachings

Raising higher as you we age, as one should, on the path of the sage.

Time flies, you are lost.‬
Time flies when you are driven.‬
Time flies, regardless‬.

Old debts have been paid
Love has subsidized the pain.
Heart; open for trade.

This is a new page.
Empty;Deep Love and woes fill;
The former is me?

My timing is bad,
Like a death of a loved one
Seems selfish, a far.

A halo's weight: Heavy.
Unbearably bright, blinding.
Power is a Lens.

Behold my face, so serene, I'm every part of the scene;
the crucified, the prosecutor as well the chorus.
When I breath my chests cage shows gaps ,the focus.
Here you are again my parade of pestilence my imbalanced state showing as ailments.
My sides tearing, stress penetrating my skin. Tragic,
Oh how the spear of reproach entangles and dives deep,
Piercing my belly and lets it noxious poison seep.

I beg 'No please do not twist', he then spoke of my dying dreams and loses to the soul.
The knots bind my thought and any move in conciseness has it toll.
The darkness strives for my sight but he knows how to not give it room.
The poisoned tip barley nearly missed my heart , I thought it the end, I relaxed too soon.
The tincture of doubt burns my open sensitive soft non-flesh.
Am I not one of the blessed, where is my place of rest?

The jury spectate from its pedestal, good for nothin but blaming.
His aim was never my life only that which makes it worth living.
His aim was the spark, my soul, the light at the end of the tunnel showing it all, so you don't stay down when you fall.

The earth knows me from My hands, feet and knees.
I rarely pray only spoke if it preceded an action, I fell a lot you see.
Now I walk with caution but my legs can barely take the weight.
My breathing and steps were heavy. you wouldn't have know my pain by my face
This has been my truth I believed it fate.
Early I realized wherever I sat was a throne.
Hubris led me to take on the woes and faults of the world as if they were my own.

The jury clamor great hollow truths, to lessen the sentences existence.
As much as they are valid and grand I see them only as excuses
"You will pain those who you love and love you"
"You will forsake the hopes and dreams in your view"
"You are good, only want the best for everyone "
Was it that ambiguity that lead to my current "wrong"
Seems if you aim to give others happiness you will never win
I know this but I still hurt: it's all starts and ends within.

Woe is me

They slumber in their stubbornness, they, alone

They have seen their brethren and extensions lost to the ebenflow

All that is left of themselves is what has not been lost or given.

They have shielded the meek since they left, the safety of the waters, to the bountiful yet perilous shores and banks.

A foot hold for the scenery and possibilities a fort against the storms and heavens tribulations.

Shadows cast, air guided

To be left, alone, I have to leave all I've known or Is known.
I think me a star when I'm only dust.

I try sympathize and synchroniz not knowing I is the disconnect.

I wake in their home surrounded in my stubbornness now they think me my own.

Dust for the young monoliths to grow.

Phoenixes tears fall
Burn, Like fire from the rain
Power in weakness

Eyes deep and dark as if linked to the primordial abyss,
It was as if " " could see further than the blank faces of truths and lies
It was as if " " could clearly see what is and what is not.

Voice commanding attention like the horns of heavens army and as soothing as it's zithers, " " lips its succulent strings.
Body as bountiful as the late harvest " " delicacies just as sweet miracles when " " legs part blessing falling from my chin to my feet,ceremony a Thanks giving for this decadent feast.

A self, if I don't help , watering flower blooming how and when ever it sees fit.
Passion like the sun, radiant and all illuminating but tempered by a mind like the moon on a still pond, while it seems grounded it's true home is in the sky amongst the stars.

What are we truly,
Specs of celestial dust.
Kin to sun and stone.

A bow too tightly strung, now shaking, because of a notch and arrow moans like the creeks of wood; quiver as I use your quiver. now release