A Lone Stranger

My body hurts. Yes. And I struggle to find beauty from this pain. Perhaps I am looking in the same places too often. Perhaps it - time - has come - I grow cold - Step away. To be gentle. For me. is awkward. My body cries because I am not. I can't be. I don't know How I can be nice to someone so Wretched. Me? Yes - sometimes, Yes - too sometimes I see myself as wretched  - to let It go - can't even write it on one line. My difficult is my light I shine upon the forgotten shadows in my body. Releasing Tr-a-p ped wars within my soul. I love... love..... Come on! I love my... I love my body - Ah! - what fear has just emerged! Sprung from parched imagination...imagine how to possibly love someone so...so... sometimes I wonder how I still survive. Wretched. Awkward. Loving! Caring! Me? My heat is born of my heart - a furnace of in begging to sputter - turning on. Onward I tremb...

My fingers have gone still on the keys. My spirit is a river that has tired swaying from bank to bank and has found its stagnant center. Within it, I flail my arms form side to side, and try to advance, but find that all I can do is stand and and stare. Everything is different, and yet everything is the same. On the west, willows stretch out majestically with limbs intertwined to shake off the early morning dew that has settled on their leaves. An iridescent ribbon of brown and green hues playfully hides from the sun as the leaves stretch out into the water. The trees have welcomed the day with their power, their grounded spirits, and have gracefully stepped into their roles of life givers, shelter providers, protectors. I see the land of sands and savanna's, and of wild animals preparing for the hunt, for the tasks that stir their spirits awake each morning. The willows and lions take drink from the stillness of my spirit. I stand in my spirit rather than with it. I watch, thr...

We are so small and so huge and Insignificant, little droplets  of water hiccuping; On a porcelain sink- as our teeth are brushed  by meaty fingers. A lions mane shorn off; regurgitated as A shot of air to end a life. Track marks on my head are not meant for pleasure... I hear voices above my face. Footprints of gravel, I unravel at the mumbles you pass off for words. Beware. Be aware. Be wary of gritty symphonies of metal clangs that transmit from your porthole. A gape with no purpose - A grape with no flesh. A slit, and from the hole, swarm viscous, bleeding flies. And my soul  weeping in... ...dialtone... Asking for love from a voice; On the other end of a broken Telephone. Hello? In my pocket is The crumbs of dreams I've put into fears. Shame at. Me. That lives in my stomach, purged through the hole in my pocket. Hello? I can hear your voice above my head, and your hand ...

For all my writing wherever I use the words "Teacher", "Mentor", "Preacher", "Guide"  are synonyms for my  "Dada" A battered guy. Strife. My life is a continuous apology. It's okay, you'll never do it again. But you will - none of us can deny our humanity. Mortality. We die - our bodies blend into the flame of the Earth that created us. Don't bury me, when I go - I long to be an eternal fire. Don't mind the bruises on my arms  - on my ribs - better than cuts- no? I put them there. Yes - I can actually - - really hit that hard. Ask my knuckles - or my teacher. On a preacher - a bruise is just a multicolored coat. You'll know how that shadow crawls within my blood - begging for a way to stay inside out...out...out... GET OUT. I Loathe you - you who makes me doubt my conviction - you who stares at me with a bleak, knowing star...

I am a witness to my own transformation. Witless. Spirituality eludes me – pebbles in the rain. - a drain. I feel my soul in a sieve - away... the trains we take to predestined destinations... who is driving? Why stand away from the edge? The platform. I have to jump off  - of something  -don't I? Do I? Where does the lotus grow -where can I see its roots? It is hanging so serenely... dead in the air. Strings. Tethers. Pulls. Swinging... a pendulum of life, my life our lives. A wave. When you wave at me, my soul falters. Skips a. b    e     a   t... Courage.  - am I brave when I look at myself in the mirror? My reflection laughs at me, she has already done this - she's already on the other side. Look up. I see you through your smile. I see myself and, the voices of struggle in my mind...as I lay... I am the fly on the ceiling with ...

Mere Words Cannot Show Love I searched among the card displays, To see if I could find, A little something that would say Just what was on my mind. However there was not a one, That captured it just right, For no one else can understand Just what I'd like to write. I even find it difficult To try to write it down, For how do I portray to you, The love that I have known? I close my eyes and what I see, Is someone I adore; A person who is beautiful, Right down into their soul. Mere words cannot describe The many qualities you show, The love and caring nature that You share with those who know. Your kind and gentle temperament, Your sweet angelic smile, Your softly spoken sentiments, That reach across the miles. Your smile and laugh that sparkle with The softness of your sighs, The way your face lights up a room ... That twinkle in your eye. The loving gestures through the years, That quickly come to mind, ...

Our souls traverse vast planes before they settle in the bodies that they have now. With a first breath, life pours into their molds and amalgamate into the clay of this life cycle. We breathe in pairs - except for our first breath and our last breath. With our first, we take in the world in which our body will live, and introduce to our soul the breaths that will create it. With our last, we leave in the world a final imprint of that soul. In between? We are a collection of breaths that define our existence. We teach our soul to feel with the breaths that create it. We cultivate joy with the staccato of shallow and excited breaths that ignite passion, ambition and fire crawling on our skin. We invoke pain with stifled sobs, big wet breaths that drown us. Life now is naught - each one of us a philosopher as a delusion of grandeur. Little fish, big ponds - and we struggle to out-swim our compatriots. What rent must souls pay in the body to fight this great fight. The rent is high and...