Often too serious
The deeper it gets, the duller it reads
Sometimes, that is
The meaning remains
The reader counts loss
The flow never fluctuating
Though, the view is beautiful
Acceptance was never fully regained
capturing future memories through writing
The complicated rhymes
Rewriting the name Jesus
Every suit preaches
Yeah, they saw him
Some walked on water
Other saw Moses
Flaws none have
Perfected reflections
Always accepting glorified pieces
Tongues twirl when gold pours on
Smiles widen when watches strap on
By the steps, or in pockets
Feeding the luxurious beggar
Not soul, rather in taste
Nothing holy about that water
Read part i here
Approvingly quiescent, Bamza sat next to the large garbage bin. “At last,” he sighed, he was finally in perfect melancholy. This was the only place in the circus that was without laughter or forced delirium. His legs were sprawled all over the floor in an unfazed manner. His left hand held a half empty bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum. With a sudden realization, he came back to reality from his temporary rest and gulped down the remainder of the spicy rum. Each gulp brought back harsher times; from his failed career as circus clown to his failed marriage to a woman who unknowingly was only interested in his money; it all flooded into his mind without a hint of restraint.
“Wretched woman, I hate you,” he drunkenly blurted out. The liquor was now showing its full blown effects, and with a roar he stood up and danced around to his own delight.
“Left, right, left, then right, right!” he sang while moving his legs accordingly.
As his mind remained in a melodic trance, a Nebelung cat appeared from nothing into Bamza’s clear front view. His veins swelled up as he became fully aware of the silky-furred cat.
“Leela!” he exclaimed, and without much thought he immediately began pursuing the cat. He chased and chased. Up and down Bamza ran, he had only one goal on this moonlit night and that was to capture that fuzzy-looking creature. The cat ran without any sign of fright, it was as if the cat knew the pursuant was a failed-man who could not even catch the pieces falling from his own life. Bamza on the other hand looked very determined to succeed, “he had to accomplish this mission life had presented to him,” he thought to himself, “He just had to.”
With his hands almost on the cat, Bamza slipped and fell rock bottom on the floor. To crown his great fall, he had fallen on slime liquid. Bamza was mortified, so he cried. He remained on the floor with discontent written all over his face.
“Blast! This dress cost me 500 bucks. Oh why? Why?”
“See what you caused,” he said, pointing his fingers at the cat.
“I hate my life. I hate this whole damned place. Oh God I am tired, I’m just tired,” He cried.
And so it was that he fell into a deep sleep right next to the garbage disposal. The cat sat close to the now sleeping man. With its glittering eyes, the cat looked at poor Bamza with pity.
And there Leela sat; patiently waiting for her owner to arise from this deep polluted mess.
“Slow Night, So Long,” she purred.
Rise and shine
Drag that weight
Slowly the pain will subside
Even till the night
The cries will be heard
Only the victorious know the joys of the morning
I steer clear from the pretentious
My wheels of thoughts drive off
Into there and here
Looking for a road without dust
How pretentious.
Away, again, I found that same road
Another trace of lies
From the start, it seemed anew
But, the finish begged to differ
Never repeating my mistakes
I lunged into the old tale called love
Hoping to keep sanity
How pretentious.

The city stank of death and utter desolation. Many dirty gutters were scattered all over the city showering their many unwanted blessings to those who dared to breathe.
The city was abundantly filled with platinum lies;
“Records of misdirected words
Mixed with a rejuvenated beast
Marked with a line of ill
Too ill to spill puke
Too insane to sniff coke
How far, too long
Till she shakes off her pride
And then all that was wrong spins around
Back along that same place
Where honey tasted better than sex
There she lay, the Queen of the night, deep inside the city of crocodiles.”
We all need somebody
The blow was heavy
So we ask for rest
Bright in the day
The stab was deep
At a time when all we knew was red
We all need somebody
We all need another
Another to quench the thirst
Another to heal the bruise
Another to say all is well
The preacher lied, they said
Some danced, others watched
We all live in a lie, a few whispered
A tear never wasted
A reservoir of redemption
Living where no soul dared
All vanity, he said
Yet they knew he spoke some truth
Every step up that ladder seemed unattainable. The progress made so far was slow as it needed to be. Our thoughts were closer to pain than hope. Pain was easy to obtain. Pain required no formalities to settle into your place of rest; like an unwanted guest who refused to depart.
So I tried; again and again, on and on, I revved, but the clock refused to heed to my words. The wheels kept pushing forward; upward to somewhere that looked like heaven. So to the edge I step; a place where I had no choice but to move on.
Silence engulfs me
A deep sigh,
Back here, one last time
Then it begins
Forgetting pain and sweat, I run
My path gets more unclear by the day
But I preserve and scratch deep down
With my heart bleeding courage
I reached
I had come in last but nonetheless I had succeeded
To my own voice,
With precise clarity
I heard emptiness had fled away
Leaving behind a taste for survival
Instigating a "Mental Revolution"
Unleashing the beauty of creativity
seeking solace in the horizon of life and beyond
Aspiring to be the best at writing. Poetry lover, haiku and free verse to be precise, I hope to one day master
The Mystery, Motivation and Mastery of Life
Some of what I breathe out arrives here
keeping It 100 With You
Sometimes poetry gives you the voice
Poets bleed from the heart and soul
Daily Film & Screenplay Festivals in Toronto, New York City, Chicago & Los Angeles.
Director | Writer | Cinematographer
🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃
Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time
A Frequent Blog of Devotionals Inspired by A Course in Miracles, A Course of Love, The Way of Mastery, Choose Only Love--Plus More . . . with Celia Hales - https://www.amazon.com/author/celiahales