This land destroyed me
Like seed, harvested
Yet my soul breathes
the only soil left within me
capturing future memories through writing
This land destroyed me
Like seed, harvested
Yet my soul breathes
the only soil left within me
I summoned to be free of darkness
Only to find the world had burnt to the ground
Nothing left to grasp
Ashes and white glistening bones
Black rivers and religion
Pressed down shaken
My heart remain unmoved
In this false reality
Created by another man just like me
Forsaking deities only for clay
My soul reaches for the potter
Every time I need water
for my skin,
Brown sand on blue hue
Wonderful plays, it seems. Slowly the tides shifts gears, with the pedal revved, the acquired sense of direction attains a new set of waves. Like a pair of new shoes, the delusion of enchantment smells too sweet at first. Only when you see the decays of the sole then, and only then you can boldly say “thou feet are worn out.”
The louder it gets, the smoother the lullabies get. The high pitched voice from the folk-place is always under the buses. Must water fall from the sky? When the land bears bountiful fruit. In the need for cheeks and checks, the kiss smears longer till the bite on the neck becomes apparent.
A striking resemblance you see on the wide world screen. It gets madder by each channel or Chanel. It grows wilder by the sound of the speaker; less reality, more distortion. The fetish of the street-grain-rodeo brings the compendium of highlighted thirst to a new low.
The steps of the queen drags a little too long. The stare she receives adds a year or two to the tale of the Sheeba and a mere man. So strong, yet her kiss settles easily on mouth. The want breaks loose setting another yearn for lust. Such and such, the silk dissipates and all that was hidden bears front in the room of embrace. The pain hints at a later time, but the Queen continues to hold her spell. The mirror says all, she reigns supreme. At day, her face. In night her cries.
Another maybe. Pass away smiles; dreaming on till laughter from the face of the passer-by rings into mind. The workout to bring sane goes south and sends messages to the unknown up north.
I stay in the clouds
Pass by some birds
Spoke tree tales
All alike, I found
Glory around me
Taste of clear thoughts
Water hitting skin
Already forgotten
That I had brown on me
Sun shining pure in heart
though they keep smiling,
replying
“We are not ready to die”
What is heaven to you?
When you close your eyes?
What do you see?
I see peace in colors
I feel the breeze
I know God is speaking
Like the old Gold Coast
Nomads settled
In tribal beads
Future unknown
Yet praises touching the sky
Underneath, earth awakened early
Far from carnality
Technology in trees and birds
The sun telling time
Huts forming circle
Fire only a tool
Seeds sowing
Children harvesting
A heaven always close to my heart
The Political Imagination
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