Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric

We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions

Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,

Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.

TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…

Now, Born Scared

Children enter this realm,

Without fear—

Everything is glorious,

Each sensation is an unknown birthright,

Terror comes not into view

Until a blackened soul pries loose

The fiery chasms of decay—

It is from this point forward—

That blissfulness is purged from vocabulary,

Where delight is overwrought by newfound

Vestibules endlessly overflowing with distraught and unnatural echoes of betrayal—

Never again are we able to willingly return to the serenity found within the baptismal pond—Where those early ripples become only the faintest of fleeting memories, an endless array of moistened kisses—ever eagerly willing affection upon the lost innocence welled inside—where tender passions dotingly caress the rapturous currents of a deeply sentimental stream—

A revolution spins obtuse in orbit, unto a forgiveness we never learned to forget, a belief swimming freely, beneath the layers of a skewed reality, where possibility’s yet to abandon us—

The deeper one goes, the light fails to show, darkening and darkening…

It is here, where sharks circle our intensely personal and primitive of dreams.

Photosynthetic, a Ghazal

I am born from this earth.  Seed, soil, roots and leaves

I sprawl in the sun’s light.  I cry each time it leaves.

I forgive the darkness. Knowing, morning will come.

I kneel before the sky. Basking, in all God leaves

I grow weak as time wears.  Quickly, I outgrow my bed.

I extend limbs outward.  Stretching as tension leaves.

I expand, inch by inch. To the sun, wide I yawn.

I expel precious breath. To the air, my best leaves.

I wake to refreshed air. Today brings tomorrow.

I harness moisture’s beads. Dewdrops caress my leaves.

I share all that I may. Aware, that love remains.

I weep tears of pure joy. They glisten on my leaves.

I dream within my bed. A cycle without end

I watch as the stars shine. Changing, as evening leaves

I have all I should need. I ask for nothing more.

I am blessed and prepared. In me, love sprouts new leaves.

Over at D'Verse, Sam Peralta is tending the bar for this week's Form-For-All.  This time we're writing Ghazals.  Stop on by and read Sam's excellent introduction, where he'll explain the ins and outs of this truly beautiful form.  I'm pretty sure you'll find some inspiration to try your hand at one and once you do, be sure to link it up with all the other excellent responses from the poets of D'Verse.

Transformations Among War-Bred Kin

The doors are open over at the pub.  Open Link Night is in full swing.  Stop on by D'Verse and check out all the great poetry in play, and while you're there, link up one of your own.

atop charred earth, decisions remain

   when foliage stays,                                   

                                  does our soil yet still grow?

Trampling beasts

                  hunted, scared

                           as herds of men

                                             frolic near

Ensiferous and cruel

the blades weep

for outcomes likely due

Stained

                           by

                                    the spots

                        we grow

Shedding our skin thrice in life

        the disconnected cord’s the first

            followed by the innocence of youth—

                      here is where mutations spread,

                                 altering the balances—

                             and the last to leave

                         is the transformation,

                  as men, we’ll never see

Like Ink to a Page

Like ink upon the page,

Like water to the wave,

Seemingly essential,

Yet their happiness

Doesn’t solely depend

On the existence of either of them,

The ink could dry

The page could burn

The wave could die

And for the water, so many possibilities of decay,

And yet,

The ink could be pieced together,

The page could contain a message,

The water could rise and create the waves

That for the man at sea

Either save or end his way

Ink is like oil

And the oil spills upon the water

A page is scribbled upon and tossed to sea,

But not before the match fell on print precisely,

Hell to come if flame to meet,

And the wave would see to that.  Emptiness.

A Genesis

A genesis

Proclamation

Followed like step by steps

Over and over

Repeatedly

Glowing

Teaching and learning

Leading the way

Guided by the softest hand

To a place so far it’s very near

Soon, the moment,

A pause and then

An exchange

A swapping of personality

A new chance to experience

A vow to forever

Exit that circle of decay

Away, out of this poisoned garden

Away