A Hierarchy of Angels

Forgive me if I fail to see

The flattery in your Joie de vivre

Correct me if I’m insincere

In disregarding the context of your cheer

What’s left tomorrow is often the rejected

Frames of today

Distinguish yourself through honor

Open your heart to verite and

All the lies will fade away

Forgery of purpose is impossible

If dedication is one’s only vice

Destitution of promise is but

A reflection of internal strife

To calm such seas in tumult

Simply intuit the breath, exhaling

All denials and debilitating thrush

And such is the way

And such is the path

     To delve fully in such direction

     Is to submit to potent tracts

In truth there is forgiveness

In strength one finds the gravity of love

     In harmony there lives a peaceful serenade

     Serenity one could almost touch

As one walks the valleys of the parent

All allegories are revealed

When one accepts all that is as what is served

There will be a hierarchy of angels revealed

Imagination In A Time Of Denial

I’m not sure what I was thinking, as if what’s been static for thirty-eight years would change in the blink of an eye. No, thinking like that is what people keep to themselves, yet, I continuously slip open the side of the drapes, crinkle over the edge of the blinds, and peek, out into the world beyond these walls, where, lo and behold, the same image that’s been etched into these eyes for my entire life, was still as it had always been.

Then I closed my eyes, pondering deep within.  Here, I traveled to some other realm, a place where nothing seemed or felt the same.  The beauty was outrageous, the air so pure and fresh.  My eyes were then reawakened by the unfamiliar smile spawned upon my face.

Quickly I went to the window, pushed the drapes slightly to the side, crinkled over the edge of blind and peered outside.  It was here, at this time, that I realized, for the first time in my life, everything, everything I’d ever known, had changed, and the pinch felt as real as it ever had.

The Burden of an Oracle

listen to ‘The Burden of The Oracle (Part I)’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘The Burden of The Oracle (Part II)’ on Audioboo

The forecast’s often are birthed in unwanted severity—

The pictures that forever play upon the never-ending reel within my mind are images no man should ever bear—it is a depicted reality that you truly believe could not play out any worse

And yet it does open the door for future suffering—the exciting looks upon those who dare me cast deep into their pools, to fish out hope in a sea of undeserving possibility—only to watch all sentiment of reason for being to deflate instantaneously to my very words—somehow ousts the depravity of the vision’s themselves

I’m truly sorry, I really am

perhaps I could lie; perhaps such untruths would be both merciful and generous—I suppose packaging the ugly realities with pretty bows and exaggerations, could do a service—

Seeing the future churns the stomach weaker, as each image

takes you into another’s soul—where forced you are, to watch, to understand, how an individual’s fate unfolds—you are left then, being only able to report the consequence and never able to change

the facet’s or the facts. I am powerless in all regards, yet, to some,

I’m lauded as if I’m some type of God—

Mankind so very wishes to understand each premonition that hovers deftly above their vessel, but what they do not care to understand, is the utter strain it is bearing witness to such horrible events, which, I must, in most instances, unfortunately report as one would the evening news—where death and devastation are all too common the thematic realities, future’s seen, that I wish I’d never dream

Yet, there then are those extremely rare and special cases, the kinds that are covered in lilies and rainbows, who’s wonderfully formed innocence, prance around a garden of delight, entirely open and receptive to all the flavors purity offers—and I see them waving their hellos with the happiest of smiles and even when the end is what the vision’s suggest, there is not regret painted upon such sights, there are no wrenching moments of tormenting scowls to cause streaming floods of agonizing reality—there are but calm and peaceful moments of acceptance, of those souls fully prepared to take their invitation to join the feast the maker’s justly presented in their honor—it’s these scenes, these scents of purity cast from within the painted lights, that rekindled what potential I’d seemingly mistaken for penance, igniting within me, a reason to believe once more, an understanding of why I see

It is from a desire not to know, for I know, above any other, how dangerous such learning can offer those unprepared to understand—it takes a rare breed to take acceptance by her hand and walk peacefully, without regret ever shading the pathway, into a bathing light so in-tune and aligned with destiny, a destiny where you must simply believe in your guide as being your ultimate defense, your safe-keeper in whatever might come next—you must give yourself over to her completely, allow faith to outrank any sense your mortal life had previously instructed you to grasp

It is, partially out of fear, partially out of a commitment to let events play out their natural course, to believe fully that destiny is not as predetermined as my life’s work would otherwise dictate and suggest…and of course, there are many more reasons for such an opinion, reasons beyond the scope of oneself—it is in part, for such reasons and more, that I have removed all mirrors and other like-minded reflective devices from my immediacy, for to know ones fate is unnatural, to see into one’s very own eyes and peer deeply upon the soul is a vision I fret to know, a sight I care never to see, until, of course, the finality has thrust it’s sword firmly within me…to which I can only pray to have the strength of being, to extend my hand, with every ounce of determination that remains available to me then and there, and accept what shall be, and leave this battlefield accepting that what’s been, and what shall be, as a choice I’ve played a role in relating, one that can truly offer more than any premonition could ever explain away

 Head on over to D'Verse for Open Link Night and accept the fact that there's some truly amazing poets at play, who offer themselves completely in their poetry, which they've so generously shared for everyone's benefit.  Enjoy all the work that's been linked up and while you're there, link a poem of your own, for other's to enjoy.  Cheers...

Happily Forever After

The sights are in lavender's and florescent green,
The mind drifts sweetly amongst raspberry and violet blue
The heart swims free, in the deepest red you'll ever see
The body floats atop vitality
The soul sways forever more

There's a thousand voices all around
yet only a few do your ears command
precious melodies made just for you
forever and always
eternally sharing it's life
the heartbeat of a melody
breaks free the chains of darkened night
allowing love's symphonies to sing it's purity of light

It's a place, like none other
where aromas stretch endlessly
through gusts and gales it's scent sets sail
ever reminding you of nourishment and care
instilling the memories of those times, those special
times, when it was never a question, as to whom cared

For all seconds yet to stir
internal visions embrace
the pleasures that result
from tactile bliss,
from the soft caress of a silkened skin
to those warm hugs you loved as a child
and those tender touches, tame to wild
and in such moments, nothing frays thin
when enrapt from the sensations echoed from a kiss

Where linguae mesh, merge and blend
a thousand pleasures primed to taste
sugary sweetness of nature's fields to
the mixtures made in combination, the
texture and the savoring, the nibbles and
the bites, only the favorable, where sustenance is birthed in fun,
where excitement builds into orgasmic scenes
every delectable moment wrapped into one

all life a-rest in balance
where harmonious sensations breathe within
from the parallel to the plane
a recumbency just the same
Supine and prostrate
prone to rejuvenate in relaxation's ease
internally flowing waves of pleasure's seas
to the soft blades of grass, to which the mind
forever wishes such moments to ever last

Perfect ideas swell in thought
enticing memories realized each waking set
where the purities intrinsic to your own beliefs
dance hand in hand with the fantasies and the dreams

All the senses make the one
heaven's breath breathed upon
the never-ending coda, the most beautiful songs of the swan
connecting the familial to the holy, that natural to the societal
ever joined in perfect companionship, always aligned in this, your
most blessed of blessings, forever immersed, forever alive, in
this newfound universe that you once did all you could to fight and stave, that's since become
a world that only ever feeds your soul with passion and love
an idyllic dream you wish and pray to forever stay, alive
with all perfections living as one, never alone, never far
from this sense of God's everlasting glow

Charles Miller is hosting Meeting the Bar over at D'Verse, and has prompted us to write about a world unlike our own.  I really enjoy world building, and have wrote many pieces with intricate settings, but for whatever reason, tonight, after rereading Charles' excellent write-up, I instantly grew full, with the thought of the perfect universe of the afterlife.  And while, not 100% fitting to the theme, I thought the muse should not be denied.  And that, is the backstory.

Please head on over to D'Verse, read Charles' excellent intro, check out what world's the other's have shared, and while there, perhaps you too, will become inspired to create a world of your own, but please do share when you do.

Inner Scission

Viewings

of imbalance and

proportional depth

clutter first

then clot in

permanence

Space, tiny dots,

codes, freckles,

pips 

turnstile

a-round

into void

less

optical incoherencies

Eversion shifts

ballast

two

instable

weights form….

                  

Absence of Vision

There is an absence of vision

Posited before the eye

There is an apparition

Friendly, yet denies

Daylight

Borrowed

Aura’s penance

Reluctantly

Allows

The absence to pass

Can a fever charm a smile from an automaton?

Can tips feel, once severed from their sanctity?

Can a tactile sting, surge permission, to limbs, only ever knowing, numbness of permafrost?