A Communion Of Souls

Staging and pealing,

Twisting and reeling,

Rolling towards the webbing

Caressing every regret with an ebb-like flow

The striation is a pattern,

A crazy design weaving forth its amber,

A designation ready to remember,

What it means to truly to have a love that can and will only continue to grow

From fore to aft, side to side

An angular procession, blending to and fro

All that is inside and all that forever shall be

Surrounding every memory you forge anew

It’s all a mystery enveloped in a personal,

Yet universally illustrated Mise en scene,

Only polarity can show the frayed and the perfected—

Forever discovering the artistry, what’s already known,

What’s yet to be seen—whether pristine or faded with flaw

The wild hair’s accosting,

Grasping the ventricles of air

The passion fills the tempest

With the most impossible of stares

It’s an airy companion,

Holding true the prophecies of the divine—

Blending history to the present, merging and melding

Yet again, into whatever, however devotion

Will choose to paint tomorrow’s lines

There’s a breeze across the valley

Engulfing the sated and the hungry—(Here’s a secret)—

The craving never stops—yet, the wisdom of the moment,

Is the enchantment that the frozen mind steals from the soul—ever a reminder, to remain open to the thoroughfares of life—whether pretty or demonic, the colorations and the prism’s of attraction, exist if one desires to search—in which, he or she will then proceed to find

The wizardry in wishing,

An automatic cauldron,

Taking chances as it’s misting overflows

Moonbeams and the dewy drops of stars

Holding tight the apprentice

With a glance espied by tenets wide and far,

A portraiture of awe, a sculpture of splendor—artwork

That only the ancient muse dares define

Couldn’t be more romantic

If her eyes ensnared my own,

Invigorating this flora with each vine that love emotes

Casting forth one vision

     Opening a common sensing,

              A sight that’s only present

In a communion of souls

                  Imagine a world where the exterior truly reflects the beauty that is ever there, always and forever near

Over at D'Verse we're discussing the majesty and mystery of all things beautiful.  I'll be hosting Poetics tonight and would love for you to enchant your night by sharing your own work of beauty and reading all the beauty shared by others.  Tonight's a night for the Beautiful, and I can't wait to find out just how the poetry will ignite us with inspiration and the Beauty that is, of course, everywhere and found within every one and every thing.  

Insight buried in a box of dust

Relinquish power,

cede control,

abolish apprehension

of everything unknown.

Tension writhes in fear

It’s leaves wither in despair

over a coming cloud, that is

told to be of foreign origin, has been

foretold to bring the swirling whirls

of disruption and the wrenching

gusts of disturbance,

that distances the warmth above

away from the barren vacancy

existing below,

it provides a commonplace, one unlike

what most had ever grown accustomed

to seeing, to breathing in, something so strange

and wonderful, you ponder it’s meaning, and

amateurishly chart its probability of having been

created from heaven or heathen

and this borderline somehow

offers a tingling sense of desire,

a curiosity, an anticipation, an uncanny

combustion of fire—waylaid in its dormancy

while all the while impatience shrugs

it’s vengeful neck, from which the body heats

to an ungodly burn—painting thoughts, color

and emotion in an increasingly frantic harness

of terrible twos at thirty-eight, transforming

the pleasure of the new, into the jaded askew—

and so the grey floods the freeway with the oil upon a seemingly gentle feathered brush.

And so charcoal dances, always is, dancing in the distance, waiting for the dry-erase wipe of pleasure.  Anticipating conditioning will coil in the way it always does, and bleak ennui shall once again fill the ever-combative attention span of the what’s next to break societal view.

and it’s in this fledgling composition, where

wisdom could grow to be unlike anything

we had ever known.  But sadly, patience and savor

is not encoded within.

But the composition accumulates its dust-filled coat,

wearing it like a badge of honor, understanding it is

but a statement of the current time, knowing, knowing

that one day, a hand shall wipe clean the dusty frame,

and there, in that moment, these eyes will truly see,

the wonder and importance of what lies beneath.

What is Love?

What is love?

How do you know you’re in love?

How do you know, that you’re not just in love, with the idea of being in love?

How can you know what love is?

It’s not tangible.  I can’t draw my fingers along each its ends.  I can’t trail its fringe by hand.  I can’t reach inside, touching the artistry alive.  Forgive me if I am wrong,

But I just can’t comprehend…just what love is….

And without knowing…how can I possibly pretend?

If you dare need ask,

Then this love, I feel

Cannot be real

And it’s never going to last

You say love is like…

You compare love to…

You close your eyes,

Falling deep into…

And through similes and metaphors

You try to illustrate all love can be

You try to navigate

holding my hand, dreaming to show me

All that’s love is but love, which is but love again

Passionately you smile so,

Seeming certain that you know

So many analogies you bring

And yet, I feel, this version to which you sing

Is what love may be for you,

But for me, I just can’t say the same is true

Infinite expressions of what love could be

So many adjectives, so much poetry

But in the end I’m stuck with what I know

That each of these notions do not grow

That spectacle inside of what love should be

For the thousands of scents

& The million sights

That might be felt,

I understand it seems real…

…But can it be, anything more than

Sensations that one may also feel

Independent of this love

So, please, help me understand, what love is?

What is love?

If you dare need ask,

Then this love, I feel

Cannot be found

Do I love you?

Or

Is it the act of love itself that I revere?

Do you love me?

…You say you do.

But how do you know,

You’re not simply in love with love itself?

And if somehow your loving me could be proved as truth,

How would I know I reciprocate that same loving verse?

How would I know that I don’t just love the idea of someone loving me regardless of whom that person be?

How does one tell…what love is?

What is love?

A Whispers Echo

Waiting for a friend to arrive,

He’s one who’s struggled in comparable manners

To what I have, and currently am bound to qualify in my daily life,

The precept maybe corrupted because of choice and reasoning,

But the analogy still holds balance to the statement such,

I ramble on too much, this I know too, very well

And yet, aware I still continue in the same manner still

Dreams of violence, why and how

I’m a good natured sort

With a bitter pill swallowed years before

But the images this subconscious shares

How and why, and where are their compositions from?

I’m a good man, one who carries himself in moral ways,

I walk and talk and speak and think,

Yet what do my visions mean,

I cannot help but wonder

If some weird alteration is at play in me,

I think and wonder much too often

I honor and respect and pray

I relish those moments in where hardened times get softened

Where whispers echoes are stronger than the shouted word

The Resolve of the Stone Collared

Hours grow as big as nails

Tiny horses ride alone,

Quilts of stones retrieved

From martyr’s sides,

Tonight, the whimsical fury rides,

Minutes take the place of the masked man

Arms chop wood on a cool eve

Reinforcing strength at his time of need,

Closing eyes when the time has come,

The hardest part is when

Flesh is tripped and steel hits bone,

Protocol calls for a feast at dawn

Each widow gains a kings fold

Dramamine, Melatonin,

By the liter, by the bowl

Bittersweet ceremony,

Out with the familiar

In with the cold

Awake from your nap my child,

Rub those sleepers,

Times for dreams have past and gone,

Awake, for this day is yours