Ours

At what point does yours/mine become ours?
When does our present subsume tradition yet pave the way towards the future?
If it is left to us to share the story, will we falter or rise?
How do we continue to ‘wear the mask’ in exchange for the promise of being accepted?

How do we witness loss upon loss upon loss yet retreat into the depths of silence?
At what point do individuals become the collective.
When do we recognize that the only singularity is the necessity for change?
Will we ever recognize that the urgency is indeed, this moment?

It is not your history.
It is not my struggle.
It is not your pain.
It is not my mistreatment.
It is not your inequality.
It is not my peculiar institution.

It is ours to learn.
It is ours to rememberer.
It is ours to teach.
It it ours to imagine.
It is ours to create.
It. is. OURS.

cake

I’m yearning to consume you,
to make you mine.
To walk away feeling completely:
…. nourished
…. overwhelmed
…. satiated
…. content
…. fulfilled
{all those things which, of course, lead to regret the next day.}
Leaving behind nothing more
than the opportunity to indulge once more.

Being

sometimes the Brilliance is so bright it Causes momentary Disorientation. the Warmth and Fullness of a smile not easily won but once Obtained, is given over Freely. the nearly imperceptible Hesitation falls away, Becomes nothing more than a Fleeting fancy meant to provide just enough Distraction from your light. it cannot succeed though. you are so much more than what Even the most Flattering thoughts convey about You. on Some level of your being you Understand this to be true. yet you hold yourself above none – Insisting That although your light shines, It is not to blind, but to Illuminate.

Elusive

If you were my lover
I would wine and dine you,
Give you every little thing your heart desired.

If you were my friend
I would listen to your every word,
And be there for you at any time without question.

If you were my confessor
I would tell you every misdeed
Provide the smallest detail so that you would truly know.

If you were my boss
I would show up on time every day,
There would be no doubt of my commitment.

If you were my family
I would love you unconditionally,
Even in those times I want nothing more than to disown.

But you are none of these things,
You are wild and wayward and submissive to none but your own self.

I lay in bed waiting on you to come,
To woo me, to surround me, to take me under.

But alas dear sleep, you do as you wish and leave the consequences behind,
Swimming in the bottom of a coffee cup.

Image: SlowTrav

Wretched Earth

Wretched earth does not begin that way. It starts out healthy, ready, and willing to give of itself in order to bring forth new life. Enduring time, circumstance and situation in efforts to reach it’s full potential. It knows that without creating and supporting new life that’s it’s own existence is in vain.

Seeds are planted there by the hands of nature or by the hands of man. No matter how they got their start there will be no success without care, concern, and nourishment. When left though, to their own accord there instead grows discord.

Becoming taller, stronger and ever more inflexible. Springing forth branches filled will things that will ultimately do more harm than good. When decaying the foulness falls as if from the lips of the most wicked of wickeds.

It it this falling that seeps through layers, burrows down deep and draws away every good thing until the only thing that remains … is wretched earth.

Image:aion

Sometimes. Always.

If all is fair in love and war then we most certainly know who is winning and who is taking the “L”.

It goes to the notion that even though you treat me like “sometimes”, you expect that I should treat you like “always”.

To justify less than glorious behavior you tell lies and weave fabrics rich in hue and comfort.

Though full of life when properly defined, from your lips, those same words are rendered meaningless.

How skillful and talented and wholeheartedly invested you are in the ability to be nearly anything but a bearer of truth.

Meanwhile you plot and plan and sulk and bemoan and deliberate all the ways that I can become more.

More perfect. More gorgeous. More dedicated. More sated. More full on those empty calories that spill from your very being.

At the center of it all though is less. Less dignity. Less honor. Less character. Less realness. Less reason to remain.

Indeed, it goes to the notion though, that even though you treat me like “sometimes”, you expect that I should treat you like “always”.

When in fact, never again.

Image: Vas

Lost & Found

Searched for inspiration.
Having found none,
moved on.

Searched instead for creativity.
Which, being evasive,
caused distraction.

Decided to seek motivation.
As perhaps,
it was the better place to start.

Made great strides.
Found great words.
Painted beautiful images.
Remembered to always begin … at the beginning.

Image:

The Fyne Prynt

… there is always more …

Month: May 2014