Disastrous Hearts

Our marriage is not of vows,
But fingers of flames, tracing curves.
Breathing into each other’s beds,
Smoking the smoldering coals,
Which once lay dormant, now,
Incensed by the passions of fools.

She brands my ears, with steaming gasps.
She tears the flesh from off my back.
With searing claws, she rings my finger;
My eyes reflect her dazzling embers.
As smoke chokes the air and sets free,
Sparks floating off, into the breeze.

It simmers through the night,
As the sun begins to rise.
The birds begin to sing,
The blaze begins to die,
And this pile of dry ash,
Is divorced into the sky.

Hoping to spark again,

Spring

The Sun would struggle with
Gasping chokes against thee,
Flowering plumes who squeeze
The breath of light, in spring.

Let your fury, in vein,
Clutch its petty vengeance.
Let the laughter you face
Breaks your sorrow’s promise.

Be silent, woeful lament.
Be still, shifting pilgrim.
Yet, the light will prevail.
Yet, my eyes will be filled.

Our skin to soon rejoice.
Our friends will soon convene.
Beneath tender kisses.
Laying, softly serene

A Plea, From Within the Jaws

I find myself confounded, often, as to the nature, distance, and direction of the blissful road the soul must travel, to find truth, beauty, and contentedness. With swirling, frozen winds by night, and tepid, bewildered desires by day, I feel myself pulled to each end of the infinite abyss; The abyss of mortal imprisonment and divine, consuming fires. Should I become a cloud of ash, and mock the silent stars, as a swarm of arid embers? Or, should I rest at the bottom of the sea, only to sink further, shouldering each crushing burden, and complete my metamorphosis into pale, apathetic stone?

Neither?

Then what, I beg, is the alternative?

I could tease each ambition that flickers in my eyes, as one would tease the naivety of a child. I could lay my heavy heart upon the breast of a beautiful woman, and we could breathe fresh, romantic fires into this dark world. We could birth a freshly tenacious, confused soul to travel alongside us, until we depart, leaving the traveler alone once more. I could heal wounds, teach minds, and console hearts. I could tend pastures, build monuments, or write symphonies. I could spread my soul, like a blanket, and cover as much as this earth as my strength could warrant.

Or,

Should I simply swim in rivers, nap in fields of wildflowers, and sit, pensively, atop each mountain peak I can reach? I could sing with the birds, dance with the wind, and return each kiss the sun lays upon my brow. I could do all of this, and I could do none of this. It’s all comfortably pointless and painfully divine.

My fingertips have never met its surface, yet the texture pulses through my veins. This thundering tempest forces me into shelter, yet, with each vicious flash of lightning, it illuminates the path. It’s always bellowing out thundering laughter, each time I hear its voice; Only after issuing its challenge of “proceed, if you dare, for you must, you precious fool! Immerse yourself, frail, immortal spark, amidst the crashing waves, starving fires, and mocking skies.”

Each time I hear the call, I’m paralyzed. The passage of time coils and sinks its fangs into its own tail. It flails, like a cyclone, destroying every horizon that would behold such a crucible. Until, eventually, I am so alone, so consumed, and so drenched in vicious absolution that my eyes weep fertile tears of disgusted revelation. Each drop that falls from my face moistens the consecrated ground. Each falling penance feeds a verdant sprout. They grow into serpent vines and gritty, curling limbs of moss-choked sapling growths. A forest reaches from the barren dust and clasps its hands around me, as if it were lost in prayer. Then, at every sun soaked edge of life, a flower blooms and bleeds out every fragrant sense of pious bewilderment my frightened heart can beat from my fertile soul.

The world begins anew, and I’m still confused. Must I be obliterated to gain sight? Must I curse my humanity? Where is the road, the one road? Is it in the grave, or among the stars?

Horizons Won

Here, one of each, and each of one;
Strings of crystals and water drops.
The space between the sky and stars;
A sinking Moon and swimming Sun.
To build without the touch of hand,
To see without vision’s burden,
Not to direct, but to create,
Not to construct, but yet to paint.
Every color in, every line gone.
Every sense blind, every sight true.
To leave body behind in faith,
To melt into ether and grace.
Here, one of each, and each of one;
Strands of timeless, silent thoughts.
To see how near we stand,
Violent shifting sands,
Illusions gone.
Visions drawn.
We are
One.

The Tomb

What ceaseless fury,
What abomination,
Would dwell within
This accursed place?

What blinding light,
What clenching shadows
Would dare to speak
Within these halls?

Rest forever
My simple mind,
My wretched heart,
Be still and quiet.

Such tempting beauty,
Such starving prey;
We shall not dare,
We shall not stray.

This roofless bliss,
This sunken maw,
Shall burn us raw,
Shall eat us whole.

Until divided,
In whole we fall;
To holy sirens,
As shadows call.

The Sunken One

I had to kill it.
I had to make you hate me,
Before it killed me.
I had to burn it.
This tempting bridge which,
Every night I would dream.
A dream of marching across
My shambling hordes of sorrows.
I would have drown you
If you ever gave me the chance.
I’ve never seen the surface.
This sun, under which you dance,
I’ve never had the pleasure.
I want you down here.
So I made you hate me.
This day may burn me to ash,
Before I ever lay beneath it,
And watch you glow,
With someone else.

Surface

With opening my eyes, the world of dreams roles off my face, like drops of water.
Into the sunlight, breaking through the surface, I feel the warmth.
Yet, I feel the pull.

Still soaked with fantasies and terrors, I am suspended, dripping.
To stretch and to walk, to dry my skin;
To clothe myself in lucid fabric, this is the way.

Still, my heart begs the ocean to form and meet it.
I pull the underworld from its eternal basin,
And flood the sun with crested waves of confused desires.

Until, at once, I am rejected, and sent back to the depths.
This day is not what was expected.
I’ve become consumed.

Beneath the surface, I wonder what I may have missed.
So infinite are the tides of this body, so finite its time.
The world of dreams soon drowns in the hope of basking in the sun.