Windy Melodies

The plague of a crescendo
Met in a field and,
Softened there; in balance
Tipped into indulgence.
What set these notes
Beneath a sovereign sky,
Save the adventures of
A claimless soul?
Ever still, floating free;
All those who garner
The charms of rhapsody
And fateless hymns.
Still ceaselessly,
They wander.
Still fondly,
They weep.

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.

What Seeker,

I’m curious, why are you here?
Step forward now, no need for fear.
Yes, in the light, stand tall and hear
My questions for your aimless tears.

But first, my thanks, for letting go.
And next my praise, for knowing how.
Still yet I give, a fair warning;
This wisdom won’t ease your mourning.

Let’s begin, prepare, float down your dreams.
I’m sure we’ll see some helpful things.
Ah, yes! Look there! A bitter fire,
Fueled by angry, selfish desire.

So please, explain, oh maestro lord,
Which notes were wrong in heaven’s chord.
Please, teach to us, your harmony,
So all the world can get in key.

Now think, perhaps, it’s not the rest,
But you who fails to pass the test.
“A world, so cruel, how could it be?”
“How could this all happen to me?”

You fool, wake up, it’s not to you,
It simply is, and that’s the truth.
Your bondage is, your selfish heart,
Not grief, not pain, nor sorrow’s art.

Man should not be a hopeless slave,
Nor take or seek the master’s oath,
So why do you choose to behave,
As if you were both?

Ontoge

In summers we would play,
Chased by shadows.
Still breathing free from fear;
Half truths we felt.

Our bodies still rebelled,
Against the pull.
Still standing free from time,
We grew to know.

In winters we would flee,
Back home to sleep,
Still hoping we could feel,
The warmth of love.

Our world could shut us in,
Comfort we felt,
Still knowing that our dreams,
Could lie and bleed.

I Implore,

We who would write,
Beautiful recollections,
And strange perceptions,
We need not suffer.
All too soon,
Does this specter beckon,
With lovely lies,
Which fill our hearts.
We need not mourn,
Not for the future, though,
Perhaps for the past,
If only at peace, at last.
For, sadness speaks,
No man would doubt this,
But smiles sing,
And calmness cures.
Our futures,
This life in our words,
It is not sorrow.
It is not simple,
It is not single.
It is life;
True life.