Embrace your weirdness. Above all else this is your true expression. Harboring harbingers steal knives in the night that mock the very lines of your jugular. There is no balance of peace and emotional irregularity.
Blue vapours pass through lace and ivory, breeding within the very marrow of your bone. If you are as I, escape whilst you can and “blissfully succumb to the whirling blackness that I honestly believe is eternal oblivion”.
Deny Deny Deny the owls talons. The false barrage of Baal’s lightening transfixed upon your cranium.
There is no pleasure, even the ghosts of consciousness that hide in the recesses of nocturnal reality release the pain, of the insane the little moments that weigh you down again and again. You’re going to drown so… take control.
Change the deciding narrative with a mask of a jester’s intent. Fool the foolish as you are the fool with dissident distraction detachment.
Kool Kool play by the rules, outward appearances make normal comfortable and secure. Is it too late…. Is it to late is my fading voice echoing from it’s final resting place of my stainless steel sarcophagus.
Bound with words the everlasting mark that I rise from the grave as Lazarus has, to walk this earth forever. In study halls and private libraries even in the aether living online omnipotence, larger than I ever had before, I still can’t escape…. life for all it’s worth.
Be your own agent of your own agency. Be true to you and what you need to decide by listening to that still silent voice within… You Know the one… From the source, That Source of course , coming in three, thine trinity… You Will find yourself walking among the shadows where others have fallen…..
Ask your self, if This is what you want …. To be pull at the final thread of your spiritual will that tethers you … To the All
With the eclipse Light and darkness Equals Brother and sister dance Holding moments Before passing Stars Mars Venus Scars Meeting in Universal Intervals Spinning Each caught In the throws Of gravitational pull Daughter of Eternity Illuminated child of Shadows She breathes Exists Within two Worlds The black The white The knowledge of Eternity She
Is magnificent Pulling tides Controlling minds With subtle motion Madness takes sanity The forgotten goddess Worshipped by tribes Beyond the sun Sacrifices made In her name Ziggurat of Ur Olmec pyramids Ceremonial dancing Blood letting Creatures of the night The balance of life And Death She is the princess The queen Between worlds She Is Irina The goddess Of Duality Life Blood And Moon
I remember Alice and Brian coming back from Lodge meetings at the Thelema mystery school, where Crowley had started a movement based on MagicK. Wendy, Brian, Alice and I would watch Tiny Toons and I remember a very odd movie interpretation of Alice In Wonderland made in Checkzlevokia called Alice. Pretty much the freakiest movie ever made!!!! Things Were MagicK back then. The Brats, The Glamour Punks, Juicy Miss Lucy… All happening on Sierra Bonita practically living in the same apartment! Punk Rock Dave’s room was the coat closet closest to the entrance door.
She caught me unexpectedly with that particular look in her eyes. Watching, wary, knowing, expectant, transcendent, alluring, tempting, anxious, wanting, suspenseful, sexual, with come hither reality that oozed mystery pulling me forever closer to her.
In less than a moment, I knew… I was to be helpless. I would be lost in whatever spell or web that she could spin about me, capturing me fully, without hope or wanting of… escape. In my mind, racing back in time, longing to dissolve into her vortex of material oblivion.
Please. Please. Please take me. Take me as I offer myself onto your personal altar, your vessel, your silver chalice trimmed with gold and pewter. Allow me to cover you with my scarlet silk cape entwining our very souls together now and forever more.
No remorse, No regret…. Silver screen silent melodramas that resolve into Victorian bliss. There is only silence that casts itself as shadows across our loosened tunics.
For you, I would and have, set the world afire, bleeding, bonding, drowning in occult rapture. Far beneath the candied moon, so so sweet, it’s ambrosia nectar drips fluidly from my rose lips.
Here … In this fantasmal moment I bathe in spectral nuance, exhaling, inhaling hollow hallowed flame breath laced with desire. For we are eternity, limitless ghosts of motion that swing upon pendulum wanton mindscapes. We are heathen with hedonistic parallels in bondage, impervious to the verdicts and convictions of sin. We are immortal.
We dance among the ebony claws of vampyre covens. Rhythmic howls echo and build to full crescendo, pounding flesh upon rock, gnashing teeth against stone, carving sacred vowels into my skin. Burning, searing ancient rites, tattooed covenants trace the velvet outlines that breed subtle hues of perfection upon our unclad bodies.
We are the deliverance that embrace and take the hand of Inanna. We are the storms, the wars, the fertile soil from which life both begins and ends. We are creation.
We are the reflection deeply set, within your eyes. We are the hunger, the lust that is never quenched as sirens sing across barren seas. We are the essence of twin flame reality, a union cast together, forged by Lilith raised as Nephillim, carried on the back of Icarus.
I let go of myself, and allow the promptings to flow through myself
Poets and writers could and should pull from their past experiences to give honesty and depth to their pieces.
I myself am not a poet, nor will I ever be. I am a vessel that transcribes words, phrases, occasional rhymes, in to pieces from ethereal promptings, muse, the universe, Monad? I let go of myself, and allow the promptings to flow through myself. Never knowing when or how it will end. Kerouac’s rule of “First thought best thought” is the closest explanation that I have come across that articulates this process. I … Do not… own my own words, or rather, very rarely do, therefore “editing” would be blasphemous. The difference between Kerouac’s philosophy and my journey has been simply, that what I write are not thoughts, or experiences, or memories or personal feelings an opinions. I maintain an openness for myself to be the vessel to tranced written pieces from another source. The irony is when I do attempt to “write” I find my self getting in my own way, procrastinating, wandering within my own thoughts, where I find myself actively picking and choosing experiences, emotions, colours, adjectives, archetypes, trying so hard to focus in producing work with the elements that I dislike or find cheesey in other works… Maybe it’s a form of fear, ego, but the results are often in my own opinion weaker pieces written by my own hand. To dissolve self, ego, and always be open to the promptings in my opinion is a lifestyle, constant state of mind, and with it comes lack of writers block or sensitivity to one’s piece as their is no defense mechanisms activated if someone critics a piece, because of the distance it has come from and the lack of personal and emotional connection that comes directly as a result of it’s true source. MB93 The universe is within you
To describe writing, understanding the process … for me to tamper with the promptings I receive as a vessel is ego….. I know that the universe knows better than I… The muse have been and Are eternal and I a mere 52 yrs. Who am I to second guess the prompting of the ancient ones?
When I actively “write” as opposed to being the vessel, I get in my own way, procrastinate, second guess and put out work that I feel is inferior …
Mother Goddess Of Israel Wife of Yahweh Fertility Goddess Mother of the Israelites Worshiped throughout time
While Israel stood As a nation In the homes Images of Her Divinity Decorated the houses The Temples And The Shrines
Hosted within THE Temple of Solomon Her image Carved from Wood Women wove Hangings for Her IN HONOUR And in forest groves She the heiress Consort to the God most high Until… She wasn’t
Monotheistic Hebrew’s Of the Israelite Nation Chopped down Banished Her and burned Her as a false Idol
A void left For Her Followers For He IS A Jealous God Indeed
To Allow THIS To happen To HIS Wife By HIS People And Watch On
No more useful Than a cloud That cannot Quench thirst Or feed The Ego
Of Man
Yahweh The mighty Just god Is but A Useless God Of War
Transcending physical Spiritual matters drawn Upon the lunar tides abyss Luring procuring essences Recurring obscuring shadows Of the blood moon night MagicKal practical heady winds Drawn up on the inner wisdom Desires beyond pagan reproach The tides of crystalline oceans Stretch and pull the undertows Sandy planes lay barren remorse As naive children turn away And lose themselves in the fire Of eternal remorse
Is no light with out darkness just as there is no darkness without light
The very act of “seeking” to “improve” oneself…. Is the very act of Spiritual Alchemy. Spiritual Alchemy is like poetry. There are no rules. Only good and bad. This actions on either side of the spectrum must be measured according to Universal LAW, for there Is no light with out darkness just as there is no darkness without light. As Above. so Below, Yin/ Yang, balance. I have found that through My process of Spiritual Alchemy, that I have found comfort, knowledge, and home within the very GREY of it all. This realization comes with the understanding that each of us are standing on the mid point of a seesaw…. The slightest move. Shift of weight. Microcosm of an idea shifts the angle that suspends you in the middle. It’s up to you….. To decide where you stand. 93/93
The truth is that both sides at this moment are broken
A Circular Pattern of Abuse
Here is a phrase that is all to real. That people get caught up in. Sometimes even addicted to. It is So important to recognize and be aware of the triggers and how this pattern repeats itself and from where.
It usually comes from someone that you have put trust in, faith, friendship, love that internally can Not reciprocate those traits back to you. It is also a fundamental and problematic notion that “you” can FIX these people, and that is where the cause and effect of addiction to this negative treatment begins.
The truth is that both sides at this moment are broken. The aggression of the abuser is fueled by the need of the partner to fix the actions and behavior of their actions. Simultaneously, both are experiencing low self-esteem, a spiritual void, and lack of identity. Both use the other to define themselves. These are Toxic relationships. Many go on for years, many end up creating a cycle for the next generation of their children to manifest, many end up in jailing or death. In closing, it is crucial for you to “Know” who you are, establish boundaries, self respect, have goals in life that you wish to achieve, and be leery of others trying to take advantage of you or any particular situation that you may find yourself in. Also, seek out what is right for you, good To you, complimentary in ideals and interests. While it’s true that opposites do attract, they also foster negative and toxic environments. I guess what I’m trying to say, is Save you and your heart as well as time and don’t “fall” for the Bad boy/ girl. You in the end are what’s important and to establish “Healthy Cycles” …………. 93/93
Sending messages out into this vast beautiful world as prophets, apostles, messengers. Voices echoed throughout the ages sonnets and prose expose the underlying cause of human affliction to the masses upon the tongues of archetypes, angels, and the resurrected muse of ALL. Prophesy and tales of good versus evil carried on the wind of a power chord. Stratocaster verses sent out into the stratosphere, electric thunder commanding the attention of humankind for change. Tammuz, Persephone, Lazarus, and Yahweh. All rose from the steadfast hold of death. Rebirth in cycles with wisdom to collectively gather together the one human race to foster peace freedom and prosperity from the four corners of Gaia our true Holy mother.
Circular revolution around the sun. Three hundred and sixty five days days gone by and to come. A celebration of angelic arrival. A heralding Ushering a new Era of appreciation growing knowing wisdom compassion caring. The gift of one to all. A still silent voice raising tsunami skies inspiring valiant splendor. The day of birth, the honouring of the one. To the rest? The inspiration of echoing the Howl! The gathering bards, minstrels, poets, artists in a collective moment bare their souls, thankful to be among the New generation thankful of Her, that is You on your magicKal day. MB93
Here is my body Fill me I am they vessel I have slain ego Prostate myself before You Divine glory Hidden whispers Secret vowels Magick fills my bowels And I reap all that You have me Sow
Synchronicity….. The language of the universe The bread crumb trails that secretly lay before us There is no coincidence Only denial of the truth Only ignorance of the divine Face no face the way of Monad is prepared before you and beyond
Handsome used to refer to women a lot in the earlier part of this century. Even the first usages of handsome towards a woman took me aback at first…. I “think” that for me anyways….. (Though it may sound hypocritical) That using “beautiful” towards a male is an elevation of appreciation rather than talking about someone’s appearance. Through a man’s actions he is beautiful. Personally, I’ve also met men that are beautiful that border on alien and divine…. They just have the “IT” factor… Their talk, talent, swagger, aura, energy, humour…. They walk into a room and the room Shines Up… Becomes Electric……. Morrison, Bowie, my friend Alice was beautiful…… I think that beauty is rare and is generally too super charged for most realities…. Beauty is ascension
There’s a girl and she lived down the street all alone. No one remembered her smile- She always just laughed “I’m all by myself” but her eyes gave herself away. The pink summer sky started to rain and the radio started to play. Memories came like celluloid dreams. The ending, always the same.
So many boys and so many girls- got caught up romancing the game. In-between moments, of just wanting love she found herself, longing for more. So many pirates and never the queen she played out her part like a champ. Lost between tongue lashings all over her face, her body left conquered and bound.
The parking lot plays a curious song, it’s simple yet never the same. Echoing Echoing Caroline dances, in the spotlight of her personal show. The killing moon twists the scene- such a rage. I tell myself, over and over again, if I had been there things would have changed. The spotlight died, taking her shadow away, now I’m left with all of her pain. No longer scared or fooling myself Caroline was more than a dream……
I don’t have any words I’m silent cold in shadow Angels fall phoenix rise Life is a cruel muthafucker Voices and brilliance echoes When it’s good… it’s Damn GOOD! I’ve written gospels in the sand Only to be taken away painfully By the salty tongue of reality Goddesses are most beautiful When you hear them ROAR!!!! Tiny daggers find their way Through your veins… and into Your heart
I am frozen Pissed at mortality Pissed that I missed out Pissed and unknowingly blind Krushed that I reached out to you Following you without knowing…. Hollow_ Shocked_ Empty_ Hurt I feel a loss …. I never knew………
Nothing I can say is adequate I keep writing deleting starting over Nothing is translating from where I’m at My senses reeling with confusion How is it that in less than a week A perfect stranger has become one Of my greatest losses…….. Liking postings, leaving messages, following, subscribing, absorbed….. In her words
“I turned to look and you were gone The child has grown the dream is gone” -Pink Floyd
Everything Pink/ Yvonne de la Vega
Here Yvonne reads the first poem she wrote and you can see and feel the brilliant art and charm that drives her through the piece with a smile filled with luminescent Stars! Now That’s a smile with a Real twinkle in those eyes…. Right in that moment you can’t Help but to acknowledge that She……… has …… “IT”……………… forever Yvonne.
Big Orange Louder than life Full of gas Gasses Escaping through a Foul vessel Stupefying Deceiving Misleading Dividing Enraging Activating Aggravating Hatred_into Division Red White and Blue Memories Now There are only Red Nightmares Unborn children scream Beneath the fallen gavel A tool Of the Mule A Fox A Faux On FOX RHETORIC LIES RHETORIC LIES Over and Over and OVER Until they are Truths In their mind Of the blind The Orange Giant Casts a Heavy Loaded Delusional Shadow Drunk … With stupidity And corrupt Ignorance
Everyone’s war starts somewhere It can be within ourselves It can come at us from outside They can try to break us down They can try to take us over They can try to make us one of THEM
In my blood, I share your blood I remember my grandfather’s Furry hat and long jacket Now I see their blood My blood Our blood
We are in war
The butterfly flaps it’s wing in the Kremlin It’s tiny motion Becomes the face of a Tsunami felt all over the world
It’s not Their war It’s not their pain It’s Our war It’s Our pain
Watch Watch Watch as we All Suffer
There will be no sleep with blood on our hands Children. Hospitals. Innocents. Lost Beneath a mobile crematoriums In an attempt to hide Crimes and Murder of war
We are victims of our own device We are division among ourselves We are lost to the effects of lies Lies repeated enough to be truths
There is no validation There is no reformation There is an unwillingness To wake up and Remove these blinds Worn by millions of people So ready to destroy democracy In the name of America
We are at war We are losing Being destroyed by monsters More vigilant than Us…. They have been activated The react out of fear and feeling No Voice…. Reclaiming a country That never existed.
Scratchy baby blue Wool swaddled baby Cries from hunger and Constant relocation Hiding
In shelters Falling down Over head Without food Or A semblance Of safety
Unite the divided Dissolve the conspiracies Hold those guilty accountable For Crimes to abolish The Constitution
Silent Weathered madness Inner Turmoil Left for Rot Hermitess Lying skeletal remains Boning marrow Self abuse Sexual corruption Naive to the truth Of Eternal darkness Shaking Thunder Violent turbulence Grief DeSire… Faux Goth… Licking the tongue Of … an Asp Cleopatra feign Fire consumes an Empty Heartless Soul
Pulsating. In unison rhythm under a cold Autumn moon
I’ve seen visions of squirming toads, I’ve seen THEM….. More than haunting, they were the gateway, the threshold to a vast dominion. The street was paved with them. Millions of dark amphibians. Crowded, lying on top of each other. Pulsating, in unison rhythm, under a cold Autumn moon…..
Lizards clung together, forming tree’s trunks…. Standing on each other’s shoulders. Reaching for the heavens. Rising like the Tower of Babel. Syncopated breathing…. Rough skin up down, in out…. Beneath naked fingertips, empty of leaves stretching beyond it’s tendril reach …
The wonder… The calmness… The awareness. The understanding of How the universe works….. Standing in Point Zero of knowledge and creation. The inter-dimensional key to the ALL! Some in that moment may recognize…. This is the vortex of archetypes, the library of the Akashic records. Home of Muse and ancient Gods….. This was LSD.
When writing a piece (I’m specifically talking poetry, but Not limited to) Select powerful, emotionally charged Words! Rather than using words to describe the Emotionally Charged…. By doing this You are tapping into the archetypes! Use a ROCK rather than “describing” the ROCK!!!! The results are SO Much more powerful! I believe you’ll find yourself breaking free from the restrictive rhyme schemes!
Retrospectively (well had I known people and not experienced what I know now through trial and error) I would join fewer Facebook “poetry” groups. The idea that you want to have an abundance of opportunities is legitimate. Unfortunately, the reality is that a lot of these groups post content other than poetry. (Personally I feel like it’s spam, trolling, or shear ignorance of the poster) When I go to a group Poetry oriented and see videos of TikTok pranks, Facebook click bait it really annoys me. It makes me wonder Who? Is in charge of the group and what the purpose of the group is?
My recommendation is to be in few groups. Establish a comrade with fellow writers. Read their work. Like of express in someway that you did read it (some kind of emoji) then personalize it. Let them know how it made you feel (brief is ok!) Maybe point out a part you liked in particular Or maybe even didn’t understand? Just start a rapport.
A lot of Facebook alumni are in the same groups, so also maybe be aware of where you are posting and when, also if it’s a page or group….. Visiting six groups and seeing the same “New” poem posted and reposted when the same people are going to see it seems a little redundant …. Maybe space posting the poem out between groups over a couple of days? People may be busy and not see it the first day, but day 3 a new posting same poem different group may yield different results.
To wrap up for today, as this post Is getting more than lengthy, maybe focus your energies, postings, responses to maybe SIX groups as a ballpark number. It will save you time and energy, focus your content and help you establish group relations….
The yellow arid sun beats down upon them So familiar to each other Decades bound found them together But separate just the same Introvert Extrovert Scorpio Sagittarius No match of the ages No magick created through nights shared
Different voices Different minds Comfort of friendship Again Familiarity
No BOOM BANG INSPIRATION
A dull roar of a thousand misunderstandings in the stagnant pool of after thoughts
Poetry, Architecture Every word and brick In perfect balance Each picturesque syllable Carries the weight Building the foundation Strong Elegant Masterful… Nothing to add Nothing to take away A Brilliant sculpture of literature Solid, profound… The Ancient pyramids of Egypt Built upon mysteries As does the poetic strength That stands the test Of time
Don’t seek happiness from outside of yourself… As I realized I enjoy making others as happy as I am within. I’d trade a few moments to share a smile or a laugh over riches and fame. When a heart is genuine and pure, I believe we can change the world and share a better tomorrow ……………………… 93/93
Now the Wilcox Duet, it was Hollywood’s pink, mecca of our Rock n Roll society. Modern day Babylon, Sodom and Gomorrah. Tweakers n Tinseltown. Faceless rock stars, royalty in their own mind, performing sold out shows, at the Flavian Amphitheater. Revelry, debauchery, Swimming pool courtyard. A revolving door of outcasts and misfits, walking on water, bathing in the Holy glory of the sun. We were gods and goddesses, for a brief moment in time, leaving autographed shadows at the gates to Our very own primitive version, of the Garden of Allah. Strippers and cocktail waitresses, the lifeline of a lost generation.
It was about 4:30 under an afternoon sky, perfect pale blue not a cloud to be seen. Tweakazoid’s ramblings were less than coherent, eyes darting back and forth like the fuzz were on his tail. With just blue jeans, no shirt, no shoes, no dice, he came a few steps forward towards us and we felt it coming on…. This was it. The Big reveal. The Message from our maker…. These were to be the words etched into stone for generations to come. Hell! This could be IT!
His dry tongue licked at his cracked lips smearing the white gobs of foam from the corners of his mouth away, and I can’t say I wasn’t glad for that. He sized us up for one last time, head to toe, east to west. With a caution in the expression of his face the silence was palpable… ready to explode.
Then booming. Like thunder. The blow of the trumpet heralding the End of Days…. He looked at us and screamed……..
“Your poetry has really evolved, Matthew, with such creativity, imagery, vocabulary, emotional and cultural terminology. I am So Proud of You! Tremendous Talent!”- Sandra Riggins
Beat Poets & Angelic Scribes The voices that murmur like the ocean’s tide Revolution, Change Civil Disruption, We create beauty from nothing and lawless corruption
Let’s gather in a circle Play drums and sing A round a beach fire So hypnotizing Spirits come dancing Swirling, they sway They’ve come to assist us In this call of the New Day
And he stood, staring far into the naked abyss… So silent, so empty, was his world without walls where were the voices, the unity the community, the longing for a feast, to share with enlightened souls. The hunger remains and grows and grows… As the wind it slowly howls. As above so below the North to the South… And ancient sands cover time as the darkness arrives neath cobalt sheets.
We marveled at the subtle hues, and feathered brush strokes
Colour by numbers is a trick of open spectrum light. The skin, the fading hair, the lost moments reflecting and capturing vibrant active imaginations of the youth.
We marveled at the subtle hues, and feathered brush strokes, breathing life understanding death.. working coloured oils into two dimensional canvases. Our focus and concentration, bordering on brilliance, virgin flesh pale with new identity.
Never a blink was flittered as I applied the formation, in the conjuring of new life, new persona, new identity, fresh without leather and brass whipping belt. Cracking, cutting, slicing through stagnant hollow air, whistling… to release open wounds, blood letting, the lessons of the teacher. His punishments reinforcing the works and knowledge of right from wrong.
Father’s secret lineage. The echoes of our ancestors… The mark of Cain hidden within our hearts. Our names buried deep within the learnings and text of Qabalistic practices shared behind closed velvet curtains of pain and faded memories.
Brother Simon looked on. He both laughed and was delighted at the New portrait of our heathen father artiste’. Serial painter that seduced his subjects with promises of greatness, money, sex, and morphine. Trouble lives released openly as Pandora’s Box enabled the ripper to cling as shadows against city night brick covered walls.
In the allies the painted shells of working souls with little to no identity, tricked into promises never to return or be seen again in any semblance of their former self. Blue Dry Naked Prostrated perfect figures to model fetish statements of lust.
I must admit, that I have learned from the best of the best. So articulate, talented and driven. These are the very traits that would both enable me to continue His work and blend within the very society that for a moment …. a slight moment of frenzy, then a burp of gossip… disappear into this society that never really… Cared
Jack? Oh Jack… His voice was smooth with heavy texture. He talked like he was lost yet knew all ’bout the world. His manner loose, noose held back with refrain, a melody of velvet sandpaper fell like rain from his lips. Shaking, making, the earth is still quaking to the sounds doin’ rounds, up and downs never faking, the lost hopeless, the cost of tomorrow’s the sorrows, that inevitably came and came and came and went. Was it natural, casual, casualty remiss that makes the potential genesis reform dismissed. Its loud man, heavy like thunder, echoing echoing from the dogs and stooges down under. I watched the gas ball fire juggernaut sun slowly lift into the aether sky above horizon. There’s a gonzo marching band going boom boom boom down Hollywood and Wilcox boulevards. Shaman of Shamain reciting lectures in my head. Practice repentance of things I swear I never did or said before voyeurs destroyers out for money and fame. Mr. Kerouak Jack, can’t you see, we’ve returned to Babylon erecting that tower again. Way way way up to the stars that far, with no semblance of the democratic experiment and people lost on the same page speaking the same languages, using the same words, no one understanding what the other is getting at or getting to. No one’s getting through, not to one another, everyone confused, pissing each off other of while barking Fake News. False prophet false hope lost transmission it’s what it has been. We need the flood gates blown wide open again. Wake everybody up from this solitary sleep, selfish dreams I mean. We as a people have boarded the Titanic for a second time, second coming we’ve come undone in, and we haven’t learned what we needed to learn so the ships going to go down, down down, thrashing apart. Tensions mounting, the Rich saved, poor sacrificed the orchestra stayed. Floating icicle tumbleweeds in the great vast ocean of despair, sinking deeper and deeper into the violet violent cold of our down trodden society. We’re ready for a real big miracle, that’s where we’re at. There ain’t no saviour to save us, hey where you at Jack.
Broken Street Lights, Spilt Beer & Other Love Songs
It’s a lazy Tuesday evening And the sky is mumbling songs of jubilant colors. Shades of night are etched across the sky.
There’s a poignant, rank stench, that fills the air like spoiled malt liquor.
If you’re not careful man, It’ll curl up them noise hairs You got hanging from Your nostrils……
I never got the quite got the chance to truly give anything my all.
Never got to be a pirate, or throw rocks at dirty windows, or got to chase after cats, while skipping school at 7 a.m.
So I’m back, looking up Into the sky above me And I notice something’s off Something’s unhinged But at first I cant place what it is
Maybe it was the silence…
It was too much
Ringing in my ears Echoing through my cranium Reverberating Thunder Shamanistic drum circles Fireworks An Electric blender On a hungover Monday morning
Street lights flicker Disjointed Morse code
The shadows on the streets Long Thin
Then…
Music drops
2nd floor beats Rhythmic Alive
Jazz Horns rip melodramatic rifs Cacophony, Krazy, Koo Koo Juice Jumping on the breeze Harsh city sleaze Carrying disease Through the tips of barren trees
Asphalt dreams, neon signs Television make believe All the Ingredients that you need to start a New religion
Hollow eyes Empty souls Gather together in a mystic trance
The marquis sign illuminated Drawing moths with crosses Ready to take hostage A Martyr A Sacrifice To send up to the gods
Retribution and Illusions Caught up in the delusions Being forgiven Absolved of confusion
Repent
Alabaster thoughts Unveiled realizations Divine meanings deliver A higher awareness upon my soul
Scratching, attacking Holding back in An epoch of of life Not understanding
The moon… Bright Brilliant Buoyant Shines softly Above the sleeping city With luminous glow
I stumble through consciousness With a new awareness
I try to take everything in More than My experiences
That JAZZZzzzzz
It rides On the wind Opened my eyes within Finding myself in a tone No longer alone Coming to fruition This crazy situation
Blinding lights Inside my mind Here… I found my calling Now is the time … To Be
The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 