I’ve seen the whisper

 

 

I’ve seen the Whisper

 

 

I’ve seen the Whisper on the Wind to the ears of secrecy which whispered back on ears of deafness.

 

I reached far in to the dark for the brightest twinkle in a star a reminder pushed aside by the hand of

 

day.

 

I cannot roll back the presence of dark into the darkness of history.

 

On the stage once again making an appearance in reconciliation, with fire in the pen.

 

The breath of the pages make you recoil in the shadow of the book being observed.

 

Observing the self-imposed realities of mankind.

 

Which serves to separate yet caught in the web.

 

The swaying of the branches swept the earth of mankind’s filth.

 

And the tall trees tickle the ceiling of the sky and housecleaning has be done to allow spirituality to

 

reign over the realm of the earth.

 

Until such time – Hold the light

 

 

 

 

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Transcending time

 

 

Transcending time

 

Entrancing visions dance within the flame embracing the unbelievable that sends a star on a

journey with a secret message.

Parable travellers speak in tongues in the web of insanity that transcends recollections tucked

away in the shadow, only to illuminate the distorted face of the apocalypse.

Every breath inhaled from the crystal ball is an unspoken language that whistles through the

leaves of covertness.

We sit on fences with thorns on each side to impale us, should our perfection falter with

choices taken while leaving a scent of derision.

Saucer-eyes to a gossamer’s globe look past the shimmering filaments absorbed by bits

and pieces, lighting a torch to our mind,

So gifted as to read minds and manipulating memories in the cacophony of nuances,

suffocating my own breath, and resuscitated without malice.

A frosting over thoughts incubating failures in the purity of wasting wanderings and

surrendering to the contours of definition,

Obsession has its grip of taxying off the earth planed in a tear of conflagration tapping into

unwanted reminiscing.

The bell of challenges has rung in the classroom of adolescence – not dismissed of this universal

lesson that haunts us in this recycling darkness,

The impossibility of choices taken, and not answered through the unusual thunder of silence,

understanding the process and churning with the scrutiny of an old soul.

I stumble upon the carcass of acceptance seducing the landscape of our essence and I put it in

my pocket for another day.

And as I sit on my porch of leisure, pondering the proven and unproven, I realize I have

experienced a transcending of time.

 

 

 

The promise of silence

 

 

 

 

The promise of silence

 

A solitary eternal woe speaks to an extinct calm that shivers from the rattling of bones.

There is a brittle doubt, and despair that flows in the struggle of a coaxed nuance, gazing within

a crystal ball.

The fragrance of the universe, having dreams to regain within a semblance of sanity explores

the stability of insanity.

Negativity is disguised in the positive, weaning the cloak of poverty within words that are

labeled as such while we wait for salvation,

While a captured energy that is renewed spreads a shocking charm across the lands not known

that wait in agony.

A celebration of bliss cascades with kindness and boils to the breaking point, in turn recycled

valiantly, and is stricken into terrifying ugly thoughts.

An atmosphere of the, “Shh! “factor resonates with a curriculum of adversity that drinks from

the wells of sanctity.

A deliberation of a gentle tranquility grounds itself in security with the uneasiness of the

moment.

The wrinkles of time guards infinity, lighting incenses of expressing your inner most secret

Portal,

And your laughter not heard gives an insane metal itch of shadows in spontaneous

disillusions,

I chase pain for intentions of suffering and am embraced by society’s poison being a chosen one.

A perjury recycled is a complicated reversal of dreams that do not age nor bleed with pity.

A gargoyle is perched in stillness, hypnotized by passer byes with captivating intentions of

gratitude.

An individualizing exile begins to tempt fighting decisions with dreadful analytic prowess

overturning finality,

While a ravaged scenario without swollen conclusions provides dark moments on the journey

of disappointments.

An accomplished background suffers at the hands of a painful defeat that sugar coats

everything while deciding its own demise.

Throughout all the clatter of noise and headaches to be mended there was always the promise

of silence.

Promise of silence

Of silence.

Silence…….

 

 

 

Finding ourselves in words

 

 

Finding ourselves in words

 

The throne of words unravels and are disturbed by the rubbish of sentences that fade into a

shade of screams.

I was sent to a corner of reality which extracted paragraphs, sewn into the fabric of planned

hostilities.

I toasted an event of a chameleon nature, to permanently mess with the weighing of

sentiments on the justice scales.

And there exists the flipping of the pages used as a fan during hot days from books but for all

intent and purpose, they are used as a creation of the pen.

During concealing moments and aspiration with a health and success, in a tempest of thoughts I

was wished many health and successes.

There was a panic in the land when libraries crumbled and the books petrified in twisted stone

barely legible.

The chord of servants dragged the future into the past neglecting the present, which travels in

peculiar motion against schemes.

Rare repeats in lines gone wayward with dictation dreamed in quotes of asunder laws in spaces

of ego,

While the seed was sown in this present realm, and taken momentarily to another dimension

for perusal, into a typeset with a foreign thought.

Spent gratitude was granted by the ink that flows, with an open mind that is endless in the

landscape of writing.

Libation of words flow with the newest imagination, which conquers an epitome of diversity in

the original torture of creation.

The mythical surroundings struck on the hourglass of envy only to climb and embrace habitual

desecrated patterns of repetition.

A staggered tradition gives pardon to a ritual only to rejoice in ignorance, while scrounging for

a harbor of frustration.

A visiting chapter was read carrying a succession of slippery reasoning, in the bosom of magical

memories.

A forgiven justice longs for consequences with misery understood in the novella of life.

A grip written holds a stride of a stretch with the game of allotted tears of stone.

 

 

 

 

 

When voices inside scream

 

 

 

When voices inside scream

 

A child is born and yet another to touch lips that seals in becoming of oneness.

I was walking the avenue of memories with uplifting gentle clouds of desire that speak of bliss.

Looking at little stars flying off the fire living in the hearts of the hopeful romantic and keeping

secrets in the cupboard of betrayal.

The colors more than colors and the words more than sentences that describe our uniqueness

in this world.

Inseparable existence: birth in another dimension knowing the separation will occur in the

etchings of agony.

A short journey, a long journey the separation on the edge of sorrow twinkling on the edge of

the blade and who is eager to exact heartache.

The essence of ethereal wings that lift that falls in this perpetual duality in this life-one suffers.

The perplexity of a life’s plan–a soul mate, a bargain, betwixt and jinxed as what is created

conspires unscrupulously.

Intertwined with a cosmic sadness twin flames once completed when both are together

sensually writing each other’s line and the pulling of energy begins.

The chains do break, the paths traveled alone, the spirit broken gazing in the crystal ball of your

eyes.

Mysterious remembrances play on the carousel of thoughts not had, but present in life’s

chivalry which has been wounded.

Division the enemy of oneness our torment is ours, not understanding the grief when leaves

fall.

Fulfilling a destiny of two parts that became one so suddenly entices the other in war, the

antithesis of love, the burden of proof coexisting with regrets.

The ripping, the clawing, the scratching at the soul’s release with no relief in the understanding

of tryst.

The pain that rips throughout the essence of the universe is bottled for another day.

The pain cuts deep, the scars deeper in the delivery of a twisted, maniacal stiletto.

The curtains on the stage we play closes for the finale with death taking a bow.

The olive branch out of reach with no sympathy, no empathy with the treachery of symbols

scribbled into the Akashic records.

When I hear your name.

My heart stops.

And this is when voices inside me scream.