Whispered Screams

 

 

Whispered Screams

 

 

I watched the sand of silence sift through the fingers of my life.

 

The waves of my essence battered against the rock of my spirit.

 

I became suspended in the illusion of astral vibrations.

 

Vibrations that prophetically eroded an infinity of time through the invisible

 

tide of hope.

 

The sea whispered secrets to the dawn of continuous frames.

 

Frames that transpired no paintings of dreams in the mirror of reality.

 

The fear of death nor the pain of life can divide me from my garment of

 

flesh.

 

Behind iron bars I am only a prisoner of gravity enchained by limited

 

visions.

 

The moon seduced the still waters to run like the breeze against the shores of

 

my youth.

 

Time has tempered the fire that drank from the riverbanks of tranquility and

 

order.

 

I must wipe the ice that drips poetry from its lips.

 

My graves of Whispered Screams resurrected from the dust will soar on the

 

wind of four seasons until they rest once again.

 

What appeared was not so – What I saw was not there and what was there I

 

did not see.

 

 

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Clinging to life

 

 

Clinging to life

 

A spark of curiosity lands me on your doorstep with the power of a raised eyebrow in an

unkempt universe.

Behind the windows of trapped essences which engage the keyboard of suffocating walls that

are closing in on humanity,

An observant eye plays the victim in support of the cause with a wink from the ether telling us

that all is forgiven,

With the recoiling of sage passages into the underground which is cursed with a dragonfly’s

blood to taste.

And I rushed a swimming thought onto a platter of refreshing humanity, that takes a bite out of

anger.

The fumbling of casting actors with the masks that fall and pounce on the thugs of society in a

precocious and dangerous season,

A chirping in the farthest nebula upon the strokes of midnight displays a song that floats where

there is a sway in the hour, and

Spirit erases our memory in a moment of fractal sensibility sanctioned by a fuse of feverish

pitch.

An incineration of thoughts through the lenses of spiritual growth occurs, when behind a

Gossamer’s veil that she camouflages her intents in ambiguity,

The chorus of nobility with moments that intrude upon an impression rotates in a spin of

undressing the essence:

A reminder that mediates a definition that suddenly seems archaic.

The passageway of eternity is not to buy into the myth with an accidental jury deliberating.

The archaeological history’s tablets written by the flame of the finger cuts through the hardness

of endurance.

The traveling grayness sweeps across your sky letting it rain on your landscape and the wetness

grips you once again.

Smudges of your past rear a celebration as a reminder of wanderings gone awry.

A social expression of unworthiness does war on the battlefields with challenges unforeseen.

And the tentacle of life adheres to sentiments.

They can only be separated when death delivers your garment of flesh to the earth once again

in a duplicity of life.

This is when we know we no longer cling to life.

 

 

 

 

Perpetual hourglass

 

 

Perpetual hourglass

 

Bury me in the depths of your soul

Playing into my framed origami happiness

While listening to my soul flutter with the essence of peace

Like fallen angels that elevate me with broken wings

Flying pass the labels sequestered into finite language

Flying pass the hate that consumes the fire of serenity

The violence that we knead like unleavened bread

That carries to the wind the essence of brokenness

Washing our hands in spring water

Hoping the stains of humanity will be cleansed

The innocent always pays with the ego of others

And their chameleons of life spare them from blame

That winds against the falling petals keeping time within the toxic perpetual hourglass

Coming to the surface for air

Wind dried in darkness

A spark against the black canvas

Feeling the freedom

Feeling the cradle of Nirvana

Feeling the breath of love

Feeling nothing

 

 

 

 

Whispers from the other side

 

 

Whispers from the other side

 

When death occurred,

you spoke from behind the veil.

And when you touched my essence,

I shivered in my step.

I knew

when I connected the goosebumps,

you were speaking to me,

not speaking,

but feeling.

You touched my soul

you brushed against my cheek,

and I shivered in my step once again.

As I speak behind my veil to you,

and the ancient voices are calling

like a beautiful haunting song

which beckons me,

to fill the ache,

of longing to go home.

Behind the veil,

I shivered in my step,

when I felt you.

 

 

Burnt offerings

 

 

Burnt offerings

 

A peaceful breeze, a gentle peace has crowned itself upon my head.

Worn on the battlefield with no arms in hand.

Lost to the winds of inexplicable torment.

Clutched to my being a flame not wanted.

And there it sits in the embers of a meeting place out of reach.

Burning another chapter within the Akashic Records.

Burnt in the tablets of my being.

Contained by thoughts not to quench the desire.

The madness of the puzzle not shared in the illusion of life.

A cruelty not foreseen.

An ache, a tug, a pull from the four winds.

Nothing but fire and I shall not put my hand in the flame.

Dancing flames dancing like my fingers that wanted to touch the burning

desire within.

The sea hypnotizes me with its song of seduction.

May she extinguish the flame within.

It is only wishful that she would be a true ally.

I now surrender.

With the hope that the flame will not take wing again.

 

 

 

A winded stone

 

 

 

A winded stone

 

He is made of stone.

Will he change to my winds?

For my love to see,

That there is more,

Than just the rustling of leaves.

 

She is the wind,

That doesn’t lift my wings,

By the current of her essence.

Tell me that there is more

Than winded messages.

 

They are made of tired faces.

No rest between stones or winds.

Waiting for something to happen.

Finding no solace.

A happiness that escapes them to the core.

 

The world wants to weep,

Of stories untold,

Of stones and winds,

With unborn laments,

That will keep them still apart.