Posted in amibiguity, answers, change, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, Hypocricy, life, lost, love oneself, poetry on life, poetry on love, the mind

Carried Away.

carried-away-by-a-scent-gun-legler

Carried away in the windmills of desire for desire,

A hunt for what was felt not..What was found not..

Wondering if this was the rhythm of  fall and rise not knowing the end,

If the path might lead away from the drabness,

Away and yet into another forest edge..

Edge of just the beginning? Or is the end already?

How far does one breath last? How long can one hold ones breath?

And the once traversed edges and forgone brazenness,

Now there we were, here we are, blatantly hunting again..

To the very end, For more always..

And might one run out, only to break into a bleak fall onto the hard earth?..

Or just feel another spin, with no cradle to land in..

A moment of fleeting touch, and the hunter and hunted melt away?..

 

A prowling sinner awakens within the simpleton,

Feeding off spilling sounds of mumbling caress..

Flaying about the senses, to drain the whispers of two minds,

In a time where life seemed to walk backwards,

A brush of unknown cajoles the mind..

A  degree higher in depth , a degree closer to self..

Bathing in camaraderie of selfish fornicating and a tipping edge of likeness,

 

Temptations far too fickle in nature,

Unhinged, Unbinding and unknown forever the calling..

Deviations persist through their innate nature..

Exceptions drowning the words of saints..

Which would you choose?

Ruffle the monotony on a path undone of spiked drunkenness?

Or smother the breaths with ruptured righteousness?

To be carried away in desire for more want ,

More prowess,

more dreams,

And more unknown..

Ain’t that no sin? Or just a norm for sinner?

For it never felt like one to him,

For a sinner shan’t ever know the end… Look to the end

Keep them coming..He would say

Be carried away.. For the end is never far, never near.

Posted in amibiguity, emotions, expressions, HOPE, INNOCENCE, life, light, living, lost, love, memories, mindset, poetry on life, poetry on love, questions, silence, souls, strength, struggle, the mind, time

Crookedly Woven Thoughts

Image result for wars within THE MIND AND HEART

Where must the mind land? Where must it traverse to?

It must speak for itself to rise and draw on the versatile goodness of fate…

It wishes to grapple in the light just as it does in the dark..

Must it bow, must it be, must it take flight? And in direction ??

Now it speaks a mingled concoction of crookedly woven thoughts..

 

 

Ain’t there enough food on the streets to feed this epidemic of scarcity?

Ain’t there enough love in your heart to heal all the hurt?

Ain’t there enough dust settling on the blood to awaken the heartless with its stench?

 

 

There are ghastly streets, rotten drunkards, thirsty for more,

There is enough monsterity to hope for a shower of hailing empathy..

A desperate need to be rescued from depths of such self destruction..

 

 

Was man born only to rinse swords in tears..

Do those who suffer only remember of the ways to inflict?

The wars of despondency, a continuum of repulsive deeds ,

As human strides round and beneath..away from its naive beginning..

Representing the darkness mounted beneath the sheath of our existence..

 

 

For words to leave the bindings and reveal the intentions of the mind..

The heart must pace with the subtly settling, unknowingly induced pain..

Settling pain is unsettling, unnerving, ain’t it?

 

 

In wars, how must the heart clamber out to help itself?

 

Is life a war?  In ways it strives to derive the worth of time..

An urgency to grope for what is and isn’t yours,

What exists, just tumbling and rising on pillars of man’s uncertain designs..

A struggle to win hearts.. A struggle pacify the reflections in others..

A desire to be owned , A desire to own..

The wry ways of this human embodiment..

Darn the pain.. Darn the seemingly sodden truth..

 

 

Must I say something nice? I shall..

Heart must clot its wounds…

The man, must keep on keepin on..

And the light shall reach you as it stretches across to save us all..

Maybe there is love, hidden at the corners of your eye..

Maybe there is love, trembling to be undone on the ridge of your lids..

Maybe there is love in the hearts of the diseased.. maybe it will be find the hope..

And we shall smile in unison.. as plainly as the child does.. without reason..

In supple ways, maybe light will find all of us.

Posted in amibiguity, crazy, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, loss, lost, love, memories, poetry, poetry on love

Random… Pride..self.. love?the fever.

The burden we call love could easily be hate..

The need to be needed.. the want to be wanted..

The fetal position of the grieving soul..

The penchant for ownership of the soul..

Too weary to follow.. too old to know where it is to be.. where it is to summon itself, to its home?

 

The haughty madam beneath the simpleton..Prays to avenge her pride..

Ain’t she a felon herself?

The girl who pounced in her father’s arms..prays to be set free..

The laughter that kindled her eyes.. the soft lines of nifty smile..

Muffled and ironed beneath the pains of frightful wars fought in her heart…

 

In the end when bones brittle crumple.. and flesh melts..

The hearts surge with combative pain..

Left are two souls lost.. facing  walls grounded on either sides..

The mirror reflecting the ugliness of it all..

In thy own eyes.. the glass shows black..

Pride is harrowing in the pits its own dungeons..

 

Ohh.. the  depths of ditches we dive into..

The sins we commit in the name of love..

Sinful of hateful acts towards self.. and then towards the other..

What is love but a roped..tangled path..

Curious pull.. one strolls and then the moments dribble away..

One is siphoned..tipsy into another Moonlit forest.. another home…

Aren’t you lost yet?

 

Where do you turn when the bridges you built are trampled upon..

Fallen beneath the sea of distance…

When human made altercations.. distractions..  steal the good.. gnarl it from your grasp..

Turn away from home.. to find that you have none..

And only the dungeons and pits.. fraught with felons of your heart..

Where shall you find your freedom now?

Who shall row you back to the haven you once knew?

How shall thee save thyself from distraught nature of thy heart?

Where shall thee find thy home.. thy solace and salvation?

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in emotions, freedom, life, loss, lost, poetry on life, poetry on love, struggle

To find..

To find and string your own strands..They fly in the whirlpool of ripples rising from your epicentre..

To find your heart throttled beneath the sheaths of all that your heart knows.. and doesn’t know..

To find the true destiny of the scarred hope..

Hope who walks stealthily in your darkest shadows..

Hope is the tongue of that loving king on the throne of buried hell..

Warns you of a beautiful death.. Murmuring hoarsely“burn the wooden doors of the great framed arch..”

To find.. find that place.. that place we all want to go to.. ..

All want to writhe and laugh..and dance..and roll in its heated sand..  

A craft doorway.. The wooden doorway frames it.. The hell’s haven..

Be forewarned of seeing your pitiful self sculpted on gallows..

Drag your famished body..

Shoot into the orange light…rising heat…fiery flames of love and war..

Of bludgeoned hope.. Ambient dreams.. and rising agony..

And sweet, ravishing, merciless poisonous fruits reaped in lawless love…

Hold your breath and drown forever..It’s the sea of bodies of crippled friends..

 Each face a glaring resemblance of your many flesh wounds.. of your many fair colors..

To find the loss that scraped your flesh bit by bit.. To find all that you thought you had abolished…

To find all those brave souls you stabbed with you lust for life…for selfish freedom..For heinous desires..

To find your mind in trampled by one a many hurtling truths of enticing lies..

To see the bundles of firewood you have gathered..

And to see the blood red sunshine you have drawn in that bland…colourless garden of life

Masked tiny creatures carrying trays laden with shells..

Embodiments of prophesied lives lived in and with or without them..them-love..hope..dreams…ambitions..

To find that one creature who might frisk past screeching your name..you must follow the voice..

Chasing with your hands tied..On your knees to reach touch a shell..

 And find that one shell that prophecies your freedom from this journey.. as a slave of time..

A voice leads to another voice and another… And you must twist and scatter and disfigure..

But each head that turns to face you… a medusa..

And you must look at it to escape into the next moment..

You are sculpted on the gallows..

To piece all those static bits.. to merge all the stone figures..you must burn..drown and disfigure to find..

To find…to find..to find.. to find…I must go on..to find..