Alliterations Anonymous

I had more fun writing this than any piece in recent memory.
I hope you enjoy reading it just as much.
Guess you would classify this as prose.

my meticulous Mind eschewing exterior existence
It iterates itself
passionately processing points of contention on parchment
decisively drowning in deep crimson flowing forth from felt tipped fingers
consciousness connects conscience
newly nuanced is my new frame of reference
now i  bow
po- lite-ly
before Powers boasting power over me
no longer misaligned do i feel
i will wait with reverence
gentle Genius, genus of cognition
treasured truly like lovers light caress
rush of reason runs spirited strengthening Sinews surreptitiously
quibbles and quarrels quit wasting my time
no longer will i ache after allowing
yesterdays yearning to rise as yeast
and near self destruction
i'm my own opponent owning every ether filled second
my jeering jury jesting at my success
zealously zaps, zeroing in
on the existential examiner of my exposed sense of self

Your Reign

Another shortie. Muses muses all around

The perfectionist in you
drives me
It displays what is true
I'm eager to be

under your tutelage
humbled before your grace
To you, my mind I pledge

your good name I shall raise
myself to, a goal to obtain
Each new day brings closer your reign

Affixed

Wrote this one a while back during a time that was.....topsy turvy to say the least. It's dark, brooding and moody and short. I had put this to music awhile back but can't seem to find track. When I get time I will see if I can find it, or I will just re-envision it and record it again. Never opposed to working when I love the work.

Affixed


I sit affixed, hollowed by your words.
My soul reeling through the continuum, trapped neatly between your verbs.
Leave. No? Fine I'll walk.
I guess there is nothing left to say, no time to talk.

Your guess is as good as mine
as to where we went wrong
Of course they say only time
will heal, your face seems so morphed, so oblong

I reach out for closure but receive none
my hands fall short, so I shall wait affixed and stunned
to my position, slowly permanence develops
The world narrows, my body it envelops
Waiting hollow, for your sign, your gentle beckoning call.
Wonder encases me and I sit in awe
of what your lips could do to me
of how one last kiss would set me free.

What if I Was Wrong.

What if I was wrong?

That love is not all you need,

It can steal you from you or take all that you claim

near and dear to self and cap you at your knees, leave you lame

High water swells, robs you of your senses

Beaten for every penny, it would leave you cent less,

Again and again turned over and over,

Destined to be fruitless, a rambling rover

Of the roads and the night

Of the deserted city streets,

No end for me hope isn’t in sight,

No golden dawns, no morning treat

What if I was wrong?

About everything I’d ever I’d ever told you,

That every bridge was impassable without the fear of God,

Would you convert and take the path in lieu

Of what’s been read, or fight till the death with steel sword and rod?

Let’s get this out this out of the way

I’ll just go ahead and apologize today

all my misgivings and deep shame,

My lamentations, you’re not to blame

For the terrible mess I’ve made,

For the years I’d wasted static,

Our distance grew, camera start fade

to black, lungs heavy, breath asthmatic

I clutch my chest and wait for the truth

It’s what I need to hear, no matter how uncouth

What if I was wrong?

That all grey skies bring pain

Thoughts that torture and toil in my mind

The nagging sound of rain

Deluge of the century, making soil unrefined

My roots have long since withered, I no longer carry grace

But my value is intrinsically tethered, I have saved face

Deep within, a squall broods

As I sit pensive, lost in such melancholic moods

Heavy upon these shoulders, my mind rests

Such is the penchant for those caught in eternal thought

Clawing, writhing and teething I evolve for the best

The work is never solved, sinews of the brain pulled taut

What if we were wrong?

About everything we knew

If all knowledge was no longer sacred

Culture we would eschew

And all would topple down, a nation misled

Two Spirits of the Day

This is the response cadence to a poem written by a friend.


Trees:
 carry the breeze that breathes life into me,
foliage falls softly as you tickle and tease,
sun becomes lofty, soon drops to its knees
ready to rest for the eve-ning

Moon: ready the night eye
to ascend through the sky
and bathe me in cool blue
giving mind the glue
to sleep on through this lack of light
(ah what reprieve from great respite)

OTM: Off the Map

Phone is Dead, No charger. But still a spark flows through these veins. 

Time to go

Off The Map.

Pen has melded into flesh, ink pouring into blood.

As my fingers scrawl the page, life is borne again. 

Reality via ballpoint.

A battle begins, between the literature gods and my mind, my hand the mediary.

The resulting casualty, my lucidity.

 My fractured essence, caught and recorded.

This moment in time forever etched

 a heavy lead weight affixed to a singular point that will be rehashed and renewed

vicariously felt for the ages.

My Third Eye

Italics breathe new life into the read.

Prying open my third eye

I witness the relentless pursuit of self, which fails to cease and desist

It slows only for the sun and sky, which join in a lovers chase

I hear the pulse of the city, blaring in protest across the horizon

My ears quiver from Mother Earth’s voice; all her joys and her pains, they are but fleeting

I smell the heat, as it hangs heavy and thick, streaming forth from the sweltering eye of the world and it beats down on my back, draining me

The flavor of the day ruins my taste buds for its taste is much too sweet to be true

I taste The freedom

It lingers and I acquiesce to its power

I feel full of purpose and vigor; my vitality is only as limited as my sight

But my eyes deceive me

in reaching out, my arms falter and I fall short

the taste is no longer so sweet

Why do such sour grapes taunt me?

Yet in this state I feel alive

Again I try and my boundary, it greets me with feigned sorrow

I sit idly by; my fortress warning me to go no further; you see it enjoys my company

Prying open my third eye I will witness the relentless pursuit of self which makes its return home

So I lay in wait, the moon nearly ready to do her dance and beckon the spirit of dawn

Just long enough for my Withered Eye to come full circle

and for the pursuit to begin

once more