Rose

There is a burden, blessing, and responsibility that comes with acknowledging the sadness that surrounds you, the blessing only ignited when united to console their tormenting ache. Being hypersensitive to expressions, reflections, and memories painted on communal faces, sometimes leaves this uneasiness in my stomach, defenseless I feel, yet somehow their moments of catapulting distant, intangible messages become strangely touching and real, but alludes to great difficulties interacting back. Why is this little girl’s mouth drooped astray, or why one man stared blankly with hypnotic sway, and that kid cornered roughly, whimpering away? What do their auras secretly say, and how was I oblivious yesterday? It’s like that tattered woman they told me existed running frantic on concrete floor in battered sandals, eyes forlorn. She stands at the corner, sore, waiting for someone she lost, perhaps longing for one who would never return. Why do I see her now, when I did not before, in her despair, pacing until she goes back home, returning to ritualistically complacent breakdowns? And what about those who share common love, wandering aimlessly within their hearts for a possibility to divulge passion’s word, but unknowingly murdering the one they fought to repair? Half orphaned, they stood themselves bearing their wounds that required more healing than I do. And what about this wall, that slowly becomes vulnerable, as their emotions push through like the tribes of Gog and Magog? They were helpless, but their sensibilities brutal on my outer shell, now steadily cracking, from wear and tear. And where there was light across the neural hemisphere, is intuitive gray matter and one shot of brilliance moving upwards to air. And then, there are the people who were collapsed at the names on black stone, falling north and south. Do you know you make me weep and tender inside? As tiny white ribbons swayed against blue sky, no one would share the truth with you, one more shocking than what you could conceive, turning you a believer through subconscious whims indeed. Still, from now until then, I shall cradle remains with you, against pavement shivering, because I knew your sorrow was true. Then sometimes, we find ourselves resurrected by powers of faith, and even through small things of great mercy, like the pitter patter of raindrops against my skin, that camouflages beautifully the well within. But if tears do continue to profusely accrue, will I drown when obliviously infusing myself with melancholy from each of you-- the woman who paces, that broken girl on the train, the man who sways, the boy bullied on his way, and those who yearn love, breaking her in two? And so, please know--- I scale back again, further, running in the other direction, just for a minute if I can, to shelter from dark shadow’s coax, and believing that good erases sin. Still—I promise, I promise, after sixty seconds the most, I will compose, and post restoration will wear you close—as each of you is a rarest desert rose. For whether withered, or perfuming my soul, your thorns summon blood to flow-- and in my heart's garden you shall always grow...

Celestial

Sometimes your eyes take the most intimate shade of hazel brown, the outer limits misted with this haze of forest green rims, that expose your obsessions and whims of love, soaked with competitive phases that make you this creature of infatuation and acumen, yet oblivious to poetic architecture sculpted from celestial perceptions of you, unaware of your soul syncing in cosmic flames coming through to the other side of my galactic dreams, provoking heat that melts away with vengeance. Sometimes your eyes watch and take in like eclipses, full of angry craving, then lighting up like stars dancing on dim nights, grabbing hold with mad grip, and culminating in ways invading but beautiful, like a tamed flame simmering in softest hand…

Door

purely by prudence, have not been known. deviant by nature, or inspired so? spiritual malfunction and scandal prone. thrust by whispers of subconscious tone. willing for deliverance, but transgression honed. knees in forgiveness, heart out the door. shackled with permission from hedonistic call. need for submission, if midnight burns. will you step in as virtue, or irreverent turn? hard to configure, when she's all you yearn.

Strung

sometimes im colliding. smashing into pavement. but did you know? which way is up. undeterminable. when the storm has strewn you so far. the road lay below me once. now clashing flood. strung vulnerable. im hooked on the high. the string of life. upside down. pacified by hidden stars. in the gray flashes. embraced tight. by another impassioned crashing sky.

[Photo by Bellezza Caotica, Interstate 495, NY]

Siren

pyrotechnic pink fingertips grip linen under hypnotics slipping defenseless. head jilted back vicious with charcoal dipped hair flipped over eyes uninhibited. like waves defiant whipped in beats slithering as python against silk sipping adonis’s drink. tenderly tilted wrists sinking this effervescent siren melting. mystic feline exhales listless whence from enchanting defeat lips lilted.