Poetry

They dare to sprout in an infertile soil
Or fertile in a way 
that dissuades growth
But encourages rot
Of mind
Of belief
Of self
Or is that the way they stayed alive
Fall in step
Believe the words
Disbelief suspended by false loft
Tethered by lies, interwoven like a web
To trap those 
In fear
Dissonant to what was known
A solitary White Rose
Of Seven Petals
Dares to break the blood soaked ground
Dares to stand fast against the rising storm
Knowing that the season will be cut short
That each petal will be guillotined in its own way
Before new seeds have a chance to be sown
Before new seeds have a chance to germinate
And spread
Holding the broken soil
Together
The roots meandering, unseen
the final cry echoing 
as the blade falls fast
Long. Live. Freedom. 

Photo by Ryan Song on Unsplash

when the lights go out
and silence descends
when sleep is beckoned 
at night's end
when the thoughts of day
are subdued
pushed down
or reviewed
drifting off
to be renewed
they come out to play
like deadly warriors do

in those shadows
their sharp edges softened
they entreat me gently
their voices often
telling 
selling tales
untrue
with words so raw
and coloured
drizzled with varied hues
of truth
their propaganda
imbued
with tangible threads 
of veritas
that draw me in
to hold me kiss me
caress me
in the end 
only to mess me
delivered with such gravitas
that i must listen
wishing 
to be left alone
those monstrous thoughts
grown
the moans of beasts
of burdens
of herds of 
persons 
unheard
words
whispered 
growled
out loud
that only i can hear
right here
right now
the monsters awaken
they have taken
the piece
from me, of me.

the monsters awoken
they have spoken
come out to play
they say
they say
come out to play

these are the monsters 
that come to visit
in those quiet times
i feel their spirits
invoking
cajoling
drawing out 
the darkness from within
seeking those corners 
and hidden spaces
the places 
where no one knows
the faces i don't show
shadows among the shadows
claws from paws
fangs from jaws
gnashing clashing smashing
silence shattered
no words needed
none spoken
the stillness cracked
the quiet broken

the monsters awoken
they have spoken
come out to play
they say
they say
come out to play

And so I do.

bit by bit teased from within
the outer shell cracked
the change begins
i see their toothy grins
a trembling hand 
reaches out
they grasp and hold
pull and tug
the cuts and bites
flesh sliced raw
tearing the cloak
but instead of lightness
darkness broke
through every inch of me
bathing my being 
now set free
to be what i am 
and what i see
in those quiet moments
i've come to be

the monsters awoken
they have spoken
come out to play
they say
they say
come out to play

heeding their heady calls
i fall 
i fall
for their games
the fire untamed
rises 
a phoenix
from the ashes
reborn
a blackened unicorn
hooves up high, 
rearing
ready to strike
from dark skies
lightening
splitting the night
blurring wrong from right
the load lifted 
shifted
my spine unbent
repent
repent
they say
their saccharine voices
syrupy sweet
coating me 
impervious armour
impenetrable
head to feet

the monsters awoken
they have spoken
come out to play
they say
they say
come out to play

And play I do.

overcome
my thoughts run true
a clarity strikes
from out of the blue
plucked into existence
from internal revue
the monsters in real life
are not the monsters 
under my bed 
they're not the ones 
who lurk in shadows
dark corners
or in atomic war heads
the scariest of them all
are those monsters 
that live in my head.

Photo by Dan Burton on Unsplash

In fighting
verses 
she curses
the space
that has hurt us
the space 
that alert us
to frailties
that crack
the ground 
splitting 
apart
yet a part of us
hangs on
to the hopes 
and the dreams
the ways 
and the means
to an end
the end 
that she fears
nearing
through tears
falling heavy
to the broken floor
that's no more
gone
vanished
disappeared
to ether
neither one
backing down
stand their ground
unable to veer
steer
change course
no room for remorse
a dead horse
beaten
path
discarded
igniting a clash
of internal civil
realizations
when the violence 
ignited
bursts forward
flames 
growing 
burning
put out the fire
doused
by those tears
so many tears
paying debts
and arrears
a high cost to 
bear
the burden
burst 
like a dam
but damn 
now 
they are drowning 
drowning
in silence
in that absolute 
silence
in the sound 
of sorrow
that abounds
that can't repair 
the precise slicings
of those cursed 
verses
versus
me.

Photo by mahdis mousavi on Unsplash

A single red thread
meanders 
connecting 
those in its way
to those that came before 
to those that come after
a tenuous link
with bonds
emboldened 
or weakened
by words 
and actions
teetering 
a fragile buttress
sown
with intentions.

Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash

No Gods No Parents No Kings
The words reverberate
growing unraveled and longer
like string
pulled from a sweater
a protector 
from the elements
the burning sun
lighting a path
It's time to spread my wings
trying to fly
against the clear azure sky
Wax melting 
as I tumble down
Icarian cries
escaping parched lips
wings clipped
weighted mental chains 
around my neck
the pull of gravity
unquestioned
the tension too high
breaking the threshold
body cold
a corpse 
of my former self
rising from the smashes
dust from ashes
burned from flight
still screaming 
No Gods No Parents No Kings
the delight
rising as I fall
from grace
freed 
from space
shackles thrown off
Inertia laid bare
hurtling down but uplifted
hurtling down, ground shifted
I am free
the words hurtling from me.
No Gods No Parents No Kings. 

Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

awakening from slumber
but grasping at the last, reluctant
remaining tendrils of sleep 
as they cling to existence before
dissipating like the wispy steam 
rises 
from the coffee mug 
left on the counter 
untended, stoic, bold
untethered transition state
lazily swirling up and away
all around
visible to invisible
there but not.

i dreamt of your hair
i was in it 
i was small and it was all around me
i had a sense that something was ever flowing
surrounded by you
within you. 

drowning in the waves yet floating
up 
bound and free
it was calm and turbulent
a diametric opposition
surreal reality
all at once
it was
something and nothing
crashing into the cacophony of silence
the strands entwined
over and under me
part of me
all over me. 

we hadn't met yet except in that dream
in that place where time and space
don't exist
in that place, like many other places
where the confines are defined 
in a mind 
open to meaning and being
ourselves
two kinds, stories separate and distinct
floating like steam
it was all a dream
it was an intense but freeing kind of dream. 

Those are the feelings I remember. 

Photo by Becca K. Tarter on Unsplash

*special thanks to S.V. for lyrical inspiration

Reds flashing cut through the blackness splashing 
the thin opaque screen with a sheen
of dazzling, luminescent colour 
rousing the sleeping soul from the slumber housing 
dreams not yet seen, places not yet been 
not yet ready to face the day, the pallor 
slowly fading away, consciousness imbuing 
confused countenance between two states, a daily routine
of rising against the pull of comfort, with no false valour
invading those gateways of ego masquerading 
as blurry gelatine orbs and twin stars injected with tacrine 
CPU engaged, architecture superscalar 
a shifting of being, awareness granted - a freeing 
like automaton, a machine, protocol requiring caffeine
sensations of fullness, expanding bladder 
pressure increasing, the freedom of releasing 
a liberating stream into bowl that gleams.
A new day arrived, started with glamour.

Photo by Anastasia Mezenina on Unsplash