Lost

“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.”
Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water   

 

Lost
                                Ships wreck

Walking through the question marks
Where will I go in this dark?
With the light dimming behind
How will I go being blind?
Screaming in my head, holding the candle near
Where will I go from here?
The path is crooked with cliffs along the way
Fear says never to go but only to stay

When there’s no sight from lack of light there remains no assurance in the steps. My soul’s being torn between ravenous beasts manifested by my torment. Faith, will you save me now? Will you come on the white horse of sanity and redeem my soul? These wasps follow me, stinging me where ever I go. I can hear the buzz of their wings while I sleep. There’s no healing from the swelling injections filled with the puss of their rape. What parts of me have died or are dying? Why can’t I tell? I know that bricks are missing in my wall and deleterious eyes stare at me from the holes. With all of this hell raging in and around me, I call out, as we all do in the foxholes of life, “GOD HELP ME”! He will, but how, it escapes me, but when, it eludes me, and in this moment I hang to what I know from His dealings with me in the past. I know He’ll help me, I know He’ll come, I know I’ll survive and be stronger yet for the next wave of human devils and demon thoughts.

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The Separation of Friends

“A perverse man spreads strife, And a slanderer 
separates intimate friends.”  Proverbs 16:28

“It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them.”  Confucius

My mind’s intrigued with fickle people concerned only with the direction of the winds of gossip. They blow this way and that, regardless of the benefit given by myself. I’m wary of this crowd, of the hearty followers, of the “humble” acquaintances in my life, for those by my side in friendship today are at my throat, without hesitation, tomorrow. All that’s required for this shift from friend to foe is discomfort in their lives. Whether financial, physical, or social unrest, it gives them impetus to turn the trust into a sword and cut without mercy. “He deserves it because….” – this is the mantra that sears their conscience.

They’re masters in this game, the game of turning the opinions of those around me to their benefit. It’s no disgrace this art of war, but it bears repeating that those closest to me, those I help the most, will grow to hate me, if for no other reason than I have and they have not. Despising that they asked for my help, or owe me something, or just hate that I excel in some way, they desire to quench their envy and jealousy by disposing the one to whom they are so envious or indebted. These master players will be burned by their own hand and it won’t be long after starting many fires that they’ll make a mistake and corner themselves with the flames. As for me, I learn to encourage myself, and with this one thing I’ll rise above the petty crowd – after all the hate shown towards me, I’ll still be good to people and serve my friends and leaders with undying loyalty.

09262012

Echo of Woods – Missing parts of me

“Their screams would echo through the house and reverberate against my eardrums until my mind would fracture. Years went by and with each fracture; I lost a piece of my soul until I became lost and empty inside.”
J.D. Stroube, Caged in Darkness
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My lover, you followed me on lost paths, chasing my longings deeper, before I turned and saw, you’re not there. The pieces I broke off to mark my exit you ate and then flew away, without any words, disappearing in hollows of echoing woods. I know my soul’s alone by the absence of those missing pieces. How can they be gone, slipped into an eternity of forgetfulness, or thoughtlessness, pushed there by denial and an intense effort to pretend you didn’t happen, unless they were born at sometime in the messy afterbirth of a mind gone mad? If I let my thoughts take these updrafts of imagination, to soar above this wilderness of lore, I’ll see you again. The pain’s breathtaking, should I plunge back below to the feigned wellness of peace? Or perhaps, stay on these heated gestures of reaching and slip into the coldness of space losing the oxygen of you, and with tears and a reluctant release, my light will dim and finally extinguish.

06262013
 

Just A Look

“Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand. WILLIAM CONGREVE, Love for Love

The plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not.” – CHARLES CALEB COLTON, Lacon

 

mvninn
The attentions of a woman make me feel alive and vibrant with power. Like a crashing wave, her look and positive glance wash over my life leave me with a feeling of satisfaction. What curse am I under? The power in her movement captivates me and stops my whole world to see her for a moment on the miraculous hinge of change, all it takes is her reaction. If she likes me, pays me some attention, then peace and excitement in abundance. If she turns away, her rejection ignites a fire, inciting a riot of feelings in my body. Though heaven call and hell reach, nothing matters but her at that moment. There’s no end to the amazing things that I’ll put my body and mind through to see her smile. Not just a special her, but the one that has stopped my heart from proceeding with its mundane tasks. Dropped to my knees, not by an amazing model, rare and fleeting, but by that woman who holds herself with such confidence and sexuality that I find a smell of desire wafting across the room to bring me to my knees. I’ve stumbled down the steep paths of self-esteem, yet to know she’s there, watching with interest, gives me the most incredible lift. This hawk takes to an empowering thermal desire and rises to heights unreachable when you, sweet woman, give me your smile.

01242013

Have you ever felt it? – Simple things, simply love

 “The road to finding ‘the one’ is paved with a bit of promiscuity.” – Ryan Erickson

redbubble
Have you ever felt it?
I spent hours taking the little sunburned petals from your skin,
removing them ever so carefully, tenderly,
utterly in heaven, a heaven which surely,
the birds are familiar…
Have you ever felt it?
I lose myself in thoughts of you, and me, together
in a slow dance that walks us through the gates of fantasy
all our senses lost in the moment, hearts racing,
minds panting to keep up.
Have you ever felt it?
Bodies moving together, souls floating,
passion shared, in the heat forming a bond
that can never be broken, though you my lover
are very, very far away.
Have you ever felt it?

11192011

 

The Lord is My Shepherd, I shall not Want?

“When those who found this skeleton attempted to disengage it from that which it held in its grasp, it crumbled to dust.” ― Victor Hugo

 

Sandra Ramos
            Sandra Ramos

 

When for ages the wind swept years away, there remained little of the life of the hermit, a stir past the window reminded eternity that mortality has its limits. Another flicker of movement that proved a harsh statement against all the laws of nature that screamed to be true. There’s always an exception, always an intervention by the divine laws which are generally ignored by the empiricists knowing they cannot tame the wild west of the spiritual. Though the house is dimmed by age, and windows covered in dust, sagging in their own way from age, life refuses to die. He holds on, battered and calloused from the struggle of living, refusing to crawl under the comforting sheets of the deep unknown. Something has died however, his passion has suffered the mortal wound. When it’s all said and done, am I alive if love is dead? And if so, what good is it?

Hindsight

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
Charles Bukowski
skins
The morning after, it’s plain to see,
the drunken mistakes, you did to me
Your eyes are teary, with stains of sorrow
I’m hardened to that, it’ll happen tomorrow
As the sun sets fear, sings lullabies
Soon you’ll be home, bringing hell and goodbyes
Again the saddest story is now told
I’m becoming a drunk too, as I grow old
You stained my mind, with intoxicated words
Breaking my soul, with your scourge
this morning tells a story, of my final plea
I lay this bottle down, because you have become me.