Tag: breathe

Leaving – The Death of Love

“With my last breath, I’ll exhale my love for you. I hope it’s a cold day, so you can see what you meant to me.
” 
 

radikal

I gave love the last burst of my precious energy, 
hoping to revive her before she passed on to the light. 
No shock on earth could ever start her heart again, 
growing cold as stone before my eyes. 
The hardness creeps in like darkness at sunset, 
first intriguing and beautiful, but then, a cold wind 
blows from the darkness, night is coming. 
One last chance I gave love, I started a fire in her, 
using all the dead things I had in me as fuel. 
Nevertheless, she refused to breathe. 
Now I feel her life ebbing from my soul. 
Her presence evaporating from my heart. 
Left with the cracked parched earth of my soul, 
thirsty for wetness, she refuses to live. 
Have you ever felt someone leaving your soul?

Have you ever felt someone leaving your soul?
Also published in Broowaha

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Tug of War

“All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours.” – Aldous Huxley



a-lunatic-mind

Sinking below the water’s horizon, I’m afraid to reach out to the hands offered to help. God, I do need the help, but at what cost? I’m just trying to survive, to pull my head above this liquid grave and take one more life giving breath. Can anyone just pull me up? It’s my fault I’m here, but don’t put me in the chains of your plans for me because you have it all figured out and for now, your feet on are the boat. The waters will boil, swallowing the best laid plans, resisting the strongest efforts, and here is where everyone falls. Your strong now, but I know the sense of control that comes when you realize that I, your desire, will be held near you by your assistance out of my tragedy. Your hand is what I need, and not just yours, but the effort of a village. Tug of war, I’m grabbed from two directions, pulling me not where it’s best for me, but where the hands want me to go. Just breathing is no comfort when, after I breathe, I find myself immersed in the murky water of slavery to a strange will. Sweet Jesus, my heart is overwhelmed and I cannot feel, I can only gasp, hoping that what ever hand I blindly slap the water and find, is one that will release me when I’m aboard.

What if?

 “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.” ― John Bunyan
catladythings
What if I discovered the reason I’m alive is to help you? And without that help, my life’s a waste, worthless crumpled paper blowing down an alley. What if the traps laid were my needs or an exploration of my feelings in an egocentric circle of lost opportunity? What if I looked for ways I can help? If I’m not here for you, then I must depart, this life has nothing to offer me alone. If there is no “we” on this earth, no family to belong to, no greater good to serve, then I’ll lay down in peace and give up my breath. What if my dying breath were given for a resuscitation of your life? Is this the greatest gift? To give my life for you? I’ve heard this sacrifice called the greatest love, do I pursue this divine commission? What if we knew that our ways were best fulfilled in this purpose, holding each other above the water? What if my strength grew with helping you, and shrank if I used it to tread the water of my desire? Then with a great heave I’ll lift you up, putting you on my shoulders to breathe, for your breath has become mine, and mine yours, and this is what we call living. 

Also Published in Broowaha Magazine


Fairy Dust – Just a Little

 “I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” ― John Lennon

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle me on your body and things you only dreamed 
will come to reality.

I’m the fairy dust, breathe me in deep and the tingles of the forbidden
will crawl your senses.

I’m the fairy dust, take my clouds and glide in and out on the wet dew of 
my rain soaked paths.

I’m the fairy dust, there is a way beyond your belief into the intoxication of 
now and present smiles.

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle my adventure on your electric effervescent 
leisure of lustful trials.

The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging

“After all, in private we’re all misfits.” – Lily Tomlin

tempt–ations

A Misfit of society. The “Unbelonging”. Set apart from commonality and associations, not by a better standing but by a challenge inside that’s only fulfilled alone. No one can accompany me where I go, no heart can understand my sorrow or joy. Alone, as I find it, is good. Being unable to attach to a group, club, assembly, or clique brought some concern, which I soon resolved. For a good part of my life I joined others, in love, in need, in desperation to avoid the pain of being alone, trying to fit in. I’m content to realize now that if alone is what I am, then alone I’ll be and not fight it. It’s not bad at all, once I accepted that, it allows me the full realization of who I am. As I learn to be alone, to be my best friend, I resist compromising myself with the false security of a strange opinion or use my life in service to a foreign will.  When I feel the need to engage the throng, I’ll do so with renewed vigor, untouched by opinions and pressures that many feel obliged to conform to. Breathe, freedom is mine as I look with contented peace out on the sunrise of my potential. Striving for success isn’t my lot, I’m a success. My solitary living brings the challenges but, even now, with my tattered coat and stained cup, my hounds and fallen trees as companions, even now, I smile.

 

The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging

 

“After all, in private we’re all misfits.” – Lily Tomlin

tempt–ations

A Misfit of society. The Unbelonging. Set apart from commonality and associations, not by a better standing but by a challenge inside that’s only fulfilled alone. No one can accompany me where I go, no heart can understand my sorrow or joy. Alone, as I find it, is good. Being unable to attach to a group, club, assembly, or clique brought some concern, which I soon resolved. For a good part of my life I joined others, in love, in need, in desperation to avoid the pain of being alone, trying to fit in. I’m content to realize now that if alone is what I am, then alone I’ll be and not fight it. It’s not bad at all, once I accepted that my aloneness will allow me the full realization of who I am. As I learn to be alone, to be my best friend, I resist compromising myself with the false security of a strange opinion or use my life in service to a foreign will.  When I feel the need to engage the throng, I’ll do so with renewed vigor, untouched by opinions and pressures that many feel obliged to conform to. Breathe, freedom is mine as I look with contented peace out on the sunrise of my potential. Striving for success isn’t my lot, I’m a success. My aloneness brings the challenges. Even now, with my tattered coat and stained cup, with my hounds and fallen trees as companions, even now, I smile.


The Violation of…

“… you don’t have to wait for someone to treat you bad repeatedly. All it takes is once, and if they get away with it that once, if they know they can treat you like that, then it sets the pattern for the future.” – Jane Green, Bookends 

You shout at me, I try to ignore what you do
Your always there, I try to behave
You won’t let me be alone, I don’t want a shadow
You don’t let me talk, I’m too loud
You will never give up, I try to run
You make me afraid, I make excuses
You intimidate my friends, I try to explain
You hide and peek at me, I can’t know where you are
You intrude on my privacy, I just want to be alone
You threaten my existence, I just want to be safe
You make me do things, I’m embarrassed to say
You sink lower in your life, I watch you fall
You struggle to bring me down, I struggle to breathe
You will not win, I’ll survive
You will not change me, I’ll be hard
You will not violate me again, I will kill

Also Published in Broowaha
12152010

Wrestled Notes

“I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore; when he beats his bars and he would be free, it is not a carol of joy or glee, but a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core.” – Paul Laurence Dunbar
andreation

Simple prognosticated rhythms flow and diverge

Collapsed principles pile in crumpled beats

Pounding the seconds to say a moment

A tickled thought dances in pretend reality

Hobbled by fettered hope in surreal mist

Finding shadows that breathe life in short bursts

Life’s nemesis throttles the throat of peaceful suns

Wrestled notes become a winged song

Prairie Fire – Pressing through the tough times

“As if you were on fire from within. 
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.” – Pablo Neruda

Falling down on the floor of my potential


Feeling the weight of my air

Escaping slowing from hope

I press back the fury of slipping dreams

Knowing I can do more than breathe

I grab at the invisible never releasing

Lifting up my head I refuse the loss

I will again ignite my destiny

With the passion of prairie fire

Prairie Fire – Pressing through the tough times

“As if you were on fire from within. 
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.” – Pablo Neruda

Falling down on the floor of my potential


Feeling the weight of my air

Escaping slowing from hope

I press back the fury of slipping dreams

Knowing I can do more than breathe

I grab at the invisible never releasing

Lifting up my head I refuse the loss

I will again ignite my destiny

With the passion of prairie fire