Beyond

“It is impossible to suffer without making someone else pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

twindle
“You’ve such kind eyes sir, full of sorrow not all your own.”
Thank you kindly, but you don’t see, all that rages beyond.
A slasher lives, who wants to burn and pillage, watching
those who are proud to suffer humiliation and pain, like
what they did to me and to my loves. My innocence
ravaged, I only want to burn, my slashing blades edge
finding their neck. To see their flesh bubble and burst,
their tongues swell with pain and heat, just a little
revenge on those who with violence reign and terrorize,
I’ll burn their Babylon with brimstone and hot black oil.
The trouble comes when, without expression on those,
someone will pay and perhaps not one who deserves it.
An unsuspecting soul, who in a fit of unlucky anger,
raises a fist to the slasher and the fury is unleashed.

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Rain Drop

“Do not be angry with the rain; 
it simply does not know how to fall upwards.” 
fanpop
Why am I leaving my place of comfort, my mountain lake so clear and pristine?

Why am I flying higher and higher through places I’ve never been?

Why am I spinning in clouds so dark with rumblings fierce?

Why am I thrown to the ground in anger it seems?

Now I am being swallowed up by a young oak.

That was the reason for all my trial and discomfort. It was to give life…. 

04132010