these words
are a
tangle
of those
things
hidden
and
unknown.
these images
pierce
the cashmere vale,
connecting you
to your
inner Xanadu
(or is it Kathmandu?).
so come
& get lost
in what you forgot you knew.
come
& get lost
in your depths.
come
& get lost….
falling,
until
you hit the moon.
a song of empty
greets a soul longing
for more,
stoking familiar-
almost comforting
fears.
a blanket
of caution,
a shield
of doubt;
the wisdom
& safety
of living
without.
across the valley,
a young child’s
chest
bursts with songs
of hope.
and the birds,
and the antelope,
and the wind
join in jubilation.
the empty retreats;
love moves in.
jump-back,
to where you belong.
kick-off,
when you hear this song.
ain’t no love
lost
on the weak
of heart.
ain’t no
hope lost
if you do your part.
child of dust,
drums,
and the ancient fire.
warrior of love,
music,
and
sacred desire
keep giving it up,
you can’t run dry.
give them everything
till the day they die.
it doesn’t matter what detergent you use,
or which cycle you choose.
yo drawers gonna keep stinking
’til you wash your ass.
deuces!
fresh and young,
unlearnt
and unspoilt;
knew
what I knew,
and didn’t have a care.
then illusion drowned me
in the stench of need:
to belong
to be loved.
left me lost,
and drifting alone
in a crowd of fools.
now,
blinded
by
the clarity of my love.
i know what i knew,
and so much more.
the familiar clapping
of bats’ wings cloud my eyes.
i’ve been here before.
hoofprints in the snow,
from whence i have come.
i’ve been here before.
sorrow’s bitter twang
does not sound here,
because,
you see,
my friend,
I’ve been down this road,
before.
fear rules a tender heart,
but a fierce one,
oh!
fear fears to touch that spark.
love can only grow,
with,
or
without,
love can only grow.
i’ve been down this road before
without compass, or guide.
i strut down this road today
with nothing left to lose.
i roll down this road alone
for only i know the way.
my heart is my soul’s favorite kite-
made of blood, guts,
and the stuff of stars.
it burns as high
as it flies hot.
from a realm of magic,
sometimes my kite brings back
anarchist words
to excite you
to frighten you
to caress you
to challenge you.
these gifts
freely i share.
but,
its my kite.
shadowy tendrils
of doubt
strengthen tested infirmities:
real and imagined.
do i really deserve to fly?
do i really deserve to dream?
am i right,
to love without reason?
have i truly set myself free?
anger
fear
and righteousness
all fell
away (not too long ago).
but doubt-
fed by desire,
creativity,
and hope,
shrinks and grows with every breath.
how do i bear this love for life?
how do i live this love for me?
how do i share this love with the world?
and,
how do i share this love with you?
—–just shaddup and buy the damn game.—–
—————the Time is Now———–
look at that leaf,
twirling downwards and
spinning so sweetly.
a magical nature interlude.
What divine
and
simple pleasures surround us in every moment.
then
crash,
into a wet pile
of cat shit.
theDeprevation 