Choice Words

TrigramChart

Pages turn like seasons.
Sages burn like reefers… at times.
Balancing we keep up yet sometimes fall behind.
Behind of what we chase…
Refined is not our taste
We must cleanse our palates and paint.
Paint new habits over follies of old.
Ever horse before carriage…
We must carry our own codes.
Sometimes create them as we go…
Fleet of foot when we should stand still…
Standing still when by all accounts
we should have fallen where the weaker go.
It was all good just a week ago.
So although the sleeper hold is administered
by politicians and ministers,
some seemingly sleep with one eye open.
I’m cool until touched.
Then the fuel just erupts.
I then transcend… we… us… them.
Distinctions and dissension eat dust.
I see trends come and go.
I see friends come and go.
I count none as enemy, despite betrayal or enmity.
I will admit that some tempted me.
But I did not taste or take the bait to such extremes.
I did fluctuate mentally… but balance bore me through.
For honesty I stand thankful.
For now I know what I knew.
I hold myself accountable.
I resort to being responsible.
I call myself on my own B.S..
Basic Simplicity is intricacy implicitly present.
B.S. is a gift to the farmer.
Man your posts all ye fathers.
We need you.
I needed you.
I had other needs that superseded you.
They were met.
Yet…
The ache of absence remains…
as I grow into realization
that we always have a choice.
I have chosen change.

Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion

 

Tendencies

Tendencies…
Frequencies…
Tempting me…
to resent the leap
it took for me to leave a peak
for verdant valleys
and urgent tallies
of recurrent follies
that humbled and brought wisdom.
I tumbled across visions
interwoven with religions
‘til I read words telling me to let it flow.
So here goes…
Here goes nothing and everything.
Here goes a heart open to aches that furrow brows.
The clever reign where the not so clever feign that they know.
Faithless… the turning… the yearning
for a space where nimble mind may alight for a time.
We seek surcease from uncertainties
and trade them for the clinging taint of certainty.
We sell ourselves out for comforting back pats.
We sell ourselves short cavorting with our backpacks,
heavy with the accoutrements of our acumen.
We carry untold treasures.
We tarry on cold ledges awaiting the faith for leaps.
While the faithful sleep like bambinos exhaling frosted breath.
By frost the bow and bridge are called to being…
chakra shades and all.
Sacral space evolved…
The lower being and higher being merge.
There are no lanes.
In this endeavor where forgotten pains
emerge and make it clear nothing is forgotten.
The ill-gotten goods you unconsciously despise
for what they remind you you have become
if you are mindful…
If your mind’s full… Empty it.
Breathe a little.
Reclaim who you were born to be.
Let that which must die die.
Reclaim your throne…
Don’t frown here in the darkness.
Feel it as it goes.
Don’t call the law.
Embody truth… again.

Errol Percival Jr.