I collect and compile.
I cut and paste.
I post ‘pon platforms.
I never tag…
I’m never caught.
What you get away with you have to keep.
It is catching dust.
Is this neglect or being prolific.
When is a work completed?
When are we completed?
Is death a goal?
Where lies heaven?
Will we care there?
Amnesia is a bummer… Sometimes.
They forgot me as I hid.
I forgot me bit by bit.
I came back in need of a feather duster.
The scale… The scale…
My heart… My heart…
I paid in full.
I pour out my heart…
On the page.
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.
Streams of interpreted information
Cycles of same like seasons or holidays.
You conform too much.
You contort to fit your fate…
Man, help yourself up.
This is us.
Earth is us.
Nations are bluffs.
They separate unity.
Imprisoning with impunity
so you can’t see the you in me.
I’m not puffing chronic.
I won’t waste medicine.
I’m already high enough.
Clarity grants me prescience.
I’m most high when at my lowest and still rise and take my stance again.
Sometimes spirit is all I can rely on
to bolster me to defy odds
like the many Neos and scions of Zion.
My life has always been challenging.
Fitting… as I am a champion.
A champion of the cause of freedom and authenticity…
A champion composed of reason and intensity…
A champion a warrior with a poetic propensity plus a profundity proclivity.
Chorus: I gotta live with me.
So no sleeping with the enemy breathing on my neck like I’m caught in sleep paralysis.
Waking dreams of vacancies at the top of the food chain yet not animalistic…
Nah this is that Natural Mystic.
I’ve been flowing through the years
unbeknownst to those who are not my peers.
Hmmm… Who are my peers?
Perhaps those who add verse to the equation and alleviate fearful conclusions that the world is destined to maintain the illusion that domination and destruction are strong suits or improvements and not progression towards losing… everything priceless.
I won’t borrow style.
I will burrow into my wild, wild best.
Impoverished… It burns.
For there is so much to be brought forth.
So, in I go.
No bars to hold,
No scars to jade,
No point to prove,
No one to entertain…
My pen is free again.
As am I…
An awakening proved itself necessary.
So slumber shan’t stall stories from monumentally being built.
I relinquish my previous entries and exit onto a bare field.
I reminisce back to tabula rasa
(stated as status no more or not quite as much…).
I do due diligence in documenting the passage.
All is passing…
All this passion…
I’m enacting purpose filled action with no outcome attachment.
All is dancing…
So I smile as I type.
My pen is metaphorical.
It is rod, staff, caduceus… if you will.
I will… aligned with divine will…
I am of divine ilk.
Hence the divine ink.
Connotation to the winds…
Convocation of the wins…
They say the best things are to die for.
But aren’t the best things to strive for?
Successful struggles are ones we’re alive for.
It is easy to put words in the mouths of dead martyrs.
Who can truly die for another?
Yet who am I to cast anything…
least of all aspersions and assertions?
I am I… That’s who.
I am I. Is that you?
Then act like it.
To hell with political correctness.
Deception is war. So is politics.
It is a war on the use of your own good sense.
We trade responsibility hence power for the security of authorities
Am I doing this right?
No! If you have to ask.
I’m just doing me.
This one is for free.
The light the dark the clutter the clarity
The fight the art the utter disparity
The bite the bark the muttered vulgarities
We might depart from lovers for sanity
But every step away is a wound
There is no get away from the tune
That reminds you of them then blooms
flowers of memory whose scents fill the room
and that’s every song on every station
every film or book seems a representation
of your lost love or the sunken relation….
ship that has sailed
into troubled waters and successfully failed
for those who wished it…
out of existence
Errol Percival(Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion)
I challenge myself to a duel
to the depths
I could almost be lost in my own consciousness.
But that’s a stretch.
I won’t unconsciously accept my foot on my own neck.
Or any idle threats to be less than my best.
My past won’t hold me hostage.
My future won’t confound my current steps.
As for now…
Too fleeting to pin down.
There it goes again…
Lazy language limitation…
We talk ourselves out of Els and into L’s.
Have a nice day mankind.
I don’t like ties.
They seem to signify leashes.
And being tied to the matrix
OR the water cooler.
Or paternal pathologies passed down
Or passed on.
What passion in pencil pushing?
If the figures aren’t figments of artistry lifting from pages to dance with the daydreams school tried to kill.
They almost made me sedentary and trained me to sit still.
This Lion Can’t Tame!
Research my last name and read of the grail.
I perceive all… My body will never be a jail.
My mind will never be a warden.
I beg no one’s pardon.
I am my own sovereign.
This hubris won’t harden.
My heart is merely charging my soul
for the journey, struggles, and battles ahead for my Squadron.
Se La Vie… No problem…
I fated faded gene…
To then imprint another scheme.
With true avowal and action ensuing
From the true in him…
Why not make that a faith.
Why not make that relate to all…
Even the creatures of the field.
Even the initiators of the fall…
For are not all falls the call for orchestrated rise?
Who conducts themselves thusly as aforementioned above me?
Make me clean again
Oh divine dictation
I leave all on the page.
I am vacant…
No one asked for full sacrifice of all you are for their own ends.
You assumptive closed yourself into a box…
Take no shorts…
Then they can’t be a given.
Heed O-Sensei well.
Memory cuts to the chase…
A whole in one…
A whale of a tale…
A fluke then a flunk…
Every dog has its day…
As well as each Garbage pail…
As well as broken clocks have their moment of truth…
But will never again Alarm…
Unless repaired… and well.