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.
Have you seen my pain?
It resides where art stems from.
It tidies the tides of my musings.
Have you heard my pain?
It is in the hollow portion of my laughter.
It lends resonance.
Have you smelled my pain?
It wafts under the doors I keep barred.
It permeates my essence yielding compassion not complaint.
Have you tasted my pain?
It tastes like yours, albeit nuanced by my seasons.
Its flavor grows on you and I, evoking broken molds.
Have you felt my pain?
It’s ok if you haven’t.
I don’t wish it on anyone.
Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion
wearing this shabby treatment on the sleeve
where the heart used to be.
jaded and jangling danger
veils fall away…
you’re no angel ether baby…
lips sync with the halo…
formation foundation fame leads to polarization effect
love hate relations slip back and forth on thin lines
and razor edges…
fickle flickers and aching tickers…
go hand in hand…
skipping like stones over seas of trends…
plots and plans…
two wrongs make two wrong
the self-righteous are often too wrong
for far too long to amend their ways
for fear of shame in admitting
some would slay to save face
question the quotings…
memes set in motion
seeking emulation of some ideal
that works in theory but not really
not for these nimble nuances
that dance an upper room jig
zigging and zagging
dipping and dabbing
you’ll never master by dabbling…
failed spell casters resort to stabbing
jabbing sour grape rhetoric resides behind lips
they poke their heads out now and then
some are too power inebriated to spot them
yet we are more than just options
free the pictures of captions
they tell you what to see
they leave naught to imagination
they tell you what to think and you believe
social media guinea pigs are we
or are we?
Facebook is a freebie
That’s becoming just like T.V.
Freud and Bernays…
Practice and theory
we are made by what we make
we are mated kings and queens yet pawns at play…
in what are we engaged…
love now before it’s too late…
don’t be strategic
be honorable and brave.
wash off the world
wash off the taint…
look deep into real eyes…
stoke the fire that’s faint and fading from neglect
take spark and make conflagration
glow in the dark that the lost may find their way
waver not… lest you would make all prior efforts waste…
hide no more…
unveil your radiant face.
Tired for no apparent reason to those outside…
outside of what is concealed behind veiled pain…
How dare I share such debilitating energies of loss and abandonment?
How dare I bid another drink from a soiled grail?
How dare I remain and wallow in such?
How dare I abuse this life infused dust…
It didn’t go my way… yet.
My way remains to be seen.
As of now fingers point to the way and I look in that direction…
and that direction…
and that direction…
None lead to correction of missteps that bid me view myself as misfit…
for so long…
compounded by how long I held on…
Love strived valiantly but in the end fear won.
Well that was almost the end.
Fear had its parade and such.
While love laid hemmed up…
strapped like suspenders to a body of dirt
and a body of work secured in knapsack.
I trusted in a lie but tied a hump to my back
for the house was never locked due to lost and never recovered keys.
So I was in the club looking like a camel even after my release.
Habits are insidious…
Protective measures reveal the weakness.
Aggressive levers are pulled by the weakest…
for every blessed thing…
All they wage is war…
on everyone… for even their smile is often deception…
a momentary lull in the onslaught upon wills
to attain their own ends.
Three fingers point back at point blank.
It wasn’t all bad. It couldn’t have been.
Foresight is more sight.
Hind sight is blind sight to a degree…
for one looks through conclusion clouded memory.
We often see what we want to see even when it’s not what we want to see.
I know my love is real.
I know I gave of myself.
In the end all is well.
I refuse to vow never to do it again.
Wholehearted love is not a scar when the pains pass.
It is a superpower tempered in the fires of doubt and deception
That emerges even more brilliant than before.
This isn’t from cultivation.
This is how I am wired.
Acknowledging this… I am no longer tired.
Love do your best and your worst… Just don’t ever retire.
I’m literally sitting by the dock on the bay,
waiting for a boat to take me away.
I embark to labor across seas.
I’m a laborer although it’s not what I’m supposed to be.
My pen is prolific. It yields a barrage of words.
My mind is a spring that allows my thoughts to unfurl
like sails catching solar winds and dragging me across the cosmos.
My essence is enlivened. This feeling is what I love most…
That opening of a channel that’s like a secret compartment in the panel
on the wall that hides possibilities from the forlorn and makes man ill…
Sickened by turning away from himself and thinking there is happiness in wealth,
while I fold into zen like flour into eggs and milk and drift away on the melodies of the Celts.
There’s more to life than what is seen, heard, smelt, and felt.
My dreams are reflections of the cards I have been dealt.
I split into sections. My mind divides like our cells.
I cover ground like shadows. I ring like dour bells,
signaling the procession to move towards the plot.
To hell with a vault. Cover me with soil, not with rock,
so that my transition may be swift and I give back what I’ve borrowed
un-begrudgingly. I will have my time to shine. Deny sorrow,
and bless the days that were allowed… And be thankful.
Don’t allow yourself to become resentful
of the natural scheme of things… the changes and the shifts
that actually made it possible for us to have this…
This dance with the elements…
This glorious result of universal precedents
that birthed consciousness and crafted spiritual resonance….
that connects all things like invisible threads
orchestrated by itself as it weaves its own web.
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.
I don’t belong here.
The lies abound and are well tended.
The imposed imposes and closes walls.
I dare not crumble.
I will not grumble.
The attacks on my psyche will meet staunch defense.
This doesn’t feel like home.
This is a heated tomb.
I have been here before.
I once felt so low.
My spirit rankles at the overt oppression.
I see some knuckle under to it.
I will rise.
Only truth shall leave my lips.
Henceforth I am that.
Programming falls away like dead skin.
I am renewed in the ash.
I write myself out of despair’s depths.
I settle not.
I leave that for the dregs.
I am the water.
I don not the cloak of society.
I look past the farces.
I look past the trees.
I look past all fauna.
I look into the deep.
That’s ten eyes, five faces, five aspects…
Each face has a tertiary facet.
Home base looks like a house.
That’s my first time making that connection.
Quiet like a mouse.
Shake the farcical foundations.
Fruit falls far from those trees.
Planted on hillsides… The thievery trinity.
They have stolen the world and turned it on its heir.
What cannot be owned cannot be stolen.
So the stealing is naught but illusion.
It becomes real if you accept it and make it true to you.
So does balance.
So does equity.
So does reciprocity.
It could all be so simple.
But they’d rather fake it hard.
They… we… whatever.
Thinking we are clever…
Much is beyond the strictures of framing thought as we do.
Many be on their tip toes standing on a box sans the soap.
We need cleaning…
Gemini… Appears Rastafarian…
Yet there is more.
There is always more.
Roger that silly rabbits…
Splits harm the kids.
What is it that we shall build…
…five lion alliance?
Bluespyryt steps out on the right foot.
How dare these shorn arms attempt to box god.
Have a thousand seats or make a thousand steps.
The Watercourse way awaits.