In hours such as this, on the spur of the moment
I look inwards and spring alive deadened capacities
An introspection of the being, my heart longs to chastise
As I cough I let out my cares
And as I wheeze, each whistling sound, announcing an awaited arrival
I feel suddenly, the unwanted occupants of my body, shove off.
Find their way out, like evening steam, diffused through a chimney.
Yet, an illuminating bulb emerges today
An inkling of positivity deep from the pile of my cardiovascular complexities
I wonder what it is,
Perhaps my long needed answers
Possibly, my long-forgotten worries grown so mature
That it lay something circular in me; an offspring.
An invitation to renewal
12AM; strong moonlight, scanty stars.
At the offset, creepily from the west,
The ants, crawl past the woods, into mystifying adventures
They come from the lower world, where things for large moments
Down in my basement, lie tables made from the finest teak
Chairs cushioned from the Mahogany we spent our days beneath
And things I stacked for new
beginnings, confronting mysterious enigmas
The ants crawl, and little are they aware, that lava spills from the ancient
mountain, from which they have come to forget
This is the higher world, higher affairs
reality strikes slowly, leaking, just as droplets of water, through a jaded roof
The ants are stung, never to sting again.
Energies, positive and negative bounce off each other
Angels dressed in white and blue drapes abound in snow replete
And rain-laded spaces
Songs of melancholy, songs of pain
Their voices, the sound of tubes
Their torment, the marvel of jamming galaxies
They are trapped, in manacles made
Their futures are spelled backwards
But beauty survives just like scars
There is a second coming
This time, for judgement
With a key to liberate those whose voices
Have survived centuries of regret.
Like an unearthly vision of one’s self
The man’s spirit is disengaged from his body
He sees his reflection, bearing the lucidity of day’s light,
on the surface of the river that lathers off all hopes;
with no weapon and no plan
Flickering, and bouncing off of itself, just as a mirror trying
To track moving sunlight
He watched himself, try to get a firm hold of the moment
Seeking not to sink into what seemed abstract
But his reflection is held back
His shadow, waiting on the other side.