I have seen a blue flame burning
in the depths of my deception,
eyes that have seen lies outstretched
on the void expression of an eternal reflection.
A heart that has lived infinite realities,
forever fading and falling into time,
passing and wavering, flickering–suspended
above the woebegone wails of living.
I have felt the riveting and gruelling agony of knowing
for nothing leaves deeper lacerations than breathing,
question marks that hover and hobble in my labyrinth,
this jarring existence of a suppressed spirit.
I am far from myself, detached in all that I chant,
lips that cannot speak the truths engraved on tainted thoughts.
Silent in all the I scream, there is sorrow to joy,
there is flatness to the layered buzzing of conversation.
Nothing I say truly frees the caged monsters within me
but all I utter has unlocked, untangled the wires crossed,
the muddled notions of being nothing more than flesh.
I am merely the glassy, tranquil enchantress luring myself below.
Shame and regret have bloodied and stained my fingertips.
Scared sacred notions of a life where I did not fall
into the suctioning temptation of floating, unattached
to this earthly and brutal kiss of thinking.
I have felt the separation of body and spirit,
transcended the existence of existence,
washed myself in the baptismal basin of compassion
to swallow the bitterness of the great divide.
And through my burden of their saturated suffering,
I have died a million deaths.
I have severed the umbilical cord
to feed from the life-giving poison of this reality.
Sealed to a fate that I do not believe,
I fight against what I know does not exist.
We are but worlds that orbit each other.
Gravity has brought my world to the tendrils of others.
Nothing happens without purpose, without an end,
without aim — less — ly;
Think not that when planets collide
there is not something for us all to learn.
I have but glimpsed snatches of the mist,
distilled hallucinations, phantoms that stay but an instant,
that stretches the history of all that was.
I am but a hesitant mirage, here to be here.
There are but moments of moments,
fractions of a greater divide from myself;
where I have burst forth from loneliness
to seek the ocean of unity with humanity.
I exist only in paradox,
only in the tension of this tense.
Present is but a vibration reverberating from past
and future exits from what is…
continual, the tunnel, the funnel of time,
spirals, winds down from our maze:
as we sleep,
to what is
the deepest point
from what never was.
This is a longer and very stylistically different poem. It clearly is not meant to be very straightforward but layered with lots of things to make you think. Let me know your thoughts on it.And since I could not decide on just one main photo I shared two others throughout and would like you to let me know which you think fits it the best. I think the one I chose for the main photo is my favorite but I still am really indecisive.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”