Beyond Limits

As for me, I cannot do much …

                I used to feel like No One, then I realized that

                                I am not just Some One …

                                                I am Every One.

I am the Consciousness that will not consolidate on its own;

                I am the sea that cannot be formed because all the rivers

                                Persist,

                                And Resist,

                                And Meander …

I am the Voice of the Abused Child,

                The Cry of Women who endure;

                The Mother who Plays Father, and

The One Who Envisions how much better it could be.

And all I can do is write:

                It is the least expensive,

                Most passionate thing of

                Which I am capable.

And, through all our recent hardships, I have realized

                That I am more than capable of this,

So, all I ask is that YOU LISTEN.

                Listen, and then see what you can do, what WE can do, as a People, to fix our World. 

Please.

The Phoenix (Still a work in progress ...)

The damaged still arises from the ash

            as a Phoenix, invincible and fiery

To reap vengeance upon those who caused her most recent demise?

            Surely, not – the Phoenix needs renewal, not revenge!

When she rises, chameleon shimmering wings outstretched,

High above the trampled ground,

                        Blinding those – who would dare to stare –

at her presence, now reborn of method profound.

When they whispered behind her back as she was burning,

            She felt, for a moment the searing of her flesh, and

Harmony with the clamor of voices and thoughts, even Earth’s turning.

            Could these people ever really see or understand?

As she pondered the prior death knells,

            She soared high into the upper atmosphere –

                        and she saw much more than the celestial sphere.

            She encountered the vastness of the mind

                       Which, never shaken, was inclined

                                                To search and find

                                                            Her own kind …

Then, she continued to follow the breeze and rise above

            The stifling din of the noisy, motley crowd

                                                                        On the ground

                                                                        Messy and loud

                                                                        Far too round

                                                                        To ignorance, avowed

                                                                        By frailty, bound

                                                                        Fortunate, yet not proud

                                                                        Saved, but not found

                                                Would they ever see their potential allowed?

                                                How many more times must this cycle go ‘round?

As these questions plagued her mind,

            The Phoenix remembered another time,

a time before this one, or even the last

a period unwritten, unlike the last dozen or so pasts,

when humanity did not separate from nature so fast,

Before the invention of computers, cars, or masts,

At the time when the environment was different and human species, vast.

            What of these prehistoric people and their time?

            Was there a missing link that would clarify the rhyme?

As she probed deeper into that collective mind,

            To discover the secrets so long enshrined

                        In the pit of men’s souls, she thought she sensed an answer.

The Phoenix considered the plight

            Of man, so trapped in his little flight

                        Journeying through in human form

                                    On impressive though caging sphere

                                    Soul fumbling to make sense of mortal fear

                                    With mistakes & regrets always bringing up the rear

                                    Never quite sure of the similarity between far and near

                                    And confused as to the difference between foreign and “dear”

Man must have care in this journey, should his aims be sublime.

The Finale

You played me

            Like a fiddle.

Like a spider plays a drum … or its last meal.

You took an optimism as yet unmatched

            And gave it cause to doubt.

The remnants of happiness,

            No longer found in the scrap bin,

                        Have been thrown out with the trash.

You’ve placed me, far from the smilies of my past,

            Into a daily desire to simply post, “FML.”

Normalcy has left the building,

            Triggers past elicit no outbreak of expression on this face.

Smiles are fleeting, and infrequent.

            Mainly due to the absence of trust or hope,

But, also because of the slipping familiarity.

           

You’ve taken the assurances of my past and laid them bare;

My days are empty.

My nights feel numbered,

            And dreams elude my memory when I wake.

And what to do now that all hope is lost?

            Feel nothing.  Be no one.  Reside nowhere.

Your platitudes belie themselves, your attempts fail, and you stagger.

            What would you have me do for you?

Are you now on the same path you created for me?

But, TRUTH …

            My future was always so marred

                        You are not the first,

                                    Though I sincerely hope, the last …

To torture my existence, yet again, with your games.

            Games that are selfish, and hurtful,

                        Contests already cheated and corruptly won …

                                    Games have no place in the atmosphere of ONE.

The One of Salvation, Christians may call Him thus,

            One God to save all of us.

The One of Nature, when male And female meet;

            She is much more harsh and Her challenges not so sweet.

The One of Love – if such exists …

The one duality we all pretend at, but miss …

If all the world is a stage,

            And we merely play in the acts

At what point do the backdrops matter,

            Or the painstakingly designed costumes and set?

I cannot live in a world so colored

            That people are merely 2D characters with scripts prewritten.

The Death of Perpetual Optimism

You realize that you are at your lowest point

     When there is no need to consult anyone for advice or comfort

Because either no one can or will help you.

You figure out that empathy does you no good, 

      If people allow you to fall flat on your face

AND

      Expressed regret is useless as well,

If people will continue to make the same mistakes.

Truth belies Platitudes.

Nine Dark Stanzas

I am that dark, slowly moving mass that follows you in the sky,
     Guaranteed to cover your celebrations as I pass by ...

With me, I carry bucketfuls of pain and tears,
     Sure to douse your hopes and flood your mind with fears.

As I pass, the lightning crashes into your happiest of places;
     It falls primarily on the unTrue, but illuminates all dark spaces.

This dark cloud, does it have purpose beyond devastation?
     Are there really aspects wherein so many place admiration?

Who wants the ominous intruder that makes most shudder?
     What friends or lovers find any solace under its cover?

And then, a realization creeps along, just as the dark cloud wanders in ...
     The shadows offer comfort on hot days - when the bright Sun is mercilessly shining.

For as wet with sorrow as those tears may be,
     They are necessary for all the life that we are privileged to see.

And as scary as the lightning that illuminates our devious deeds,
     Without it, we would never know of the greatness that could be.

So, dark clouds, even as the Sun, have their place:
     In Truth, rather than Wonder ... that is the mark of their eternal grace.

S L E E P

Sleeping ...

            Awake ...

                        In opposing states.

... sleeping ... Sleeping ... SLEEPING ...

            Day begins ...

                        But sleeping, yet to end,

                                    Makes mice of mighty men.

STILL sleeping ... slEEPing, SLeeping, SLEEPING!

            My fickle friends - night and day ...

                        Keeping company where the Sun holds no sway,

                                    Dreaming the day completely away,

                                                The goals we had for the day, betrayed ...

FOR SLEEP.  Sleep deeply, sleep quietly, yet sleep quickly, for sleep is tricky.

            It enraptures and keeps you still sleeping,

                        even when Dawn is breaking and picky

                                    about which souls she makes delighted or weeping ...

                                                The dreams racing in night made too quickly

                                                            to be sustained after waking, so sleeping ...

Sleeping you will remain.

Sleeping exposes my pain.

Sleep, causing fantasies yet unmet,

Sleep - producing nightmares and regret,

            As sleeping babes, each man

            sleeps his life into oblivion.

                        Awake witches sleep little still,

                        As their sleeping yields little that is real.

So of SLEEPING, as I have ALWAYS said ...

I will SLEEP when I'm DEAD.

MdC

One Feeling

I don't make sense.

     I'm simple and complex

          all at

               the same

                      Time.

I love with a Fire that Consumes

     but can retreat

          into Coldness

               more biting than

                    Frosty Steel Rails.

I am independent and ambitious,

     but terribly naive

         and Timid

               especially beyond

                    Brick Walls.

I want to know your story and share mine,

     but the Truth haunts me and bends me

          to Misery.

And I say that I'd rather be

     Miserably Aware

          than Blissfully Ignorant,

But following my Passions often leads to

     Less Awareness,

          not More.

And in this whirlwind of Complication,

     your presence is as a candle Flame,

          Constant and

               Unassailed by Doubt.

But what if that is merely an Illusion?

     And Flickering is just beyond

          the Horizon,

               Preparing to Commence Again?

I don't Know how to tell you to keep the Candle alight,

     only Promise you that my Passion,

          once ignited,

               Rages without Trepidation

                    Into the long Night.

Scared to say how I feel?

     Maybe.

          more terrified to Feel it,

               and in It,

                    be Lost ...

                         With no Recourse!

... Other than to Trust You ...

     and trust is running from me

          faster than I can catch Her ...

               never had the Wings to fly in the face of Truth,

                    And see Trust as Neverending.

To me It appears a Phantom,

     Something I may never catch,

          or stare in the Face,

                Or even Embrace.

You want Truth of Feeling?

     Well, here it IS:

* I only have one

*It's been trampled upon

*I miss you every night, every morning, and every interminable day

*It breaks my Heart when you are Away

*I want your arms around me when I fall asleep at night

*I want you to stay

*My fragile Trust thinks that everything about you is Right

*I want you to act as a Knight, virtuous and right, and, for me, fight

In ALL of these things,

      I am sure ...

          If this feeling Continues,

                    Love will Always Endure.

MY Beauty

My beauty is for myself ...

            I cannot give it away

            Nor can it be contained

                        or caged in any way

My beauty is unbidden

            I do not bring it to the surface or into the light

            It wells up like a tear in a well-controlled eye.

My beauty is possessive

            It wraps and twists around every

                        little

                                    inch of you

            It does not let go - and entraps the most fortified wills.

My beauty suffers

            But only by the hands of others.

                        who warp and miss the simplest

                                    the simplest

            Of dreams, until they are just floating

                        like dandelion bits in the wind.

My beauty outshines

            That of all those around me

                        until tormented, they hate

                                    And abuse, and slither away. 

                        It seems they can not take the contest

                                    with the grain of salt through which

                                                they see the rest of the world.

My beauty captivates

            the animal - whether human or other creature,

                        male or female,

                                    of lesser or greater mind.

                        It spars with their senses

                                    until they give way

                                                to the rapture that follows

                                    Unity.

My beauty does not allow me

            to see through rose-colored glasses

                        or taste the bitterness all around me.

                                    It allows no censure of the sounds permeating

            the soft atmosphere that tactile exploration affords me.

                        Regardless of the dirt existing in every crevice,

                                    my beauty allows no clutter of the mind,

                        because though there be thorns,

                                    the roses that I forge smell quite lovely.           

The Fairy Key

Avoidance, he's a tidy little trick

     That dupes the Heart into leaving the protection of her cage.

His ally, Indifference, sets his sights on skin

     And instead,

          Shreds aorta upon opening the iron gate.

When brick walls no longer suffice,

     The Heart, she buries herself deep underground,

For no more majesty, beauty, or virtue are to be found

     In the absence of Love.

Love flies about as a fleeting Fairy,

     Choosing to alight here or there ...

So beware!

     The viper pounces on unguarded Hearts,

Lost in Love's mysterious bite,

     Who refuse to see the gossamer wings,

Or acknowledge their forsaken plight.

But, lo, when one spies the Fairy devoted and true,

     Working feverishly on the latch of ONE gate,

          With neverending persistence ...

It is then that One Heart

     Has found One Love

To keep Avoidance and

     Indifference at bay.