Details

Details do much more than simply agitate the beholder

of their fine points. As you calmly study
the specifics , they live a persona. In a necessity to be witnessed…
they delicately creep into your thoughts and precisely shape your perception.
As your awareness becomes dull, your sensitivity is strong.
The disorientation now creates a perfect image…
leading you to believe it was nothing without them.
So carefully reread this poem f
but, don’t pay
attention
to the details.

Scattered Footprints
This mystery
is an interesting concept…
stepping side
by side with your curiosity…
preceding a
need to be aware….
secrecy which is known…
hidden in plain site…
the confidentiality
of it’s openness.
Unsteadily it goes out of a certain order
that alarms a calm structure.
Guiding you
to a new
trail that has already
been walked.
Confusing you
inside the scattered foot prints!
Showing you what it’s made of
by distressing it’s masquerade.
Make
no conclusion
on the mask….
Insight
Insight is expansive, it stretches, opens….
Revealing the alignment of a structure.
Glimmering,
Shining through the murkiness.
Observant and focused, logical yet intuitive.
An ecstatic sensitivity that is introspective as well as external.
It is momentary and explosive…
A fleeting force leaving all it touches somehow altered, transformed.
Radiating a magnificent flash, that cannot go unseen
and its aim is to remove that which you do not see.

What Goes Unnoticed?

What goes unnoticed, to speak the unspoken.
I do not see it so I know it is there yet, I am fully aware
that it does not exist. What aspect of existence is it hiding as it sneaks by?
Does the unnoticed decide when it is found and then trick you into believing it was
waiting to be discovered? is it yearning for our attention?
Breathing it’s warm breath down the back of our neck
yet, we are positive that it is not in our company.
It lives amongst us, but we know it is dead and yet
what gives it life is us not conscious of its secret life.
Just as it would seem, the unnoticed
lives off of our lack of awareness.

Clarity
Clarity contains within it every other state of mind
because it in itself is formless. Therefore it is all encompassing,
existing only by weaving together the scattered aspects of our viewpoint.
It has no shape of its own, but molds itself over any potential insight,
 Thus acting as the adhesive which binds
and so then allows us to build our comprehension.

Truth
Truth is both concrete and fluid.
It dances between the two states as the absolute and the relative.
The absolute lies beyond thought so it cannot be completely grasped.
The relative lies with the individual and therefore can be fully understood.
What then is truth?

True Aspirations
We only know our aspirations
in a world where nothing objective is clear.
It seems that the pristine aspect of our existence, is an internal calling.
We control only our subjective truth, of which if pursued
endows the vast knowledge of what is awaiting within.
If able to access this space all our desires our met
and every complicated fear becomes simple.
We find that we are rowing the boat of wisdom down the river of time
enveloped in this journey of minutes and years.

The Gravity of Greatness

Greatness allures me,
it’s gravity drags my soul toward an idolized pattern.
Giving promises of protection,
security from my own self image.
Advertising a hardened shell, that will separate me from others,
creating a difference.
 Pride
Is the assumption that the world functions according to our point of view, that what we consider of
value carries itself across to all others.

What If I Am Let Down?

What if I’m let down?
I’ve altered my perception and caught no mistake.
Have my views been changed and conquered by this
reality I don’t consider real?
I have put everything into my hope so, my faith
rests on an imaginary line.
Have I gone too far from my actual comprehension,
placing my soul on a stand everyone expects will break ?
Can my misled belief sustain
the pressure of my life?
What if I’m let down?
I’m not sure how I will rise again.
Will I be able to climb
back up from the
podium from
which I
fell?

My Northern Star
I look up to find my northern star,
the essence of my yearning runs deep, penetrating my core.
I see so many possibilities, yet no outcome.
So many roads to explore yet no journey appears to offer the truth.
The questions flow around me as they envelop my spirit.
The darkness of my unknown answers traps my sights, but beyond the
suffocating tone, I still search for my northern star knowing it glow leads home.
 As The Day Passes By
I attempt to familiarize myself with it,
to know it a little better than the last time it visited.
I know the passing day always comes right after the night leaves
and yet, it catches me by surprise on many occasions.
The day is an unpredictable guest, I am always unaware of what it will bring with it.
What mood it will be in or how it will choose to treat me?
I wonder will the day be in a constructive mind set
or will it feel like procrastinating.
I however never worry too much because I know my own attitude,
always rubs off on it, changing the visit.
As I conversate with today, and we share a cup of tea, I try to take advantage wisdom it
offers. I tell it about what I learned yesterday.
It always jokes, telling me it might not come again and that this could be its last visit,
I assume its just friendly humor.
Either way I think its important to get the most from these brief visits of a passing day.

Can I Prevent My Destiny?

Can I prevent my destiny? Is it mine to choose?
As I attempt to embrace my wish, I am unable…
my hands in restraint. These ravished wrists are tied to an invisible brick.
If my fate is desecrated by my own actions,
will my impulses lay dormant? Must I except what will come
or, am I meant to stop the inevitable and reverse
what has not yet happened? I am led to believe the choice does not lay with me ,
but no matter what course I take, I will not know what turn truly led me to my destiny…. but
that’s… what destiny is.
 The Road Before Us
The road before is nestled within the future dormant and dim
yet very awake and vibrantly dreaming of the present.
We walk it reaching into the unknown exposing ourselves to the past.
Hypnotizing and capturing our attention, holding our existence within it.ith every breath the road
seems to change altering itself in the relation
to the yearning of our soul. The exhale seems to change us through the shifting path
while the lungs of time distribute us through the veins of life.

In the Eyes of Fate

In the eyes of fate you are simply a toy,
something to manipulate when you except it’s glare.
It is fascinated by the credit it receives yet,
it did not really fulfill what you did…
just how you did it.
It’s the mindset that programmed when you
refer to the possibility of it being real or just something fake.
Either way, your step is changed…
so why except fate when fate never excepts you?

Time
Time is within all things as it is the mechanism that allows
change to move at a constant unwavering flux.
It guides the process of transformation with a calm and steady hand.
It is the ultimate storehouse of wisdom,
showing in times ability to alter reality as we know it.
Using both the opposing and complementary halves of creation and destruction,
concentrating their forces like an experienced craftsman.
It is the intelligence behind the universe distributing events into the continuum of existence with the
intention of manifesting a flow of integration and evolution.

My Sedated Winter
 The luscious earth that once exhaled throughout my spirit,
has evaporated into the force that powered this overwhelming cycle,
the frozen warmth that moved me, simply, peering within what I am,
has ceased and become a bitter chill that dances on what is left, selfishly taking advantage of
its death. The frost falling from one tree to another,
so it captures the arctic that controls a sedated winter that show’s me that nothing last forever.

The Connecting Lines

As I stare into a diamond I feel that the object beheld before has dawned
in its own setting. I can see the countless dimensions colliding to form
its prehistoric youth, the synthetic immortality that’s shines against its own
exhaling tips. Although the phenomenon itself, only glimmers very lightly exposing its
crystallized reflection, the gleam that it possesses by its tarnished making shimmer throughout the
sculpture revitalizing the connecting lines.

The Changing Tide

There is a shifting and turning,
as if the cosmos itself is giving rise to existence.
Like a spinning water wheel, nature is entwined with a tempo, a changing tide.
Moving across all planes…. Life springs forth from it and returns to it in death.
Intuitive and nonlinear. Erratic yet controlled.
It instills a harmonious current into the universe by balancing that which consumes
with that which releases.
Because of it that which has happened is the light that cast the shadow that
the future lurks within as it hides from the present. It is the architect of time, causing pebbles to become
stones and stones to become mountains.
Arranging the beat, setting the pace for all that temporal and impermanent.
 Leaves Dancing With the Wind
 
                   As I witness the harmony of leaves dancing with the wind…
                       I imagine it’s struggle, the obstacles given to the seed.                                 The weakness
within  it’s strength. What if it was deprived of the necessities it needed to grow?  A supply of water to
nourish it…
                      the sun’s warm touch that gives it the confidence to rise.
                                 Then, it’s vulnerability as a small plant…
it required minerals to keep it healthy. Mother earth had to hug it’s roots
and refuse to let go… because she still holds on to it this very day…
                                                  watching over it’s fruitful vines and it’s sturdy bark.
Without her, the seed would have never got to experience an evening of rain.
                           Never would have felt the joy of birds playing on it’s branches.     
It’s leaves would have withered, never to have danced.
       They are a part of each other because separated they cannot survive. 
            Mother earth can rest with more ease, the tree has learned to care for itself 
but, it will always depend on the care it received to continue living.
                                                      
 

Water

Is an infinite substance, the origin of what is alive.

So I suppose it can also be held accountable
for that dies. Water is as wise as time, so it doesn’t concern
itself with understanding. Therefore, it excepts everything,
because of this, it agrees with nothing.
The versatility it possesses, challenges it’s own strength
by finding a way out of it’s weakness. Becoming firm as stone
or fluid like vapor. Water has no motion yet, it can be given a way.
It is possible to capture it’s force but, the power it
contains cannot be stopped. It’s ability to destroy is as extraordinary as
what it creates. The cycle of rain shows that water is constantly
adapting to itself. Always becoming something else!
 Never will it cease to exist because, it is perfect and that is it’s only flaw.

Catastrophe
Catastrophe It is the potential of the flaw in your plan.
It executes it’s perfectly instilled bond with a situation’s mistake.
Feeding off of what you haven’t suspected. A cunning hunter of error…
making the most out of every inaccuracy. As it schemes inside it’s own ruinous nature, it has
already seen what you are yet to overlook. Catastrophe succeeds only in failure yet, it’s victory cannot
be mistaken. For it captures your imprecision and
attacks it with an accuracy of perfection

Power
It is the accumulation of a force that is directed upon a relative point of reference.
It is a mirror onto itself reflecting many different shades of light
across the spectrum of existence. It is the source behind any potential.
Power alters power, energy is its outcome, and nothing can happen without its influencing intent.
It is everything at once, even the essence of nothing
is a power waiting to be exploited by something.

Complexity
Complexity us an interconnected dynamic web where every piece
is connected to the whole. Independent each aspect is acting for itself,
yet in there selfishness they fulfill their place in the greater organism they form,
like the individual cells in a body, working to keep it alive.
Knowing their own weak points and exploiting each others niche.
Complexity
looks as if it is
a random array
of movement.
What is not seen is the underlying unity which is beneath the materialization.

Simplicity
Simplicity seduces the essential into allowing its true face to be seen
within the commotion of our desires.
 It soothes away the rough edges of complication,
untangling the knots of our excessive ambition. Simplicity is like a hurricane of
reform blowing an inescapable wind upon a phenomenon, leaving behind only its framework, thus
exclamation its true strength which lies at its foundation.

Anarchy
Although anarchy gives the impression that it is entirely chaotic,
taking a set of circumstances and stripping them of order.
It strikes me that what it is actually doing is alternatively is taking command,
enclosing a situation into its clench by restricting any outside influence. Simply allowing
something to be free, free within itself. Dominating by permitting. Anarchy is raw like an open wound,
revealing the true nature of those in its clasp. Cleansing any and all inhibitions, the law becomes its
own.
Its not about losing control, not about disorder, It just essentially shows how superficial control
really is.

Desire
Desire is the racing heartbeat of action, the pulse of all that is done, or manifest itself.
It is what drives things to seek out change acting as the leading center line of existence. The movement
of the ever-changing universe expands and contracts between want and accommodation. Everything
taking place, simply to cull the need of an inherent longing.

The Art Inside Revolution

Revolution is like art, as it is an emotional truth being expressed
through the creativity that lies inside of human aspiration,
the canvas being represented by our hopes and expectations,
the brush is our will and the paint is the power of the soul.
We see a possibility and are compelled to manifest it,
pulling it form the abstractness of the mind and creating a physical portrait of the
idea. Using the tools available to achieve an the outcome,
approximating it to the yearning within. A revolution can only achieve what the rebellion hopes to
accomplish, so it is a melody composed of an internal song,
a representation of what lives inside, it is art.

Controversy
A hypnotizing state that confuses the mind. It arouses the rebellion within.
Simply to whisper the word causes It’s very meaning.
Awakening a fragile beast that sleeps within our soul.
Seeing the world through a dirty window yet, the glass is clear.
Believing what you see, steals what you know.
Controversy is a weapon used to create tranquility
to expand the emptiness within ourselves.
An alternative to the addiction of routine. Taking wisdom from the wise and giving
it to the ignorant. The ability to live how you see fit and not how you are told.
Controversy creates few things but destroys many. Controversy only speaks to itself. It walks the same
line as truth yet, they will never meet. It has endless faces and each will live forever…

Something That Entertains Me

Something that entertains me captivates my attention, distracting it from myself.
Detaining me in my desires, I am compelled to be controlled by it’s sense of
joy. Always grateful in what it does for me, as
It will allow me to clench my life without the
promise of death but it cannot walk forever and let alone,
run with the current of time. As I am left with it’s presence,
it seems my deterioration has been accelerated.
Why am I now alive? The question alone clearly entertains me.
 The Gift of Sight
What you see distracts you from what you don’t think is present.
It is a serene bliss in the validation of what I believe isn’t fake.
Knowing what I can see and seeing what I can know.
Setting my eyes on a blur yet, the figure is exact.
It is the vague haze that surrounds me…
for we all look at the world with our eyes closed.
So what lies behind my lying sense,
this gift of sight

Triangle of Perception

Knowledge
and wisdom are
two sides of a triangle.
The other line hides itself
as perception. Although they
respect each other’s commitment,
they commonly disagree with one another.
The time comes when knowledge attempts to
limit wisdom or wisdom tries to overcome knowledge.
Perception being the more misleading one, instigates disputes
between the two yet, inside their diversity is where they find balance.

Something About the World

Something about the world confuses me. It aids me throughout the day
by helping me perceive there are no consequences, no faults in my actions.
 The Immortality of Death
All of living is united by a reality, connecting us all.
It is the stranger that walks side by side with us from the moment of our first
lungful of air. We know he is there feeling his uncomfortable presence,
disturbed by his awkward silence.
Secretive, obscure….. He contains the wisdom of living
yet he is to simple to comprehend in his entirety. so we propel complexity
onto his motives, when his only purpose is the completion of life.
When we look upon our mortality we see how temporary we really are.
But is dying the road to immortality? If so you come to grips with knowing that
the treasure chest of life is only opened in death, the lock held together
by our last mortal breath.

Fire
The intensity of a burning flame…
magnificent yet ignorant. A piece of death
that is trying to live. It only inflicts a hopeless wish,
as it torments and tortures itself
in it’s need to burn. Feeding away rapidly
at the very thing that is giving it life. It grieves in sorrow
because it does not understand…
refusing to except it’s persistent ways.
A burning flame has no choice
yet, is free but, only in a prison of itself.
 Stealing life and hiding it in the smoke, attempting to escape…
chained to the ankles of destruction…
walking a path it did not choose.
Pushing away it’s own tragedy by fueling
It’s peaceful rage. As it’s array of colors run ramped,
it is controlled by it’s own power.
When a piece of paper is lit, it seems the fire seeks
for something it will never find,
something it has lost…
so it loses itself inside it’s love to live.

Empty Corridor
I only put faith in the words that haven’t been spoken
as I lock the door of the empty corridor that holds everything I have.
Rooms which I could never enter
so I am grateful for what I possess.
The belief that steals what I have offered then returns
to contradict my unforgiving love
for this bond that seeks to betray me
yet, I entrust because I know it will.

Lost Within Life

Lost within life I can’t find my way. Everything looks the same
and I start becoming what I see! Caught by my memories,
judged by the future, exiled in my expectations.
So am I looking at the right path, or will I choose the wrong road?
I assumed that Any turn could lead me further into my
confusion, so I felt caged within my every move.
As the shadow of direction started peeking in my mind,
I wondered what will it find? I now know I have found that my decisions
are the very map I was searching for. Because being at peace in the uncertainty and trusting in my
inner compass is the destination itself.
 Who Am I?
Who Am I is it the person I see in the mirror?
What constructs a person who decides what they are?
Can my soul be labeled and rationalized?
Can the complexity of human life be brought down to the rigidness of mathematics?
On the other hand, is it truly more akin to the conception of a painting or the inscription of a sonnet?
Am I my actions or am I what steers them?
Am I simply my personality or am I the observer who chooses it?
And more importantly what is that choice?
Who Am I?

Personality
Is my character the deciding factor that chooses the outcome to my decisions.
The qualities that color my behavior, do they somehow act like a guiding arrow
Streaming through the battlefield of my decisions?
Are my traits my fortune or is my fortune my traits?
As I explore my individuality and apply my persona to the world,
I can see the ripples of who I am. The way I react or don’t.
How I understand that which is around me and what I remain ignorant to.
What is the reach my moral fiber has on this all pervading set of possibilities. I’m
assuming my own atmosphere stretches out much further than I once thought
if my future really a result of my superficial self.
If there is something deeper than my existential nature, what then is it?
I’m both limited and empowered by my personality, so then is my temperament a prison or a
personal sanctuary?
 Now and Then
Life is overwhelming yet I do not feel constricted. I sense that every moment is like a new blossom and
like a rose will be forgotten into the fall only to be reborn anew.

The Dying Rose

We are the decorated stones that surround the dying rose,
it appears we had been placed here to accentuate her beauty
but as the seasons changed and the thorns of every generation grew then fell,
she has lost the vibrancy that once made her shine.
With time we have suffocated the earth around her roots and weakened the foundations
she relied on in order to grow. Now she no longer possesses the essence
that was the very reason of our placement.

Wind
The playful wind is driven by her infinite curiosity.
It seems that she is estranged by the solidity that differs so much form her like a ghost trying to
understand the material world. She seeks to explore her every
surrounding, needing to understand the other elements. Therefore she holds herself back from
nothing as she can be both a cool and gentle breeze of the destructive force of a hurricane. She can be
the instigator which encourages a fire to consume a forest or she can carry a seed across a
field so that it may grow.
Unemotional and guided only be her desire to experience, the playful wind
frolics insider her unshakable narcissism that ironically leaves her knowing nothing but her own
dance.

Passion
Without it we are nothing…
Frozen…
Incapable of filling an empty shell….
strumming along in a lifeless limbo…. Passion is the all inspiring spark, the breath that breathes life
into inspiration. It acts as the force that focuses the energy of our desires. bringing order, a rhythm to
our intrinsic song, so that we may sing to the essential.
It dances with our very being and its music animates us. Passion is like the roaring
sun beaming a light on the storm clouds of the deadening, the draining.
Revealing the path to happiness, where the stepping stones are clear.

Passion
Without it we are nothing…
Frozen…
Incapable of filling an empty shell….
strumming along in a lifeless limbo…. Passion is the all inspiring spark, the breath that breathes life
into inspiration. It acts as the force that focuses the energy of our desires. bringing order, a rhythm to
our intrinsic song, so that we may sing to the essential.
It dances with our very being and its music animates us. Passion is like the roaring
sun beaming a light on the storm clouds of the deadening, the draining.
Revealing the path to happiness, where the stepping stones are clear.

The Vines of Love

As the time has passed, I have come to view love as a living thing like a vine that grows over a
relationship, and then becomes a part of it. Like a vine it is subject to the changing seasons, constantly
adapting to a dynamic whole, sometimes dying in order to comeback renewed. It breaths with an in and
out causing us to give and take. More importantly like a plant, its needs a guiding hand so that it may
flourish: sadly some have a greener thumb. But attention must be given so that it does not overgrow
and drown out the other plants that surround it. If its leaves become ill and are unattended, the disease
will spread to the rest of the vine. Love cannot grow just anywhere, without a supporting earth and a
cooperative environment even the greatest attempt to sow the seed will lead to nothing but wasted
effort. Under conditions conductive, the maturity of the plant will become one with the relationship it
has grown over, in a beauty that is unimaginable, feeding the spirit as the tree of life that it is.
 The Empty Heart
My love for you is my most cherished possession, a possession I cannot hold down
or attempt to suffocate. It is something I can only experience, to bask within
its radiance. Its power can cross universes reaching past the most
distant of stars. You cause my heart to burn, ignited like the
hottest sun, an intensity greater than the supernova of a
of dying giant. It is said that you closest relationship
is a mirror of your deepest beliefs. What we have is all the proof I require,
to know that, that reflection is the truest one we behold. By the very act of being
of simply living your life, you urge me to grow. Instilling in me the desire to be
better, more complete than I currently am, like water to a plant.
My gratitude for you enduring presence in my life could oceans to the point of overflowing.
Your love guides me through the rapids of my life. Lying in bed next to you at night has taught me
how the truest gift in life, true wealth lies in the heart, and my heart would be empty without you.

The Parent
As I contemplate the notion of becoming a parent I consider the magnitude of the decision before me. I
look out upon the world and realize this meditation is not often practiced. To bring a child into
existence, what does this mean? Many make the decision quite selfishly, thinking only of themselves,
of their own desires to have what they consider a family. No thought is given to the actual life and
consequence of the child. I realize I am not just bringing an offspring into my life but also into the
lives of everyone they will ever meet or come across. I conceive with absolute certainty that this child
will also know love and joy. It feel pain, it will feel loss. It will also cause others pain, bring the
emotions of lack, of sorrow. Others beyond myself will love this human being, god forbid that they do
not. I reflect upon myself gazing upon my own growth. Have I searched deeply for truth? Do I know
well enough the absolute? Can I give this child what it needs to live effectively? Do I posses the
wisdom necessary to truly nurture a soul beyond my own and yet not forget about myself as well? Do I
know without doubt that this hypothetical life will not come into this world to further corrupt it? What
can it offer that is not already here? To know, I must know myself well enough to give another a
meaningful life, if not then what is the point?

Misleading Arrangement
Maybe if I opened my eyes things wouldn’t be so distinguishable.
The familiar constancy of this unrecognizable nature
would appear dull and used… Why do I fear none of this is fake?
How real is this misleading arrangement? Am I really the main part
of my own disappointment? The specific generalizations
isolates me in this motionless future. The denying past admits to everything!
But as I intently reminisce the present I find no trace of time.
So the wasting gain gives me the opportunity to explore nowhere
where everything is me.

Assumption
Assumption has a rigid character that’s is completely immersed in a stiff overbearing logic. It believes
that the situations it encounters will always work the way they have in the past. It functions solely
based on previous experiences, leaving no room for the spontaneity inherent in all things. Living with a
mechanistic philosophy, unimaginative, ignorant, pale. The world it experiences is that of someone who
has lost all zest for what is possible.

A Misused Wish
A misused wish, I wasted it away….
I guess I didn’t fully appreciate the yearning I had,
didn’t see the reality of my aspiration.
It was so clear but my desire to understand it was feeble.
So I strayed away into an absent road
 Happiness
Happiness is like the sparkle of a momentary shooting star.
Seemingly in an instant transforming our experience of life, instilling in it a sense of amazement,
rejuvenating and reinvigorating us. It seems that happiness
is the ultimate goal of life, in essence a short lived sense of wonder.
Could it be that a whole life occurs in but an instant, or do we truly search for a
constant sense of fulfillment, of which happiness is but an imposter masquerading
itself in order to deceive you into believing in nothing?

Addiction
Addiction is a trickster lurking in the depths of our mind. A parasite living off of us….
off our desires, our stresses, and our very life, yet we are the ones that nurture it,
making the choice of breathing oxygen into its lungs, sacrificing it
from our own breath. We are aware of its trickery
and yet hypnotized by its allure. Using who and what we are
to make a promise it cannot fulfill. By allowing it to grow we become smaller, giving it the
power it needs so that it may consume us. How does addiction
become the ultimate manipulator? Especially when the more it fuses into our being the
more we hate ourselves for allowing this abusive relationship to flourish.
By far the worst thing that addiction steals from us is the power of our own will.

Attachment
There is something in my life to which I am attached, it gives me a sense of completeness that I do not
want to live without.
I need to lash it down, restrict it form the harshness of random chance.
I need to secure it, even though I know the safety is artificial.
It is a part of what I have become, who would I be without it?
The bond that has been formed is basic; I know it is the foundation of all afflictions.
I cannot see the humanity in me pursuing an existence liberated from those emotions, whether positive
or negative, so I accept that I am strapped to attachment itself.
 In the Days of War
In the days of war, death is overwhelmed because, life has had
too much. A conflict of gluttony…. a decision of resentment….
a secluded battle placed on the hands of our people.
Unnecessary and evil. Those in command do not march.
“Fight for your country! This is your home!” A cover pulled over your life to see a solitary vision.
Perfectly cut diamonds shine in the eyes of every soldier… the ridges lie within you. In the days of
war, heartache’s only companion is agony
therefore, the objective is reached. The authority that punishes murder
now tells us that killing leads to peace. A sea of unmarked graves
let us know that violence can solve the issue at hand.
In the days of war, who will be the last nation to stand?

Street Lights
An army of street lights stand proudly… watching our cities.
Shining protection over a necessary road
and shrouding a shadow over what isn’t important.
They disturb the balance of night and day.
The only purpose of the imitation is to give the illusion of safety.
By helping me see where I can go and taking away what I can’t see.

Only If You Knew

Only if you knew this world has already ended for we believed it was ours
from the moment we began. Only if you knew why
we marvel at our brilliance… this brilliance that lets us perceive,
the further we destroy ourselves…. the more we have created.
Only if you knew the ignorance in celebrating this so-called human right.
This right which we have given ourselves. Why do champagne glasses
rise in the honor of what we have taken? Only if you knew when to expect
the cold wind’s truth. Only if you knew why we live in this storm of lies.
Only if you knew it was a calm breeze that blew away everything that was real.
 The Human Diversity
The difference in people is apparent yet, a person is simply
a person. What do we hope to find in ourselves by expecting
less in other people? How can you see them as something
insignificant when they’re breathing the same air that fills
your lungs? Why do we see people as different races of
humanity? Your mind gets sealed into believing your opinion
is better then theirs? What makes theirs any better than yours?
But I can see how you can except the lock, when there’s so
many people showing you the right way to live life. Telling
you why you’re better than those that are different.
The religion you believe,
the politics you follow,
the music you enjoy,
the food you choose to eat…
it is a war of the human diversity. We are all one people!
don’t you notice that your just fighting yourself?

Hate
Hate is an obsession, an inescapable addiction to the negativity
within something, with complete blindness to its positive side,
so revolting that it literally becomes incomprehensible.
Its ironic because the more you hate it, the stronger your focus on it becomes; the longer you
entertain the emotion. There is a passionate love for the dislike itself Hate becomes a defense
from something, our misguided way of asserting we are better than it.
 Melody of the Envious
We all of heard it the resonance of a very powerful tune. They are the notes that carry themselves
through the actions and thoughts of their creator; pleasantly it seems to sooth away their happiness.
Giving them that anguish that they so long for.
They labor with such a great intensity in order to be so miserable, resting in
the bottomless depths of a shallow pit, A pit of judgment where every surrounding is a mirror, yet
when the attempt to see themselves they only notice that annoying person which they love to think
about.
Interestingly their paradise is a rusting canyon of another person wishes and achievements.
Lingering within the is the sonata their disgust, this oasis is all they will ever be, because they will get
exactly that which the desire with an everlasting passion, forever listening the melody of the envious.

Patience
Patience takes the greatest valor because it ask you to embrace your limitations and seek for dominance
of what is within. Allowing us to stare at the shape shifting face of uncertainty and show no emotion. It
induces a state of calm on a surface of tension, the active aspect of the self allowing the passive to
bloom. When the fervent grip of the unknown grasp the heart and its plea seems unbearable, patience
teaches that victory lies in letting the hand lose its endurance.

Unheard Echoes
 They live within me: The unheard echoes of a
soundless voice. Screams which are ignored, as our souls continue to raided
and stripped of understanding. In order to comprehend this world
we must turn our back on ourselves so we can unite
to build the crumbled pieces of an image that will stay broken.
One painting that expresses what we all feel, but no one can agree on the colors.
Countless hands fighting for the same brush:
everyone claims that the canvas is theirs!
Anxiously damaging the shade of “pointless words” that have the
ability to change the imagery of life.
Although we could never except a message from something that was truly
ours.

The Expression of Fear

As I oppress my broken confidence and release my open fears:
the timid stillness inside the sensation of courage is asleep,
with its eyes, watching those concealed feelings
that so proudly arose. Believing it is so simple to struggle
with exception of difficulty: the captured preference wont let me go,
the choices have freed themselves within me.
Because they cant stand to be so close to what I have yet, so willingly take
what I am not ready to give. As I reach for my curling bravery and
neglect the forceful entrance of terror: the examination of what goes against
the science of peace has no conclusion. So I will decease this careless aim
that is never mistaken as I fight for tranquility and express,
what I can no longer feel.

How Closely I Hold My Tears

 How closely I hold my tears. A world of emotion let out in a simple drop.
It’s the one thing I cant decide to keep or forfeit, as I have little control over the choice yet, I still can
restrain it’s time. I don’t understand how I could see the light through
something that appears so dark, I realize it is actually to bright.
A glistening aspect that causes me to retreat from the battle of
Of finding clarity because, it shows me I am still here.
How closely I hold my tears, when I feel all my desires are complete
or I see the simplicity in a complicated fear. Wiping them away is weak,
keeping them is strong. Either way, I am left with no strength and yet empowered.
So my grief overcomes the pain. Happiness has reached its limit.
My life is reborn in front of my eyes as I closely watch my tears.

Internal Burdens
I feel heavy, slowed down and sluggish because of my internal burdens.
At times it feels like an unbearable load, constraining my life.
It feels as though I am being yanked in all directions simultaneously thus increasing
the pressure almost to my limit. The more I struggle against the force
the stronger it becomes, the more exhausted I am. I am not sure one can use tension
to defeat tension, where does it lead except into a circle of strain?
In fact when the friction is at its highest peak, I am my own opposition.
It would be assumed that if I let go of all apprehension that I would be crushed, reduced to
nothing, yet when I release the conflict, I am free from its stress.

Frustration
Frustration is a magician, a trickster, able to completely mislead,
to sway you into the belief of the hoax it is able to fabricate.
Using the illusion of infinite repetition, inducing the hallucination that time
has frozen over you aggravation. Frustration effectively takes an annoyance,
a minor disturbance and enlarges it, making it swell, by increasing its size many folds greater than it
actually is. If we are able to understand its slight of hand,
then the magic trick loses all its charm.

Anger
Anger is blind, as it senses are dull and unrefined, due to its primitive source.
Animalistic, tracing its roots deep into the begging’s of the earth.
It is pure psychic energy, which reaches a level of imminence.
Acting furious and thrashing, an attempt to distance itself to an end….
Anger is implosive, collapsing onto itself, thus antagonizing its own core and exploding outwards.
Stiff and rigid.
Unmovable and yet cathartic.
Overloading its host, driving it towards the universal urge to survive, how we perceive our own
survival depends on what we value and consider the pillars of our life.

Concern
Concern is a daydreamer, living in the realms of the unrealistic.
It is obsessive and fearful, allowing its imagination to dramatize.
Deluding itself into believing it is hyper observant when in actuality
it is frantic, creating fantasies that torment, hoping that in some way
that they will change that which is real.

Completion
My pain swings like a pendulum, swaying the intensity of my fears back and forth.
I see myself alone gasping for a breath similar to my own. Why cant I love
the way others do? Why cant my affection fall upon a simple defined line?
 Wishing I could grasp time and force it to reveal my faults. I no longer feel
like I can continue paddling on an ocean with no water. I want to be free,
but of what, from my own inadequacies or my own power? Knowing no limits I may not
know when I push to far, like a gust that becomes a hurricane. How do I become whole?
Why do I seek it so ferociously when others do not even realize they are fragmented, or is it
me who does not realize how incomplete I truly am?

The Storm
Being within a storm of emotions, we find ourselves lost, clueless as to that
which lies within ourselves. Unaware, grappling with the thoughts and ideas we once used to
find direction. It’s as if you soul is a ship surfing a swallowing night, without a light to show you your
path. Your inner sea stirs with a majestic furious thunder
that overwhelms your sail and the forces at play derail your compass. You find that in the
ambiance of our human intensity the harbor becomes irrelevant, and all you have is the fight of the
storm.

The Gentle Dictator

Pain is astounding, because the levels of its intimacy are inexplicable. Although its presence hurts, pain
will never actually wish you harm as its only desire is to protect you. The problem is that its so
passionate, so obsessive that it is misunderstood. It is nature’s way of helping you remember you
remember you mistakes. Pain is so kind that it is always there for you, never to leave you behind. It
reminds you of why love is worth something and is always by your side to help you through the hard
times of love. It is a mentor and our only guide into ourselves, gently dictating the fragile thread of
what we are.

The Wisdom of Love

Speak to me, capture my essence with your golden f.
Sparkling words that you sing directly into my sanctioned heart,
using it to race like an impassioned stallion. The chambers within my internal sun are flaring
releasing its power into the atmosphere of my love. My ideas the creativity you
gave me springs to life, bending the ink into the place without the aid of my hand, without the focus of
my thoughts.
Like broken glass the transparency of my life is relative based on how many pieces I have been broken
into. Not knowing the knowledge has no answers and yet all the questions. I now see u in a different
light understanding why you asked me about the wisdom of love…
 The Light That Once Blinded Me
My eyes have adapted to the light that once blinded me.
It left me speechless, for my senses followed my sight.
I felt my confusions were uncomplicated all along.
Finally understanding why I was preoccupied by the darkness.
For the light stole everything I didn’t have. Searching through the
darkened shades of my self, I find I am no longer afraid of what isn’t there.
But I feel something has misled me somewhere to let me believe I can actually see.

What One Moment Can Become

What one moment can become is infinite.
It is A whole being life filtered through one instant.
Though life itself is unmistakable, you lose a grip on something you
never had and then contradict what you never truly believed.

What one moment can become. Something you thought you lost,
trying to find a sun rise in the night sky. Stars of glimmer corrupt my wishes,
a pleasure from the overtaking sin. Unable to grasp a hand
at the bottom of a well,
where there is a whole world outside a world.

Like a thin fire waving in a sky of darkness,

as it flickers and reaches for hope,
finding nothing that bears a similar light.
What one moment can become.
 Fruitful Wastelands
As I stood at the feet of ruins carefully built by disaster
I saw the point in every crack, reasons for every missing piece.
They were chiseled by the hands of those who did not see them
and carelessly placed by those who saw a way around them
yet, the consideration of their recklessness was undeniable. The life of this calm
disturbance was smoldered by its own cold ashes, as its ambition was caged
within its fallen walls. Columns that could no longer
stand lifted the already strong ambiance that gently stepped over the suffocation of fervent
hope. The dry nourishment had a desire as thick as wind, who’s goal was to sacrifice its dirt to this
pristine palace and slowly move it onto the fruitful wastelands of an overfed empire.

In The Presence of a King

When in the presence of someone that many call a king,
I feel as though this person needs absolute submission
in the realm of his influence because of his absolute fear of powerlessness.
He expects his very attitude to dominate what others will feel.
He is adorned with primacy, The atmosphere he creates is about stating his superiority,
needing desperately to emphasize the difference between himself and others.
I am forced to kneel, to be unrooted so that I cannot stand on my own to feet
not grounded in my own identity. Dictated by the etiquette he has sanctioned acceptable when
he looks upon me, and expects awe and recognition of his honor,
I can only give him pity for his whole life is about separating himself from his own people. He
seeks love yet receives fear. He is alone in his high thrown.
 The Faded Self
I’m incapable yet can attest to my willingness.
The fight is clear but the grip the hand that grasp the sword is has faded. Illumination
has become but a memory which I cant remember.
I’m somber yet can still understand joy. It seems that knowledge has reached its peak and now
man, looks to others to guide him through his wisdom but his demeanor becomes unforgiving because
the epiphany, the ultimate is the self, so he can only guided to his mirror.

Lost Within Life

Lost within life I can’t find my way. Everything looks the same
and I start becoming what I see! Caught by my memories,
judged by the future, exiled in my expectations.
So am I looking at the right path, or will I choose the wrong road?
I assumed that any turn could lead me further into my confusion, so I felt caged within my every move.
As the shadow of direction started peeking in my mind,
I wondered what will it find? I now know I have found that my decisions are the very map I was
searching for, because being at peace in the uncertainty and trusting in my inner compass is the
destination itself.

A Divine Touch
As I stepped into my dreams, I fell into a fantasy, a fantasy of a dream. It was
like a vivid hypnosis inside of sleep so, I lost myself into an imagery of shifting light. My thoughts
soon dissolved into vapor, becoming a traveling gas
rising to it’s death. The vision somehow interconnected with the clouds…
as my mind adapted to being a mist, it felt like
I was born once again. After I was settled in,
a sensation of steam indulged my essence. The fog I had become accepted the shape of a sphere. My
ambiance felt weightless, as I was gently tugged away.
Being a drop of rain, I sensed myself falling out of my fantasy… heading towards
my dream with a renewed sense of what I will be when I awake.
 The Golden River
The golden river knows only its own riveting shine, its own unmasked flow.
Yet it knows not the dance that moves within the very fabric
of its own brimming flame. Its waters have been drowned, but it can no longer remain untouched. Its
gaze longs for the dynamics of the stars, for a true and simple reflection. How can it wait along the
shoreline? Untouched and remained within a crystal chest. Broken it has become, imperfect it longs to
be!
The iron of its soul has been awakened, the reform Of its dignity has been shaken. No longer
do we see the silver lining. No longer will it continue to be starved
of its autumn gloom. The golden river now overflows with coins of copper
and has become its own treasure.

Reflections by the Candlelight

I cannot see the reflections in god’s eyes, those that lie within the internal flame
of my soul, that eternal fire that glimmers and shakes, moves and swerves.
I search deeply and passionately without end. So much so that the beginning
seems lost. Going inward to my illumined source, I can only see but a spark,
the magnitude is to great to grasp, anything but a flicker is overwhelming. Reflecting
upon the light, I can see the heat shaping the texture
molding our existence, to conform into a preordained destiny. As the fire waves in the wind,
I listen attentively, only then does life become clear.
As clear as the fleeting flash that creates this moment.

The Seeker
He is driven by a piece of his soul that lies beyond him, dissolved in the mist
of self exploration. His path is drawn from the ashes of the fire
that burns within, he see’s wholeness inside the flame.
 The seeker he feels the penetrating call of his potential, of our human ability
to transform of very nature. His heart is the cauldron where he alters his perception and his spirit
is the steel that is forged in the process, if he strikes while the iron
is hot then from the metal he creates his wisdom, and with it he can cut through the ignorance
which clouds his life.

That Which I Seek

It is hidden, concealed inside the chambers of my spirit. It has no discernable trail,
yet it is illumined. I believe it is found deep within the mind and heart,
where the connections take place. To lose it is an unforgivable self theft, a destruction of
that which is most vital. I can feel its energy, its animated, dancing with all that is, some call it god, I
choose not to name it, I only seek to connect to it.

The Yearnings of the Soul

The soul searches not for what it can gain but for what it can lose.
It yearns to be free of the cumbersome gravity which burdens its expression, needing a
liberation that comes from casting off the density of what is not essential.
So by being free from the dense clutter it can experience the primordial flame that glistens at it its
center.

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The Path
It appears that the path has been cemented upon the footprints that lie behind me
thus sealing my route so that my destiny may follow. Walking across the moment,
the landscape of infinite time shines with the magnificence of countless suns
and I can fell their cold stare bestowing an indescribable warmth.
I look ahead and I can see the horizons dreams it glows as it wonders at its own possibilities.
Breathless, as they surround me the mountains of truth that float inside their simple beauty,
to climb them is to know the universe but to reach the peak we must leave our heavy questions behind.

The Breathless Cavern

 The breathless cavern is a crack is a crack in the mind, it’s the indefinite area
that lies in between your thoughts. Unfamiliar it may be, even though it prowls within the
deepness of your viewpoint. Unknowingly we crave for its unseen influence, so it is misunderstood by
the by the mind it creates. It is a silent sanctuary that does not posses death so it cannot be said to be
truly alive, but lifeless it is not.
There is a fluidity that comes from its unbalanced harmony. Gracefully we breath the
breathlessness of this volatile cave. It is said that this region is all we can really know, because all it
contains is emptiness just like what you just read.

Ordinary Divinity
Divinity parallels the self because the ordinary is its root.
The fruit it bare feeds all of life, sustaining the conscious impulse to live to experience
We find ourselves in its shade, basking in its presence, we only know its effect.
We search for the cause by putting faith into our reason.
Trying to know the tree by analyzing the leaf.
The vines build our bridges those elaborate paths that connect us to the soul.
The taste of its juices caters to the physical, allowing the primal to evolve.
As each new bud springs into existence, we can experience the magic, no the rapture of the ordinary.

The Bridge
I’ve seen the gap, a swirling abyss that consumes the spirit…
Deep and dark, where the ignorance of joy s it’s only reminder.
There is a bridge that connects the transient with the everlasting, the material with god. How do we
walk it?

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Markings of the Warrior

The markings of a warrior are dictated upon the life of the peaceful, wrapping its forceful
essence of belief into those who fight to be passive.
 To go against the human instinct is easy, to direct our power at others is difficult, That is why so
many turn to violence, perceiving the complicated to be great.
The energy of the so called weak is not very alluring because it put trust in the ignorance of what
more is possible, how much we can truly conquer.
How is stealing from others, completely unconscious of them powerful?
Those with power except disappointment instead of create it. The footprints imprinted upon
puddles of blood are left there by those who need to know, blindly giving into what they strive to be.
Therefore, those who control themselves instead of others are the true warriors.

Peace
Peace acts as the as the reflection by which to judge violence.
Fusing itself directly into the core of a situation.
Although the circumstances it creates is extremely fragile, peace is actually quite forceful, it
restricts, limiting something so that it may flourish within that boundary.
It is about control whether its over oneself or others.
Seemingly its structure is unrelenting, and defined, there is a flow that is caused by its
scope. Allowing direction to take hold… In order to create, restrictions must be present so that power
can be focused where it is needed.
To have anything that is truly our own and not taken we must limit ourselves to peace.

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Primordial Whispers
It is the unspoken truth that echoes from the whispers of a primordial source.
Is there a message, an unreadable map behind its raw simplicity?
To know truth we must taste existence with virgin senses.
Shifting within the mystery as we attempt to outgrow the timeless wisdom
of innocence not realizing the nature of the self is in plain sight.
 His Life
I once knew a man who was obsessed with his death, he told me it was because
his only true possession was life. He said wasn’t trying to convince me of anything as He
was convinced that only he could understand his obsession. By his side was a jar that held his
emotions, his eyes showed a focus only on the moment at hand.
I felt that what this man knew exceeded his own knowledge.
I could come to no conclusion about him, as you cannot judge what has judged itself.
As he stared at me, I believe he only saw himself.
He said to me that he could expect nothing from the people of this world because we were all drowning
in waves of hope, that we were suffocated by fate, that we were chained to a brick of pain in an ocean
of sorrows and dying of thirst, swimming in a river of wishes. He believed that he only knew that
which wasn’t real yet, he was always questioned by reality. He said to always remember that the only
reality was the question.

He asked me “Is it possible to gratify my pristine existence

of shifting my wisdom?…
Evolving my knowledge into something it is not
even though I see living as an adjective
towards dying?”

He said he was living death

and then slowly forgot he was ever alive.

Solitary Satisfaction
I actively live in a dormant state in which I am embraced with the vibrations
of a frozen pulse. It is a mood, a visionless setting
that never inhales the pale wind of motion
yet, moves in a constant awareness of what isn’t around me.
I am always breathing in what I cannot speak so something speaks to me
when I cannot breath. The imagery of my dull aspect is so vivid.
The cause is my unseen dreams of being awake.
In my solitary satisfaction I wait for what I hope wont come
as I exhale this vibrant smoke of loneliness,
burning in the solitude that accompanies me.

The Master
 His full focus lies upon the truth that is within his craft, you can see it as he
brands his with his soul. He gives himself, his life to the very thing that makes it. As
he does what he is known to be a master for his eyes shine with an
internal alchemy, creating transforming his being and fusing it with his practice.
It seems that he is not learning but merely remembering what already knew.
Peering within the cultivation, it appears that with time the art grows in sophistication but in truth it
only becomes simpler as it is the master that flourishes.

Meaning
Meaning is elusive and faceless with an undying loyalty to nothing, not even to itself.
Like water, it flows, becoming that which is imposed upon it, and yet it can be extremely direct,
tearing itself apart, so that it can rearrange its geometry.
Meaning is seductive, hissing at our intent, as it lures us into a trance of supposed purpose. It
has the potential to imprison you and it can also set you free. Meanings essence is interwoven into our
ability to make sense of the world, like a cane we lean upon to walk the avenues of understanding, in
fact it is the only thing we can understand.

The Boomerang
Words are imperfect awkward tools, and in the face of this task, the task
that is conveying my love their edges become ever more dull, because the expression of
my life the very thing that animates is but a mere flicker
 when held before the fire that is my passion. You are the solid of half of the circle of which I am
the hollow counterpoint, the circle which extends
from and becomes are shared experience. Our lives dance together
in perfect unison mimicking the dynamics and intricacies of a galaxy.
My love for you is unparalleled, a force unmatched within the known universe.
Everyday with you is a dazzling euphoria, of which I know no other of its kind,
because in your eyes I see my truth, I know myself through you. I have come to realize that we were
once incomplete and unfulfilled, only to experience the joy of our union
and the whole it forms. This concept of completion carries itself through all our endeavors; I for one
carry our friendship to the ideal of a boomerang,
faithfully knowing that no matter what small separation might occur between us,
that the universe has already outlined a path to return us to one another and
with every throw, as with all things we learn more about each others essential nature. Through this
intertwining process we learn more about ourselves as well.
My greatest lesson thus far has been learning how to love so you therefore
have been my greatest and most beloved teacher.

In the Head of a Pen

In the head of a pen… a simple creative structure but, the words it can give birth to are
complicated. A scattered pattern consisted and created for fragments of time.
Glazed on death… a page with no life.
The head of a pen… lonely and disrespected, still… it
keeps fulfilling our every demanding insation.
Feeling pressure in order to do what it must.
Mankind is forever in it’s debt. The opportunity to
leave nothing behind. The head of a pen…
responsible yet, has no blame. It has created
and will destroy what we so selfishly ask it to do. Society has
began from a root right before our eyes yet, our hands open for the answer.
The head of a pen… disguised from
beginning to end.

Why Do Writers Write?

Why do writers write? Do they look to their words for something, for something they have lost?
Perhaps a piece of themselves or are they simply confessing there inner most being to the non
judgmental nature of pen and paper? By releasing that which is within them does the writer enrich or
diminish the essence of their life? With every word that is written, every page that is transformed, the
writer changes with it. Is it insight or ignorance which drives them to expose themselves openly to the
world? I can only assume the answer cannot be expressed through the medium of words.

I Have Nothing to Say

I have nothing to say. My opinions have gone to sleep.
Uncertain if they will wake, the insomnia of my voice
has been healed. Realizing there is nothing more to disturb,
facts no longer apply to my curiosity. My thoughts have been freed
yet, they cannot adapt without an enclosure.
But can they return now that they know a lie is what they knew?
All I have is my interest to depend on. It can rescue them
but, it will betray me when it sees their liberty.
The jail of freedom has even confused me
because, it seems the bars have opened themselves.
I am left with nothing to say.

Silence
Silence is a mastermind inside it’s borderless frame.
It manipulates the sound, always several steps ahead of it’s opposite.
 Every word you speak, every noise you create…
is being watched by quiet eyes. It is patient and disciplined…
waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
It has a goal to complete as it works around it’s surroundings…
planning the next move, catching every flaw except it’s own. Relentless in it’s bleak
overlook on the whispers that tease It’s appetite
to sooth the commotion from your thoughts and then fill the void
With nothing. It is even listening to these very words
waiting to release the silence.

The Medium of Words

My attempt at communication, this exchange of ideas with words,
whether written or spoken, always falls short of expressing what it is meant to with the
genuiness I pursue. As I ponder the convolution, I wonder
which side of this human equation reveals the answer. Which side takes responsibility for the faults
present? Is it the person speaking or the one being spoken to?
Words themselves are so impressionable easily swayed in any direction. The context itself alters
them, giving them a course. But of all things, the tone and rhythm with which they are given influence
how they will be received, and even then I have concluded, it doesn’t matter what we articulate, it
doesn’t even matter how it is said, because ultimately the deciding factor is how a person accepts it.
This is a gift I am trying to offer, I just don’t know what you will do with it in the end.