I live love like love live me.
Like I know love from a time 10,00 a century…
Before life when only the good Lord knew my name.
Before the time when Jesus came...your spirit was in my mind engraved...
It’s only a matter of time before I sing to the tune you play....a great melody...pause at the crescendo....elate...forte...
Love like I never loved before…get love like I never got before....the heavens sent you for my mind your mind my mind to explore...
We me, you be, us...we....be...
In a time and a place where there is no place, time, or space….a love sent form on high written before the name of the sky...refrain from the sigh... How grateful …am I.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
#8 10/2008
#8
I can’t change the colors of my heart.
The blinding blinking alternation red-green-red-green-red-green has me hypnotized.
Trapped in a moment in time where our souls combined. A still-born birth, deferred life, your world is not a place where I can survive.
Shades of yellow reminding of caution fail to register, displaced, by your face. That feeling that emanates from the place that tickled me pink and riddled me distraught all at the same time.
I can’t change the colors of my heart. The erratic shift. Stop and go. Red-green-red-green-red-green has my hypnotized. My senses numb to every touch but yours. My breath tied to your stroke. I wish my mind could release me from my courted paralysis. But, I rest. Hypnotized.
I can’t change the colors of my heart.
The blinding blinking alternation red-green-red-green-red-green has me hypnotized.
Trapped in a moment in time where our souls combined. A still-born birth, deferred life, your world is not a place where I can survive.
Shades of yellow reminding of caution fail to register, displaced, by your face. That feeling that emanates from the place that tickled me pink and riddled me distraught all at the same time.
I can’t change the colors of my heart. The erratic shift. Stop and go. Red-green-red-green-red-green has my hypnotized. My senses numb to every touch but yours. My breath tied to your stroke. I wish my mind could release me from my courted paralysis. But, I rest. Hypnotized.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Sensuality 12
Let me rub my hands around your head, relax your mind til I begin to explore every inch of your being. The bamboo keys played like choppin, making your mouth make sounds only pleasure can mime.
Such beautiful eyes. Lost in them, u surprised? Flutter by flutter, turning me on while I turn you on. This music we make is wildly staccato, our wall writes a novel of historical battles, the war between my passion and your love. A bass hit. A bomb. A jazz outro, Bassie style. A ballerina on point. Lyrical to our classical eruption. Its not a quick ending…..its a lingering pause.
Such beautiful eyes. Lost in them, u surprised? Flutter by flutter, turning me on while I turn you on. This music we make is wildly staccato, our wall writes a novel of historical battles, the war between my passion and your love. A bass hit. A bomb. A jazz outro, Bassie style. A ballerina on point. Lyrical to our classical eruption. Its not a quick ending…..its a lingering pause.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sweet, Silent Memories 3/17/08
Of the most haunting voices are not the ones we hear but the ones we feel. Striking the core of our souls with their chords of discord from before. Sweet memories?
Of pain and less of beauty. Purity deprived by lust abridged by lack of love. The stray. Never strays too far. Traction on the heart. Those. Sweet? Memories.
But it remains somehow in the lingering of days far from the walls of this shore. Still receding the sand from the place where I stand…these are not. Sweet. Memories.
Of pain and less of beauty. Purity deprived by lust abridged by lack of love. The stray. Never strays too far. Traction on the heart. Those. Sweet? Memories.
But it remains somehow in the lingering of days far from the walls of this shore. Still receding the sand from the place where I stand…these are not. Sweet. Memories.
Friday, March 5, 2010
I Will Always Love You
I will always love you, long after the last tide has pulled away, I will still bring flowers to adorn you.
I will always love you, in the midst of moments when you have hurt me to my core and left me in tears on linoleum floors.
I will always love you, when you are grey and poor and everyone else has long followed the shining EXIT sign at the door.
I will always love you. Long passed the day that you have breathed your last death and entered your final rest.
I will always love you, for there is no past, present, no time, no discontinuous space that can undo what I feel for you. Always.
I will always love you, in the midst of moments when you have hurt me to my core and left me in tears on linoleum floors.
I will always love you, when you are grey and poor and everyone else has long followed the shining EXIT sign at the door.
I will always love you. Long passed the day that you have breathed your last death and entered your final rest.
I will always love you, for there is no past, present, no time, no discontinuous space that can undo what I feel for you. Always.
Mu’Barak…Ya Habibi
It permeates our minds, images of red rubies…..ringlets of precious blood inked across the faces of innocent children whose lives have been shattered by a battle cry of freedom.
Can any battle be free?
Ideologies have taken up arms, the race in favor of the West. But what of the rest? AKs and shrapnel lull their voices to rest….
Children hear the uneasy lull-a-byes….unlikely syncopated concertos….tanks, missiles, signals, bells, alarms, tanks, shots, grenades, missiles. Forced to reinvent their games to wrap their minds around reality’s dreams- ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Can innocence survive?
Na’st Allah. Even children can serve the wrong God? Pope Urban’s Catholcism doesn’t allow for reincarnation, though I must wonder if he was a Bhuddist and W his vessel?
Can any battle be free?
Ideologies have taken up arms, the race in favor of the West. But what of the rest? AKs and shrapnel lull their voices to rest….
Children hear the uneasy lull-a-byes….unlikely syncopated concertos….tanks, missiles, signals, bells, alarms, tanks, shots, grenades, missiles. Forced to reinvent their games to wrap their minds around reality’s dreams- ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Can innocence survive?
Na’st Allah. Even children can serve the wrong God? Pope Urban’s Catholcism doesn’t allow for reincarnation, though I must wonder if he was a Bhuddist and W his vessel?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
