Observing A Dead World

His arm wrapped tight

Around her shoulder,

It was as close

As he could hold her.

While they walked

And she wept.

No one noticed

The tragedy that kept

Their lives in strife.

As he dried her tears

Comforting her,

Though he had fears,

That their sadness

Had only just begun.

The world continued

But there was one

Who was wondering

The cause of their plight.

Curious about the cars,

And those in plain sight;

Who continued on

Never turning their head.

Blinded to tragedy,

They may as well be dead.

I continue to observe

The man and woman fade,

And the world continue

Its hypocritical parade

Of caring for everything

And nothing all the same.

In a world of despair,

Closed eyes are a shame.

What part do I share

In humanities disgrace?

When I can see,

But remain in one place?

I question my part

As I step through my door,

Realizing for some time,

I don’t cry anymore.

I wanted to tell you

About all of the blackness of the world.

I wanted you to know

The truth about what you tried to unfurl.

You drowned out our hearts.

In darkness when there should have been grace.

Hiding in shadow,

When light and wisdom could substitute in its place.

Freeing the evils,

Allowing personal inner demons the freedom to fly.

And disciplined hands,

Form the slave to give joy to the unseeing eye.

You will never see,

The dying eyes lost from the agony of grief.

The tears that fall,

For the skin that aches for the burn of relief.

That can only come

From the lashes of the devil’s wicked dreamy whip.

I will never begin

To close my eyes to dream of beginning that trip.

With you to guide me,

Because it is a mirage that will never begin.

Truth is I’d have given

You the freedom to explore every depth of your sins.

I’m sad knowing

The dream had to come to an end.

But in truth again,

I would not want to be the only one who can bend.

Harmony in sin.

For the strength and bending love of the willow,

Can be as dual

A need as pain quenching fires below.

I wanted to tell you.

the world

of dawn wine

endless time

glass deep burgandy red

writhing marks to be bled

deep seated antagonists

fire is a protagonist

like the whipping of the skin aflame with fires

or of the road under the tires

on like the voice of the intellect which

the sound brings a sudden twitch,

so softly but turns on a dime

hold that thought, all in due time

fire is for those with real propensity

will and torches to outflame the intensity

they're weak as the vines

consumed the wrath of the wines

even the earth,

nature's rebirth,

flames are just hell's wicked kiss

opening gates to heaven's bliss

again the vines grow forth in spring

leashing the neck of wrath in a ring

from the ground measured in length

tamed by quiet demanding strength

taking hold like binding rope

having forgotten the lessons of hope

forever an endearing presence in the mind

all is well, for even God is blind

fire, even flame has its place.

Wish only

for the butterfly screams.

Wish only

for the sins of the night.

I'm obviously reluctant

to do any real talking.

The wild red rose laughs.

Images,

your image of me;

images,

my image of you;

are merely illusions.

Made by your delusions,

built by screaming maggots;

For the butterfly screams

for the sins of the night.

Guilty late night group gropings

full of misogynistic hopings,

I want to hear the screams.

Fed by illusionists

that have no real clue

of delusions or what is true.

Viciously peeling fruit

like vampires of night.

Wish only

to find the harvest.

Wish only

for sweet tender flesh,

of heart and mind.

Its filled with arrogant proses,

written with thorns of roses.

I want to hear

the butterfly scream.

Wish only

for the scream.

Along stood a flunky monkey

waving margaritas under a tree

and yelled out he wanted to talk to me.

said he that he had a secret

that he was bursting at seams to outlet

but he was busy just now, with the ferret.

Now when the two were done,

having tea, cigars, and some fun;

he stopped, looked squarely at the sun.

Then turned around to face me

and spoke..who the hell might you be?

The sanest sight I ever did till then see.

Now the monkey wore a funny hat,

red felt, looked queer as a bat;

said, "Sorry, thought you were a cat."

I paused and wondered as to why

he could speak to me so sly;

when out his mouth came a huge butterfly.

Never more astonished could I be

but surprised I wasn't at all to see

for there was an odd monkey talking to me.

The butterfly was a brilliant bright blue

and despite its wonderful magical hue

landed on my shoulder for a much better view.

Coyed up to me, whispered in my ear

"Oh my, you are talking to a monkey, my dear.

I am queen here, you have nothing to fear."

"Queen Lavitia, is my name,

Oh, the monkey he is quite tame,

However his stories are a tad insane."

He danced and jumped like a fool,

but took my hand and led to a nearby pool,

where the Queen and I took seats on toadstools.

At once before me, said "look in my eyes!"

I swear deep in his eyes were a pair of fireflies!

Next I knew, the monkey had me mesmorized.

This is where the funky monkey's tale began

where the water steamed away and turned to sand

and we boarded ship to set sail away from land.

He told of a land where there is always a breeze

and cherubs fly about as small as honeybees.

Beautiful meadows of blue grasses and violet seas.

The native flora is all made of colored sugar cane

and all the pebbles are red hots to drive your mouth to flame,

At once I stood up, "Stop here, monkey, you are insane!"

Queen Lativia fluttered before me, taking quite a pose,

I thought for a moment she might land on my nose!

"My dear child, sit, all is well. This is what i propose."

"Let him get the story started up again.

What must have an end must always begin.

Allow the monkey to tell his tale to the end."

He reached in a tiny purple pocket in his red shirt vest,

and out came a three foot golden wand right out of his chest.

A trail of golden dust showered from the end, as he began to jest.

"UhmHumm...Before I was so rudely interupted,

Take your seat, my dear, for I shan't be disrupted,

for I see now, the Queen, your mind has corrupted."

With that, he danced and began the tale once more.

As he waved his wand, golden dust fell to the earth galore,

coating the grass, the sand, creating a sparkling golden floor.

Entranced by it all, I put my head down on my knees,

Not surprised at all, by the faeries skating by as they please,

As my lids grew dim, they seemed as small as fleas.

They danced in the dust, acting out the show,

As the monkey's tale of life, began to flow and grow,

Sweet as angels, wicked as devils, the faeries were hard to follow.

He told of the worst and best of humanities,

loudly proclaiming wars, only to whisper the profanities,

faeries girating to tales of humans' lusts, dancing wildly to insanities.

The faeries acted out centuries of tales of lust,

and wars and feats of humanity in the golden dust;

their dancing was enchanting till at once was a huge wind gust.

All at once the party came to an end,

because thunder followed behind the gust of wind,

and the faeries chatter that raindrops were around the bend.

As raindrops fell upon my face,

I woke, startled, to look about the place,

the cat was still there, but of a monkey there was no trace,

A huge blue butterfly twittered about,

the cat opened his eyes and stretched his paws out,

I whispered to him, "The dream had to end, there was no doubt."

It was never yours

to hold

as you have always

shown

how little you disregard it.

It has no more importance

to you

than yesterday's sports page,

which you tossed

on the floor,

beside the bed.

Everything to me,

nothing to you.

I wonder what

you have to lose.

I will hold on

to what I still have.

Trust.

As always,

the lesson remains,

the same.

Never trust,

anyone,

who does not value,

your heart,

above others.

We walk in circles,

limited by our own anxieties,

pushed upon us by society.

That we can no longer

distinguish the how to

and between false and true.

Between a Dominant's whim

with the very purest of ideals

of where one should kneel.

What does get our attention

more so than the tales of cruelty

is to observe with much novelty.

When fate is not satisfied

hope is merely the pain turned cold

pain of a disapointed wish grown old.

That which produces pain

upon the mind if promises abound

can only prove our hearts yet sound.

Can we truly be hypocrites

of our dreams filled of incubus

as to what truly wakes us?

Yea, I dare to say not.

dreaming permits our insanities

leaving behind personal vanity.

without consciousness

without restrictions or temptations

and so yet is, our truest salvations.

Honor and the vain

I do not love thee, dear so much;

because I love Honor more.

Never leaving my side as such,

there is nothing more I adore.

The wounded Vanity knows

when it's pride has been hurt;

no matter the disguises it shows,

driven away without its shirt.

Pride carries its banner to the last,

just to unfurl itself into another field.

Driven from one just quick and as fast;

when to reality it must take its yield.

Vanity could not take Honor away

through subterfuge and submission,

Disambiguation dreamt away the day,

still seeking Honor's permission.

I do not love thee, dear so much,

because I love Honor more.

No longer to bear your clutch,

For the meek, I say what for?

The opposite of love is not hate,

it is the feeling of indifference.

I do not care, I believe in fate,

Honor's strength fuels belligerence.

"There is less in this than meets the eye!"

Talluleh once stood and shouted.

Allowing Vanity to seek out high,

but truth and Honor is what counted.

Entirety is what it appears to be;

yet behind it, you were nothing.

To submit, and request the same of me,

left dreams of Honor, kings of something.

Vanity's lies, it is well known,

are difficult in minds to eradicate;

from the heart whos soil had not grown,

poison and prudence often placate.

No more than weeds among the path,

to be trampled upon and die out.

As Truth walks by, it will but laugh;

at the insecurities needed to shout.

Only one person is missing, sometimes,

and to my heart that is all i needed,

to return to one's place, where at times,

Honors call will always be heeded.

I have never loved thee, dear so much,

because I have always loved Honor more.

Disambiguation

To reign is worth ambition

and believe it is over hell;

for one who seeks admission,

I suppose it is just as well.

In hell 'twould be better to reign,

than be in heaven to serve.

Diambiguation always loved the pain,

she always could well preserve.

Is the sense of power more vivid?

For when Hades could not break her heart,

do you think his rage became livid?

Or through it, did he tear her world apart?

The absolute aphrodesiac of power

brought to her knees and back again.

Yes, it brought springtime flowers,

always returning to her knees to reign.

Is power a strange desire to seek

over another one's liberties and life?

Does it make them the ones that's meek?

I say not, for they play the sweet fyfe.

Seeking power over another is to

ultimately give up power of ones self.

For the one who is to serve you,

can ultimately put you away on a shelf

To know the pains of power it has its appeal;

seek those who know its pain and its pleasures.

Pleasures are imaginary, pains of power too are real;

ultimately though, some too, find it a rare treasure.

Rains of Appertenances

There is no such thing

on earth or on wing

as an isolated man,

or a lonely woman.

What can one teach

for fellow man, each?

We are made up of clusters

strength we must muster.

Of appertenances,

or oppurtune chances,

Put the book on the shelf,

explain, what to call one's self.

Where does it begin?

Does it ever end?

Does it manage to ride the tide low

and simply in our minds overflow?

Flow into everything,

every part of spring,

air and breath become lust,

as all becomes a part of us.

Then tell me, where hence it flows?

when the tides are low,

it seeks out another sin,

to pierce us through again.

Proceed inward

from the dream

Moving outward.

Silent scream

I am too fond

of dreaming.

And the song

Of screaming.

Is it because

Part of reality

Appears false

A part duality

Far too sad?

I am afraid so.

Am I mad?

I am afraid so.

Nightmares and dreams

A fuel could sustain

The bloodcurdling screams

My life needs maintain

For the solitary person

that I shall be,

for a disposition

Like mine is key

Dreams made to live

Alone in unison

Only heed to give

Commands to union

Dreams with solitude. 

necessary to life

Growth with attitude

Razor sharp like a knife.

Far between and few


   
                                                                                       
                   these dreams strive

into the reality grew

of action to feel alive.

From the actions stem

This interdependence

dreaming begins again;

Creating transcendence.

Dreams are unbiased

Never ending or forgiving

And produces the highest

form of being and living.