midnight momentum

oh I struggle
your face haunts me
as do your words
then I wonder
what if,
I had said no?


I wrote about you before, and I write about you now, like I will write about you always, kind yoke of ours.
and here we pine for more, as humans we are, wanting what is beyond, dissatisfied with what we may reach. yet I pray for you now, as I did before, like I will ways, beautiful soul of his. should I leave you no doubt, for the rays did part, but the moon and the sun did stay beyond dark. how to stay or depart is knowledge beyond eternity, and your hell frowns at your whispered pleas. smile and cry, feel the possession, angelic paramour, I hold your hand in welkin. to refute my return to those shackles, I may breathe the mendacities of mankind.

all we could be

came into my life
like falling was easy
and it all subsided
as you sat in your throne
the worship began
and I knew no more

so blindly I followed
trust is a word
that means more than loving
and I gave nothing but it all

the world isn’t ready, nor are we steady, for all we could be
is a city of cherubs
swelling of our ecstasy

as you held out your hand
I took it but lightly
knowing you’re with me
walking just with me
blessed of all strangers
strangers be angels

and the cosmos I knew
listened intently
knew that you’re with me
banishing all envious truth

the world isn’t ready, nor are we steady, for all we could be
is a city of cherubs
swelling of our ecstasy

then the door of doom opened
the dreams of God spoke and
I saw all colours of true
leaving the city of angels
I stand right before you
in this purgatory

I question the dreams of
voices of heaven
where do I set up camp

the world isn’t steady, nor are we ready, for all we could be
in a city of semas
spin for an epiphany

vernal season

tell them all we’re happy
through our clean misfortune
the innocence of brilliance and intentions of youth
we wondered through our forests of treason
finding none but plenty
rejoicing from one cup, stumbling through his gales
the oceans toyed with minds, such humour of dismay
it was a pleasurable road, unknowingly the yokefellow prepared
gratitude I send, for the spine you gave
inconsequential ones, behold your fire, your dreams haven’t spoken to you yet
patrician, valediction it may be, know the heavens are scheming

such branches defunct, procrastinating till spring.

you ask

they ask my words when my face is an open book, should I read the words or paraphrase?
through every state of consciousness, the almighty reassures
through this state of consciousness, I see the trees and the skies
the grounding of our souls and our flight of freedom
a painting can never be replicated in entirety
who are you to defy the painter of the skies?