Saturday, February 28, 2015

(X) Circles

I spend my nights
In circles
Calculating the circumference
Of life

I have fingers as compasses 
And knuckles as fine knobs of adjustment
A metallic point at my pupil;
The circumcenter of any circle

I’ve calculated 
The distance from
The center of a blue whirlpool
To its overly saturated borders
Naming the circumference 

There are bigger circles too
Like those of orbiting planets
Which, according to scientists, 
Revolve around the sun.
But my hands have proven otherwise
Rapidly spinning counter clockwise

my dear friend

did you really think

your calculations

would lead you to

the center of something

as opaque

and undefined

as space?

Friday, February 27, 2015

(IX) Perception

Nothing but
Shadows whom descend 
Before reaching any sort of end
The way the speed of sound 
Melts and bends


Subconscious quest

In  which the color white
Within our sight
Held up to the light
Projects infinite color slides
Fragmented spectrums
Of warped thoughts 
Intertwined in our minds

But these tidal waves I kind of like
Eternally unravelling 
The magic within the speed of light

Thursday, February 26, 2015

(VIII) Shooting St(on)ar(e)s

If every pebble was a planet
And every stone a star

Would you then take these things for granted?
Would you watch them from afar?
Or collect them in a jar?
Would we feel less infinitesimal?
Or like the dark at all?
For now I think
I prefer to wish on
Shooting stones

At least I know
Where they go

So I know where to find them
When I grow old

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

(VII) If I Told You

If I told you
The sky was an ocean 
Would you look up 
At your reflection?

If I told you
The sun has roots
And illuminates from underground
Would you have the courage to look down? 

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

(VI) Mosaics Within

Our mosaics
Fascinate me
Hidden stain glass pieces 
Intrigue me

Like our bones
When we’re afraid
The ways in which they shake.

Hands, for instance.
A mild turbulence.
Every knuckle 
A mountain
Overlapping plateaus 
Severe earthquakes
In an overly populated space.
Evacuation is
No such thing

Where blood is unable to flow, 
Cuticles will never grow.

Why don’t knuckles let go?

Shaking accumulates
Knuckles unable
To join rattling bones
Listen to their sounds
Of fusion

One day these bones will 
From being so 

Of our own mosaics.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Sunday, February 22, 2015

(IV) Connect Us Through the Light

Our thoughts
A wall
Of fragmented bricks
Cohesive and crisp
Like stiff matches

Distinctly divised
By a grid of grays
A sediment time abides
Made of sand once crucified

Connect us through the light

Before attrition
Within such weathered friction
Blends the bricks
And cohesive tips
Into such a timely grid

Sediment is not to blame
For a story within she doth attain

A story as deep
The sand beneath
The roaring, crashing tide

For years alone
Never exposed
To such abundant light

For she is not
And never was despised

Only time
Do I abide

Connect us through the light.

Friday, February 20, 2015

(II) The Power of a Fiery Fire

A strand of thread
I found amiss
One lonely missing stitch

Your cordial visage
I caught a glimpse
I promise you I did

To which I placed such tender tin
Near by the fiery fire

A crimson plaid it did sustain
The silver of the tin

Thursday, February 19, 2015

(I) Tell Me

I'm not interested in what you do for a living
I want to know what makes you strive
What is it that motivates you to be alive
And do more than just merely survive
What is it that makes you thrive

So first 
Tell Me what makes you human
Tell Me about the ways in which you breathe
And what goes on in your mind in-between each beat
Tell Me what goes on in your veins and pulmonary arteries
Tell Me about the times your heart has stopped and trembled and rushed

Tell Me about love

I’m not interested in the number of breakups 
Don’t tell me the number of dates you’ve been on
Who you’d hit up with or “tap dat ass with”
Don’t list subsequent future ideologies 
Instead tell Me about the times you’ve knelt down to lend a human hand 
To an infant, to the poor, to an elderly, 
I want to know about the ordinary
Not some sort of Disney love story

I do, however, want to know about your dreams and fantasies
Don’t tell me about adversity’s holding you back
Instead I want to know how you keep yourself on track
The ways in which you perceive reality
How willing are you to achieve?

I want to know what makes your heart ache
But don't tell me about how it was all the other persons mistake
And certainly don’t tell me the number of times you’ve dwelled in this kind of pain
Or the number of burns you’ve tried to degrade
Instead I want to know about your faith
How you’ve stood in front of a burning fire
Unsure if you were going to survive 
Don’t tell me about the blinding brightness
Instead I want you to tell me about the reticent feeling of forgiveness
Even if it's the other persons burning mistake
Tell Me about this humble, content feeling within

Tell Me about your own company
How it feels just to be—

Tell Me about all the times you've been brave enough to be alone 
But not lonely
Tell Me about how you love yourself so much
That you enjoy your own company
Tell Me about the last time you’ve made yourself laugh
The last time you've made yourself cry
The last time you've made yourself happy
Tell Me about the first time you’ve stood naked infront of your mirror
And said “i love you”

Tell Me about peace
Don’t tell me about how you wish war didn’t exist
Don’t tell me you hope the world will one day be at peace
I want to know about your inner peace
I want you to tell me about your insecurities
Those demons inside you that act as misanthropies 

I want you to tell me how hard you've fought

I want you to believe

In ordinary love 
That should not feel less than

I want you to believe

In people

In less human, more being

I want you to trust that the only reason we're surviving

Is because the spark of fire within us
is burning brighter than the fire around us