Pasting the Past Into the Present

a poem is but
a restive cluster
grasping
onto pages
with our frantic
fears conspicuously
calling out
for rescue

meticulously poring through
decrepit thoughts
of hoarded visions
kiss to tryst
to triste
in a blissful
dissolution
before sediment
comes nigh
where sighs undress
our destitute descries

calculated coalescence
pandering our pride’s
priviest imprints
curling chips of paint
exposing throes
of yesterdays

sacred cruxes
born before
our burgeoning bereavement
from whence all
embarking destined
for a distant hearken
poised to be
impartially presented
in pretentiously penned
appropriations
parsed
to pierce our peers
appetition
to sate this
untold inquisition

Beyond the Grave

often
we obscure our words
for fear
of truths
only they hold

unable to bear
the letters
staring back
so stark and cold

still
we must express
our feelings
lest we tend
our spirit’s death

ink
like blood
begins congealing
with every
unspoken breath

none would choose
to bear such burden
from an ivory tower
of pain

shattered tears
shall heed no warden
each and every
one the same

so it is
through words
thus written
pittances
of what pervades

dormant tales
awaiting
to be spoken
from beyond
the grave

Tripping

we experience
our own expression
subjectively

in the form of dreams

our subconscious
is the peripheral landscape

flourishing between
the diametrical opposition
of a contiguous mirror

as we stand
in the midst
of chaotic illusion

alluding to the infinity
persisting in each dimension

and that
of our existence
within every aspect
of eternity
itself

as ourself

as everything
and nothing

in perpetual states
of entropic balancing

behind the masquerade
of conscious awareness

through the cosmic filter
of relevant perception

personified

Freedom of Words

i have never written
anything

these words
are not
mine

these thoughts
i may
possess

to some degree

perhaps
i act
as the filter

through which
the collective
experience
accrued
by this feeble form

speaks

to the world

my expression
does not belong
to me

for i am unable
to behold its presence

our words belong

to one another

just as love
suffers

no dominion

but persists
in the form
of all things

in every temporal instance
as the one
singularity

of our existence

thank you
for sharing
in this experience

In the Key of Beauty

there is beauty in all things
for it exists within our words.

one mustn’t hazard any
further contemplation.

the time to speak is now.

resonate sonorously
with prosody profound.

each soul must
sing its song.

imbue your voice
upon the world
’til your heart
rings the truth of love.

with harmonic resolve.

Elaboration

spoken word is often heard to herd our thoughts en masse
in subdivisions subject to succinctly shorn abash
with tethered tongue endeavor we to eloquently air
ineffable expressions deftly doled out so to spare
gauging our engagements with gratuitous refrain
allowing temporal allotment basis to abstain
from artfully articulating free to affectate
inflection efflorescing to reflect what best relates
when clearly this impairs our proper prepense to impart
by misappropriating that which would impel our heart
predictably afflicting our intended utterance
thus rendering our voice as ineffective abeyance
which leaves us floundering to falter ineffectual
destined to descend depths of diligence misconstrued
should we decree our thoughts conveyed to show evincible
we could forgo distraught dismay deemed reprehensible
for implications minced from assertation’s open end
are subject to inferences of infinite amend
thus, i submit commitment to the full breadth of nuance
in all asseveration of disseminate ensconce
for time must be considered far beyond the imminent
lest we spend all eternity on spurned expedience

Expression*

each thought, a breath
of restless air
daring to breach realms consequent

separating sound
from silence
bound by ego’s blight
and sleights inferred

surrounding every word
that wanders
out of sight
out of mind
and wayward hope
for rote concurrence

Lost Expression

all that i desire to say
can be found lost in my expression
enshrouded by archaic airs
arbitrary to my intentions

are these conscious thoughts of truth
in conflict with my hidden layers
or is it pretense so aloof
driving rifts through solemn lair

this much i may never know
and such it is i must accept
that all i might forever show
should be not what my heart reflects

Every Thought Denied Existence

Every thought denied existence
Lingers long in realms of rue
Just as truths untold persist
Subconsciously in shades imbued

To our known ideal of self
We struggle in estranged subdue
What is shown through what is held
Is often not revealed eschewed

On this fickle precipice
Lie all expressions fraught with fear
Hanging on the impetus
Of what impressions wrest our peers

If our minds are left to excess
Overburdened, undermined
Ever will impending duress
Govern what things we may find

Still, with stubborn heads relentless
Silencing the heart’s desire
Suffer as these false intentions
Surface surfeit of our ire