pain has kept me alive when I can. I surrender and let go a life of pain. You do not cry. The hurt feels like another day accustomed to sorrow disappointment letdowns no protection from the cruel world left alone forgotten Num to the daily interactions, annoyed by your negative presence the size the fake reactions always got complaint isolation death miss opportunities to make things right I close my eyes waiting to be free.
Insects roam, crawl , fly:
in most tropical countries
Small, tiny, mini, macro -
bite, prick me on skin,
causing itching, irritate
random through out the year.
It's a tropical problem
Habitats are accustomed
1
"River is just ready to flow,
may be fast or may be slow :
Normal water flow to carry
aims to reach an estuary.
"Natural to meet the sea
We are accustomed to see.
Non -stop runs ! Then and then ?
Otherwise, what to happen ?"
"River runs, rushes at ease
not forever as it seems.
"Okay ! That's right, whatever !
Then, what's it's behaviour? "
‘" It mixes with the ocean.
after unique unison."
" May I ask , then and then ?"
"You are asking just in vain . "
" There's no end in endeavour !
It tries to run forever."
Non-stop ceaseless river goes
Continuous as it flows."
" So ! River is too clever.
Great wonder for a river ."
" River may flow in bluster
or dry up on disaster."
" Yet, Question : Forevermore ?"
" River has got highest score.
Forever none can exist.
Always fair chance to extinct. "
the siren’s song was a serenade nod to a piano bar
fabulously original, enticing porpoise and dolphin to play
terrifying great whites who are not accustomed to jazz
the mermaid’s laugh carried listening sailor down ten fathoms of the sea
It’s where I live, breathe and walk,
I cant just outright cry and scream,
Because of how I was born I suppose,
Or better yet,
How I came back to be,
If the scripts were just flipped,
If the scripts were how they used to be,
Maybe…it would be less weird for me to,
I’ve grown so accustomed to today’s script,
It feels so common yet still so weird,
Keeping my long hair,
Expressing my well of emotions,
Wearing the cute things I love deeply,
Are the Varry few things I can fit into today’s role,
Today’s script taking away everything I once held dear,
My dresses,
My pretty crowns,
My dazzling heels,
My vast jewelry collection,
All gone like a distant memory,
Turning into nothing but shredded paper,
Like all my old scripts I planned to keep.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
I felt a Stranger in my Mind—
A Tenant—uninvited—
He rearranged the modest Rooms
My Quiet had delighted—
He spoke in tones I could not claim—
Yet wore my Voice’s Thread—
And every Thought I tried to own
Turned backward—when he led—
I reasoned with his phantom Will—
He answered—not as Me—
But as a fractured Looking-glass
Reflects—uncertainly—
The Soul—accustomed to its Shape—
Now falters—at the Sight—
Of Motions—foreign to its Core—
Performed—in borrowed Light—
Is this the Self—or some Eclipse
That dims what once was Whole?—
A Doubt—persistent as a Pulse—
Unsettling the Soul—
Yet somewhere—past the noisy Rift—
A Stillness—true—abides—
No Stranger may inherit That—
Though all the Mind divides—
Please have a seat
It’s time to learn a commodity
Typing like a PRO
We will go through the method nice and slow
Let your fingers feel the flow
Keyboard leverage
Alpha, symbols and numbers one by one
You will hear the instruction, “UP THE LADDER”
From A up and across
The idea is to have your fingers positioned and accustomed to the keyboard
No rush for speed as the key is accuracy
Hit one letter at a time
Forming lines sentences after another
The more you practice is when perfection becomes esteem
As time accelerates, you will be typing like a moving flowing stream
May the typing input and output be with you.
(An old friend, married 44 years, passed - and I could only think of her and her husband.)
We knew one day this would happen
that one of us would decease.
As I am forever selfish,
I hoped it would be me.
When the end was very near,
I whispered in her ear,
“Stay close by the river Styx my dear,
for I’ll be following on very soon,
our souls may not look like our bodies
but I’m certain I’ll know you,
I cherished every breath you took
even as older we both grew,
sharing every mortal struggle,
and every lover’s sigh,
I always wanted to look my very best
when I looked into your eyes.
So, stay close by the river Styx my dear,
I’ll be following very soon
I could endure bitter hell itself
as long as I’m with you.”
.
.
A song for this:
I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face by James Taylor
Four senior guys above seventy
were accustomed to morning walk
in the close by park, forming a group.
They gossiped daily sitting on a bench.
One day, the number became three.
Next year another was absent : Then third one.
The lone one survived for few months.
Now the bench is vacant to mourn.
Autumn Petite, a small elf from the dell
was announced by a messenger holding a shell
he gave her such an intro, we were all amazed
She was not like other elves, not one tiny bit crazed
She had some firm ideas, but we were used to that
Being gnomes and trolls, we were accustomed to chewing the fat
She had a good brain, and some of her logic was sound.
In fact, we did not mind one bit having this pretty elf around.
Urge for Loyalty in service
The fealty Of taking badge pride
Vest no cunning brigade aegis
Fits in thE atmosphere of a better slide
Length of great passion
The wOrth of hampered green
Host the Voyagers wit caution
Gist thE sail save wave's careen
The center Lead of vaults
The crease mime lOgo of chime
Standing still against inactiVity waltz's blame
To aiding thE earth's issuing assaults
The pace of Lasting bond
The fear Of children's want
Stage aboVe the stake of tricky end
To wEigh the comely oath savant
There is no curse for the Least
There is nO cuss in adultery
Self loss accustomed drunk's saVory
But a no go loosE for liars amidst
Thou hath boLdness emit on earth
Averse nOthing opaque bearing the cross
To peace seeking doVe's directories' worth
Boosting Eon's hope crosswise
Whichever is it
Nothing worth more
Only love and love hit
Situating outward cares cum bore
When on mother earth you fall
Pass off no hatred
Cry all you can but stand tall
Above darkness influences that can be afforded
Heartbeat blossoms
Inside my chest accustomed
Abbreviated breast breath
(Dedication to Starry Night by Van Gogh, 1889)
Sometimes I find it difficult
to express myself to others.
I've grown accustomed to silence,
with my thoughts racing
lying down at night,
I look at myself and say,
"Who am I to this world?"
Turbulent skies and clouds
with no destination spends
hours awake through the nights
waiting for the dawn as the stars
hide behind its shapeless
soul, then I say,
"Who are you to this world?"
The stars tremble as they hear
the winds in motion, its voice
culminates them causing its simple
nature to shine past the dark void,
as the night draws a path straight
to my empty room,
strong is the light but delicate
are the shoulders that bear
the ungrateful for their daily indifference.
I sail between them to receive
and to endure their hardships,
I ask, "Where are you going?”
I drop an anchor in the center
where the voices of many reach
that don't go beyond a sigh
and I wait, clinging to their hopes.
Perhaps you will see me
the closer I climb to you,
and at last be able to sleep
alongside the forever
hope filled bones and stones.
Do people lie to each other — because —
Truth — is too bright — a Star —
That dazzles — eyes accustomed —
To softer — Shadows — are —
Do people lie — because — they fear —
That naked — Words — might bleed —
Or — Hope — like fragile Porcelain —
Might crack — beneath the need —
Do people lie — to keep — the Peace —
Where Tempests — long — have stirred —
To smooth — the rough — Humanity —
With one — unfaithful Word —
Do people lie — for Love — perhaps —
To guard — another’s Pain —
And — in the tender Falsehood — find —
A mercy — dressed — in Shame —
Yet — Truth — like Morning — patient stands —
Behind — the curtained Sky —
And — one by one — we lift — the Veils —
To see — what cannot — Lie —
As I see the mirror in front of me…there appears a flame
I have come accustomed to this feeling when I see her face
But wait…she is not materializing in from of me for she has not me to blame
This form has quaked my heart in that I feel as if it has been giving me a chase
I do not see the face of who I believed to be my mate
It is a face of someone new…THAT I HAVE SEEN BEFORE
Is my heart feeling the warmth of the flame or a mere fish looking at the bait?
Has the flame in the mirror given my life a new detour?
I know of the eyes that are looking at me…but from a close distance with calm.
She has seen the truth and sees herself as my rib.
Here eyes I have seen without the mask and are now to my lips a sweet balm!
The angels are speaking to our hearts and are saying that the one flesh will create ones with a bib.
The thread in the tapestry is coming to the pattern of the grand design of their lives
The flame in the mirror is on both sides of the view, they see each other in each others’ lives
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