I was told that love is like holding somebody up on a pedestal.
The problem with love is that it’s being misperceived & used as a poison that is damaging our cerebral.
The path of memories is still unforgettable.
But for some odd reason though,
We still feel the need to convince ourselves that love is still able to be containable.
What’s even worse is that when things become unrealistically unbearable,
We rely on the soul consuming spirit to bring us better relief.
I hope the reader that finds knows that the only one who can truly deceive you is,
The one who you find is the most susceptible to believing your own goals & dreams.
confused confession---
Passion, fashion
Words dressed up a cloth
Toast, gross
Bread of grounded maggots
Trip a friend
Throw a kiss
To the animal
You resist
Clean air that’s containable
Fashion, lasting
Clothes of indictment
Heavens glory silver and gold
Jasmine flowers what’s left
Catch a break
For heaven’s sake
Place your heel/foot on the head of a snake
You’re in charge, living large…
Fear is not sustainable
12/12/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
I was told those who care less suffer less
I believed
I was doing this for you
Pretending not to care
Not when we shot those arty rounds
Not when we threw chemicals at you
Not as I rejoiced at your death
Relieved when the angels of anarchy
Flew to save us from your armor
I pretended not to care
That you had mothers
Brothers, sisters, children
I had that choice watching
Tracers dash across towards you
All this time I pretended
It was ok
No longer containable
within it explodes
It was a lie
Knowing I lament
I am Cain
I’ve laid to rest the search for Knowledge
But words fascinate me
They guide me to power, truth
Words so strong they could not hold me
Others so powerless they became my key
Moments in space meaning all
Encompassing my soul surrounding absolutely
As a breeze from someone passing
Only the feeling of the wind is left
And the memory of the air lingers
It is an evolving creature
Controls us, molds us
We becoming it
The old becomes ancient
The modern becomes old
The new becomes foreign
It’s as pure as snowflakes or misty fog.
Visible but never containable
Judged by them
Justified and condemned
Saved By them
Beautifully complex
Words
The evolving creature of our breath
I’m your life’s embankment; the wrong way street.
You’re the mighty river: the containable rejected.
Edging away my banks, indifferent to the cold or heat;
you’re life is an erosion project left unprotected.
You take a piece of sand here and a dirt clod there;
engulfing and dragging it along to the mouth
of the ocean; mixing me in with the debris where
plastics, paper bags, fishing lures, all float south.
Things once held in people’s very hands, thrown
out in disregard, now unneeded, or just lost
in the current by a false promise; a catch never known.
I look upstream of your soul at your thoughts’ cost.
I see your frustrations in swirling pools, vortex of mind;
hung up on things that I, floating, am forced to leave behind