Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth,
something struggles silently to become light again, to be born anew from shadow.
And we remain, with our thoughts hanging like a rope torn from the sky,
wondering whether to overlook its gentleness, sweet and annihilating.
A tumbling of black waters follows, over the forehead of my memory,
a shaken clarity, like a lightning bolt that lies, falsifies, and forgets.
Then I barely recognize the electric grace of the men from long ago,
whom I had seen carrying their rusted shirts through the swamp that scorched them,
planting themselves in the ground with arms outstretched like a cross, a condor on each shoulder,
men who wanted to die beautifully, shattering their bones like ancient bells,
their eyes extinguished like burnt amber, silent as icons forgotten by prayer —
and I feel them smoldering within me, like a root that refuses to sleep.
And I walk out into this magical, phosphorescent rain, mystical and cold,
to untie the rope that binds me across centuries and dreams,
to roll myself back into the root from which all that I am has struggled to become again.
Seems like a decade
When it has only been
three years.
The old me fades
and falsifies
The toddler me cries
still learning to accept
words I trip over.
Everyday I'm amazed
how small things
become large
Did space expand from
a single pinpointed origin?
Was there light
then came night?
Miss the days I could
articulate my speculations,
recite elation and didn't
stumble from jubilation
What if God's pen was just
the introduction of one black dot
on white space
and He's still in hesitation
envisioning
a word He is thinking
And that spot
became space
and the sporadic stars
trap inside that expanding black ink
are trace elements revealing
how long God has been
thinking before speaking?
And the contact of ink
on paper became
the existence of living.
Tomorrow I turn three
Veterans day has become
the perfect opportunity
to reflect
knowing
free stuff doesn't mean much
if you cannot speak
the morning after.
Much of my life has been
focused on tomorrow's affairs
so I had to
capitalized on today
Show you
the tip of my thinking
because my tongue
be tripping
But still able to birth
a word or two
It is like an imagination
When eyes open in original nation
Close in this word but phantom
Close in this cruel and crook home
Whose false falsifies brothers and sisters
Into pirating neighbours’ labours
Into dancing to drum of hatred
Into dipping hands in blood
Blood topples like control-less plane
Blood streams like oil that emancipates from can
Tighten the tether of sin
And close the gate of the zion
Religion preaches to the heart –
Heart of lost soul and straighten the route
Says prostrate your mind – prostrate your mind
Prostrate your mind before your lord
And hope is birthed
Hope is birthed like a baby
Depth down the heart
Grows as the day goes by
Gives sense of patient
And longing for the real word
And good deed is birthed
Good deed is birthed like a rising in sun
Sharpen as the day moves on
Wash off the sin and you are an infant
Who is not sinned before and present
Rebuke evil ought to befall you
Stimulate and hasten progress on your way
Spiritual and natural you grow
Religion, Patient, and Good deeds are lights, heaven’s key
Not for contest.
Now and then they grow from dark and deep.
Intellect falsifies the existence after sleep.
Growing from the darkness of the mind.
Hearing sounds transcending, one unbind.
Tracing the barren light, will make you weep.
Sending UN-wayward visions upon a peep.
Heart now pacing to rhythm of this plight.
Avoiding darker venues with powerful might.
Darkness surrounds your entity, in fright.
Only dawn may defend your solemn right.
With one deep breath inward, you take flight.
Swiftly chased by the shadows of the night.
written on 11-07-2015
Dreamers Dilemma
A dream can heal a broken heart
A dream can scar a soul
A dream can break a man in half
A dream can make him whole
Dreams are visions of the things
That help us understand
Dreams are visions of the things
That we once found so grand
So if you wake up from a dream
And no one hears the cries
That fade and leave a silent truth
Which somehow falsifies
All the reasons you believed
Your friends would somehow try
To save your life at any cost
Not laugh that you might die
So if you take the wisdom found
Back when you faced the end
You know if someone really cares
Enough to be your friend
So if you end up all alone
And dread your waking screams
Remember all the scars you bear
Have come from broken dreams
By: Jeremy Siedlecki
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