Who are the tyrants within?
The ones from past experiences, yelling opinionated.
Younger Self.
Sitting at a bar,
Yelling jokes and sitting stagnant.
More naive Self.
Stuck in violence,
Accepting anything as love.
Childless Self.
Hopeful but uneducated,
Incapable of understanding eternal love.
Sabotaging Self.
Feeling like the good is closing,
Grasping onto each joyful moment in fear.
Conditional Self.
Requirements to embrace again,
Forgetting how far they've come.
I've met these TYRANTS...
I've sat along side them in empathy,
Who am I, accepting them again?
chakras hitherto ignored now pulsate
all polarised nodes wish to merge with source
manner of change varies as does blink rate
all accomplished without the use of force
kundalini being our sole resource
that as subject and object become one
all we are aware of is bliss beat’s hum
Your wild inner child is obviously broken
Despite big smile your words when spoken
Seem to bleed from lack of something
Could it be a dream or just a need to scream
You tell stories of never being allowed
The little things of past precious child
You feel you raised siblings at home
While still a child when days were long
Your body grew into womanhood
But it’s true your inner child stood
Stuck in time in limbo as little kid
Life wasn’t simple and you did
Eventually fall in love with a teen
Who for you bore kids despite dream
To be an artist and be so esteemed
You’re trapped by life you want things
The little kid inside wasn’t ready to be
A mother a wife as destiny winds sing
Perhaps next lifetime you will find
All your hopes and dreams in time
There is a heartbeat under my heartbeat,
the one that was already going
before I had a body to carry it in.
I have called it wrong names.
Anxiety, when it was only aliveness.
Loneliness, when it was only spaciousness
with no one to explain itself to.
It never needed permission.
It didn't wait for me to become someone
before it started shining,
the way a window doesn't wait
for the house to be finished
to let in light.
I have spent so long trying to be smaller,
easier to hold,
and this whole time
there was something in me
that was already free
of every wall I built to contain it.
If I am honest, on my most tired night,
what I want isn't answers.
It's this, to feel that I am not separate
from the thing that made the stars
and also made the way light
moves through a glass of water at 2 a.m.
I don't think delight has to be earned.
I think it's underneath me
the way the ground is underneath me,
holding me up whether I notice it or not.
I did not arrive from nowhere.
Something is still arriving through me,
right now, as this breath, this pulse,
this quiet, stubborn light
that was never asking my permission to exist.
Kingdom Come
East, South, North and West
Rhythm of the shores to the oceans
Tomorrow unseen
Today the preparation
Biblical pages into scriptures turning and turning
Thirst in the lesson
Hungry in thought
Wonder and mysterious
Soulful promise
Blessings that surround
Masterpiece into excellence
Ultimate Rise
Willing and fulfilling
Establishment of Faith
Dancing to the skies of Miracles
Heaven’s watch and Soul’s renewed
A Cross that started all
Redemption granted
Deliverance step by step
Dancing beyond measure
Spiritual bound
Thy Kingdom Come.
I catch my own eyes in the bathroom mirror
before I even turn the cold water on.
I watch every quiet, hopeful plan I made
get quietly picked apart and gone.
I wear this skin, I answer to my name,
I’m the author of every doubt I hide.
I pull down my own small victories
and stand my own worst foe, inside.
When 5 a.m. hits with its pale blue light
and promises a second chance to try,
I drag out old mistakes from years ago
just to give myself a reason why.
I tell myself I am not man enough,
that every step forward is a fake,
that the moment things get steep or real
I’ll bend beneath the weight and break.
I sit at my desk in the afternoon slump,
building a maze out of unread mail.
I lock the doors, throw away the keys,
and then wonder why I’m set to fail.
I dissect every single word I said,
turning harmless moments into debt.
I don't need anyone to tear me down,
I haven't even given myself a chance yet.
And yet I'm the one who holds the pen,
the one who keeps writing out the fear.
If I'm the architect of all this noise,
I'm the only one who can clear it from here.
Sometimes it’s better
to stay in the dark
and let no light in.
Because light sees everything—
the cracks I try to hide,
the wounds beneath my skin,
the pieces of me
I keep buried deep.
In the darkness,
I don’t have to pretend
that I’m okay.
I can disappear
between the shadows
and breathe
without anyone asking why.
Maybe darkness isn’t always the enemy.
Maybe sometimes
it is the only place
where pain
doesn’t have to explain itself.
But somewhere beyond the black,
there is still a light waiting.
And I’m not sure
if I’m ready to face it.
Not yet.
For now,
let me sit here
where the darkness knows my name.
Candlelight leans against ancient stones, a single flame steadying the dim.
My breath circles the quiet room—slow orbit returning to its center.
In that small, unwavering glow, I learn how emptiness becomes peace.
The voice in my head, wants me to sink.
Splash water on my face, now able to think.
Holding my breath in the silence, truth speaks.
I fear the unknown, behind all the masks.
imagining a doll with hairline fractures throughout the glass.
Picturing myself, now healing from the past.
Recalling moments where shame had consumed me.
Remembering the emptiness that at one point ruled me.
I cried out to the Lord, when the mind I knew I'd lost.
Rescued from insanity.
by the Son of Man
Jesus Christ, who bore the cross.
Praise God Amen
The mind borders on the sublime,
related to the divine source,
a powerful force pervading the universe.
I can write verse after verse,
but there is nothing worse
than reading someone's thoughts,
sounding like reports,
going on and on.
Know the difference between right and wrong,
where did you get your information from?
Pause before you speak,
your premise may sound weak.
What is it that you seek?
Curiosity leads to learning,
the lack of insight is concerning.
One must not digress, I just wanted to address
the current situation,
let's get back to the topic of creation.
It has come to my attention
that if you lack intention,
fall short of enough motivation,
you will be in suspended animation.
Stay with me as I continue this story,
take you on a journey inside my consciousness,
hold on while I clear up the mess,
I must confess I do assess
each moment, absorbed in the present.
This Moment
Silence echoes a hum: listening for a whisper in static.
That rests away beyond the mountain path, at waterfalls,
Edge. While moving back and forth, in a loss for a listener.
Muteness then becomes obscure.
On the shore that was silent;
As silence in sounds now echoed, but only felt.
Softly in the atmosphere.
Became more curious while anticipating even the faintest
White noise. In search of a hidden cove.
Dotting between places unusually.
In that moment, imagine, imagine!
If you could?
Simulated realms appear between sounds and air.
Inner motion, it's like kissing someone else, or what remains.
Memories of those soundscapes while embracing a new soundscape.
To this moment, it's quiet.
Have you ever heard my voice?
It's not mine, but of my soul,
Calling you, my solstice-
Come silently and console.
The day forever remains incomplete
Unless the light of sun illuminates it;
So too my soul is adrift,
Until the radiance of yours embraces it.
Sitting quietly by my window,
With tousled hair brushing against my face,
An elusive thought drifted across my mind:
Where has my Happiness gone?
Did it go deep into ocean,
Or lost in darkness of cloud?
Was it blown by scorching wind,
Or flown in searing flood?
Was it lost to a thief's silent touch,
Or crushed beneath a violent rush?
Was it claimed by jaws of a beast,
Or fell pray to bandit's greed?
Did it depart with a soul once held dear,
Or wither in wake of endless tears?
Did the pursuit of a dream steal it away,
Or ache of never arriving shattered it that way?
A lonely, thick stream of rain, as if carrying all the pain of the world,
Wakens the dark morning sleep hidden within those softly spread clouds.
An autumn-dark rainfall rushes down, as though to comfort our grief.
Even that single bird cannot defy the power of nature, they say—
A force that still slips past our reaching hands.
Wrapping around this darkness once more, that pitiful stream of rain—
Whose sorrow is it carrying, that it wishes to dance so wildly before the poor?
Is it trying to hear the silent, twisted outcry of the voiceless?
What kind of tears are gathered inside this rainfall,
That it tries to hand down its tear of sorrow to a new life striving to live?
Embracing the pain yet again,
Where is this foolish touch of the rain heading now,
Carrying these vast, wide tears as if to soothe those who mourn?
A trembling bird, having surrendered to sorrow,
Drifts away silently down the river.
The reason the unstoppable rain rushes toward us—
Could it be that, within the silent outcry left behind by the waves,
It wishes to wash away, to take away, the other "You" weeping inside of me?
To the nameless you inside me,
Are you doing well?
My cells spoke to me:
“For fifty years, I have protected you
And cared for you, so why—”
Why do you only now send your greetings to me?
“Do you want to die?”
“Yes.”
My cells spoke to me:
Your expression is far too violent.
If you die,
Are you telling me to die too?
Huh? You wicked man!
Do you have any idea
How I raised you?
“I’m sorry.”
Right, but there is one thing
I want to ask of you.
Please, even if it’s just one meal a day,
Eat something with some nutrition.
It is so hard for me.
Please, stop being full only in your dreams,
And take care of the other you
In reality.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can keep that promise.”
“It’s okay, because at least you’ve awakened a little,
My heart feels a bit lighter now.
Good night! O, the other me of mine!”
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