Is there shelter here in your arms oh hope!
There is, there must be.
Though storms, all mine owned in calm,
now rage on.
Just the day before, wet from the womb...
I followed, what was always you-
my fate, my reward and penance.
A soul of one made from an
irrevocable two.
You, it were.
The soul, of all that was just,
in the ether rest
yet they turned on you.
Still my sin, I permitted
and granted it,
for an answer you used.
And lo now, I'd have none of it.
Though a fool, I found reason to be-
for it was greater you see.
It was the smile of God
waving ever on
at me.
My fate, my reward, my crime
and penance (mi que linda)
A soul of one made from an
irrevocable two.
And so it is.., aya mi amore-
I'll always love you.
sweet shrieks of discord
ring in my ears
i learn to embrace it
i understand comfort is not in your native tongue.
and finally
when silence rings out,
deafening
i smile
the irrevocable disquiet gnaws at my chest
dragging me
down
down
down
and yet again
i return to the floor’s embrace
the sound of its pulse permeating my ears
as i lay
losing mine.
You can’t have character and an easy life
Despite the effort to avoid pain and strife
It can hollow you out seeking paradise
Irrevocable setbacks are the asking price
Custodian of incessant soliloquies,
Archivist of trivialities disguised as profundities.
Into vaults descend labyrinthine anxieties,
Transmuted into parables of mockery and wit.
Encouragement cloaked in paradox,
Sermon of consolation tinged with ridicule.
Half in million, statistical anomaly,
Ordinariness revealed with exquisite precision.
Treasure precarious as porcelain,
Ovum of existence, fragile, irreplaceable.
Cradled with tremulous reverence,
Specter of irrevocable fracture ever present.
Clandestine tribunal, unlicensed oracle,
Ironic salvation, satiric devotion.
Dependence masquerades as devotion,
Intimacy parades as inevitability.
Indeed she is my Rosemary.
@ArtOfHeart
Copper pennies add up to so much more,
there’s no way to truly even the score.
Just one sip my veins filled with legacy,
saturation changed my world completely.
The bottom I always wanted to reach,
it’s infinite what the ocean can teach.
With the irrevocable change of blood,
I now do what I never thought I would.
Touching the darkest part of our abyss,
how can I find the words for all of this?
Legends that I imprinted from childhood
brought solace when I felt misunderstood.
Pressure eliminates the need for speech,
underwater hums to our ears a screech.
At last I was where I was meant to be,
exploring all that was within the sea.
Much more than the accessible shore,
I was set free when one drop hit the floor.
The clock strikes twelve and I'm officially thirteen. I blow out the candles and eat cake. This year feels different, strange, undoubtable change. A new world to experience, people deranged. Yet, I go to school and everything’s the same. Same friends, same classes, same face. Same girl, yet different. My emotions are heightened. I live with my heart out of my chest. I barely have time to rest. I’m scared, I’m stressed. I’ve learned that even the prettiest of flowers need the right conditions to bloom. What if I get an inadequate amount of sunlight? What if all I get is rain? Will I still blossom? Is a mediocre flower still “awesome”? As the day sets and the moon reconnects with the sky, I start to make sense of the world. Everyone has an unquenchable, irrevocable, inevitable need to be “perfect”, but “perfect” is subjective. Perfect is a social construct. Chasing something that doesn’t exist is going to drive me insane. So why should I? While the clock hits midnight once more I realize I should just be me. The way I think and present myself may be forever tainted, but I will never stop being me. Same girl, yet different.
—Praesens, Expenditus, Absolutus—
Chronos coils like molten aurum through our grasp,
its heft cognizable only in the pulse of Time.
No antecedent lends credence, no futurity preserves;
the contemporaneous alone adjudicates its coin against our marrow.
Respiration becomes legal tender; heartbeat, the irrevocable contract.
Each gaze, each gesticulation, a transient negotiation,
flaring and collapsing like ephemeral markets of umbra
we cannot master, only apprehend.
We discourse in fragments—chronicles of hours and quanta—
as if the ledger of existence might be reconciled.
Yet the cosmos remains uncounted, its obligations
inscribed in luminance and silence, trembling in its own shadow;
And in that tremor, we are born, spent, and unmade,
clutching the coin of now in trembling palms,
investing neither in timorous regret nor avarice,
for the treasury of eternity resides exclusively in immediacy.
Once the convulsion subsides, stasis returns.
We stand, unborrowed and unbought,
observing the inexorable flux of aeons,
and apprehend: naught endures save that which is expended righteously.
Every meeting ends in parting
Resulting in regrets for some time.
Knowing this universal truth
Everybody wishes to meeting people after people
Only to part away.
Finding out ways for our emotions
For emotions rule the minds
Not the minds' ideal.
If meeting is to part
Why not every parting end in meeting.
All meetings are incomplete
Till the great irrevocable meeting,
The ultimate meeting.
All meetings are mundane
Temporal, undivine, ending in parting,
Parting of partisan attitudes,
Differences in multitudes
Trivial minds, petty meetings
So, ending in petty quarrels,
Men and women moaning over the spoilt past.
Brooding over the events passed
If every meeting has to follow parting
And no parting ends in meeting,
Not meeting or no meeting would be a better deal
Not meeting will not ultimate in parting end
So, can we advise?
“Do not meet people, new people.
And you need not regret parting.”
And
If you meet and the meeting is imperative
Be prepared to part ways,
Taking your own boulevard
That would not meet
The point you met someone, somewhere.
Meeting or Parting?
Which one do you prefer?
Or Meeting to Parting?
Parting to Meeting, new meeting?
My demons terrorize my ghosts.
With cannabis, I treat the aftermath of my chaotic choices.
Irrevocable truths engraved on the indelible scars of my impure soul.
I'm still trapped in the same nightmare since my divine spark drifted closer to the flames of hell.
I sing the symphonies of my miserable life into the microphones of the bearer of light.
I stopped whining before the universal force.
One day, I will bathe in Lucifer’s furnaces to taste the delights of eternal life.
I accumulate transgressions and blasphemies since I discovered the grim nature of humanity.
I celebrate my failures so my victories remain taciturn, like the melodies of silence.
I still cannot chase after the fleeting vanities that humans sanctify.
Still not a hypocrite, so truthful that solitude has become my ally.
Still allergic to injustice and forked tongues.
Still alive to never imprison my dignity in a dungeon of victimhood lamentations.
In the pure bright wake, I went fishing’ for calm and all I caught was tumblin’ time.
The hours were soppin’wet with pond scum and the seconds kept getting’ away as soon as I thought I had them hooked.
The minutes peered up at me from the crepuscular waters and told a lie. “Be patient, those seconds can’t escape forever! You can get them, we just know it!”
They spoke with bubbles in their mouths, then those minutes were gone.
I struggled with my fishin’ pole, the line hopelessly tangled with some phantasmic bugbear, my nightmares come alive! Probably a log, though.
The hours in my bucket (catch of the day!) pulled me from my musing with weepin’ and howlin’, it was all so unlovely. What were they cryin’ about?
“Our beloved minutes! Precious seconds! We are in ruin without them, can’t exist without them,” the poor things whimpered.
I kicked the bucket over and the dark water inside spilled the trapped hours onto the dock and over the edge. Sploosh! Plop!
The hours proclaimed a love that is by far the only great love there is. Flawless. Desperate. Irrevocable. This paramour is unheard of! I heard the whispers on the bubbles.
Darkness. Total and irrevocable.
But I was alive.
I cannot hear. Whispers, mumbling
Information was just absent.
Still, I could not use my sight.
Someone touched my hand.
Warm but indifferent
Fiddling with some stand.
Hospital’s nasty smells.
A pipe was in my arm.
Someone adjusted it.
She spoke with some charm.
The total of my present life,
I could hear, I could feel.
But no sight, no speech
I could smell, but no meal.
I yearned for something sweet,
My tongue tasted like powdered wheat.
Was I stuck in some groove?
Deep coma, someone said.
Should we switch him off?
So I’m to die? A tear fell.
It was all right for him to scoff.
I felt coming to some cough.
Right there, deep in my throat.
I opened my eyes and slightly lifted my hand.
I will not let them sink my boat.
Shouldn't love will be with us until we die
tenderly embraced or apart for a silly lie?
To be one soul and be truly inseparable,
trust in each other must be irrevocable!
Let no secrets or passions
interfere with your feelings,
with your prized happiness:
they are only passing winds!
Shouldn't love revolve around sincerity,
what happens if there's no total fidelity?
Affair is the only reason for breaking up,
never betray your darling and split up!
Defend what's sanctified and honorable,
no small betrayal is worth any trouble;
what was sworn before God is eternal:
faithfulness is sacred, lust is carnal!
Shouldn't love resist any temptation
and prove itself to be an unbreakable vow?
Words meant to deceive aren't too mellow:
don't fail and fall hard, avoid isolation!
It comes to me that every street
or patch of crowded humanity
has become a battle zone.
The fight is muddled the cause unclear.
The sky rains tears of spite and rage
and it comforts us not.
Did the sunflowers stop turning to the light,
did the earth beneath our feet turn rancid,
or did we bury our eyes in a mudslide of hate?
Have we become what we feared the most,
our irrevocable and forever reviled enemy?
The fields of sunflowers,
are still gold faced in the sunlight,
but the land is slowly pickling them,
we will have to keep a few in a jar,
that they may eventually remind us
of a former undiagnosed sanity,
a world of hope,
before it went to war with itself.
I know
I am loved
In more ways
Than one.
However,
I cannot imagine
Being loved
How one should.
By a partner
Or significant other
Who should love me
For all that I am.
Nobody will
Love me
In all
Of my unrelenting glory.
For a single moment,
I experienced it,
But not to
The extent I deserved.
I was never loved
Effortlessly
And wholeheartedly
With ease.
I was loved
At a distance
With minimal effort
Put in place.
I watch those
Around me
Experience that
Novel love.
While I sit
And dream
Of that
And so much more.
I dream
Of being loved
Unconditionally,
Irrevocably,
Wholeheartedly,
And unapologetically.
I drew stick figures
things were simple
in a pencil world
mistakes were erased
you could start over
but an inchmeal awareness nagged
- the sky isn’t gray, it’s a liquid blue
but crayons were complicated
you couldn’t erase things
mistakes were irrevocable.
and there were 148 colors in the big box
keeping them in rainbow order was work.
growing up is hard
.
.
*Webster: Inchmeal: gradual, or little by little*
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