I have never seen a star cry
Such weakness does not befit the sky
Inside my tears I search for why
The Heavens above have cursed thy
A solemn light prick from the black
Magnifying all of the virtues I lack
The Darkness which fills the crack
Beckons me to leave and never look back
Shall I forever drown inside the swallow
Never to face my fears tomorrow
Pulled to and from my dreaded sorrow
Into an abyss where no one follows
There is a reason Stars don’t cry
They are shielded from thine naked eye
Having no reason to be prodded or pried
My friend or foe I can’t decide.
Reports they redact and hide
Experts who tried can’t chide
Appliance of science denied
Us all being taken for a ride
On some helter skelter slide
With no shelter in or outside
Swelter in this delta of snide
Fried by fake national pride
As the past & future collide
Know on us all have spied
Our secrets they have pried
Data for advertisers supplied
Time to choose your side
Surmise AI guys pie eyed
In Geneva should be tried
For war crimes can’t abide
Yes it is up to us to decide
To stop the slop of the tide
What term history’s applied
Call it genocide or ecocide?
Either way everything died !
Light filters through my mind,
Finding my belief on the other side,
My eyes pried open wide,
Projecting a reflection of inside,
Like the changing of the tides,
We ride the Ebb & flow,
Knowing where we want to go,
Growing our own field of awareness,
Bear witness to what's before you,
Explore every avenue,
Travel to your inner core,
Theres's way more,
Then what you came for,
A portal to past information,
Is stationed within your cells,
Swelling with excitement to tell,
You never fell from grace,
They displaced your allegiance,
Implanted a grievance,
Committing treason to the soul,
As they gain control of the flow,
Knowing you'll watch their show,
Slowly starting to let go,
Letting others tell you what to know,
Growing afraid of your own shadow,
Tomorrow a scary place to go,
Blow off the dust,
Clean up the rust,
Trust in your unique design,
It was a gift from the Divine.
Trying to hold a better view,
Of how life is coming through,
Grasping for something true,
New ways to see my prize.
Tired eyes are pried open,
A wide array of emotions,
Invoke a commotion,
I'm crashing into an ocean.
Energy splashing all around,
All I see as I drown,
Scattered pieces falling,
I'm calling for my Crown.
Sound bounces off deaf ears,
No one hears the call,
I feel so damn small,
A wall so tall I fall to my feet.
Is retreating defeat,
If I don't admit I was beat,
Save me a seat at your table,
I'm coming back when able.
Capable of holding the Throne,
Alone most of my life,
Laying low living a High-life,
Strife my wife and friend.
I'm just waiting for the end,
So I can mend my heart,
Get a brand new start,
Charting a different course,
Straight from the source.
Entering homes through a TV,
You only see what they want to be,
Creating a rift within society,
Dividing you from what you see,
Implanting programs Deceitfully,
Fully aware of how we are designed,
They fill your mind with lies,
Disguised as pleasure,
Their treasure is Toxic,
And you wonder why your sick,
Click through the channels,
There are panels discussing it,
Feeding you their bull while you sit,
So you will quit asking why,
Hoping soon you'll die,
Cycling back for another try,
Pried away from the others,
You're smothered in guilt,
From a problem they built,
Tilted and twisted,
You've always existed,
Resisting the urge to stand,
Under the command of technology,
Branded by those in control,
Knowing the role they assigned,
Mine was a tad bit different,
I'm an insistent little prick,
Kicking off my shoes,
Refusing to watch you loose,
So I use these words,
To redirect the herd.
He seemed to know,
All life beyond his nose.
Indeed, he was smart-
Smart enough to wear a shirt,
Pressed, yet stitched with holes.
He wore shoes,
With wooden soles,
Unpolished, laces loose,
Yet confident,
His head high, it rose.
His uncombed hair-
A thicket pried the sky,
A gentleman late for work,
Along the streets of Newark.
In the city's hustle,
Vehicles crawl and hoot,
Beep-beep, through crowded routes,
That bear no fruit.
Pockets weep in emptiness,
While wallets stink and reek,
Of sweat with no pay.
He sits, waits, sweeps,
In a shop his stage, customers play,
They bleat, he bleeds,
Pale and incomplete.
One laughs, another scoffs,
Believing him mad,
Greedy for a joke, he isn't-
For all, he's just an old man,
Cherishing the little,
They will never grasp.
Some blah, blah time.
Winter is weird again.
I had a million years to accept that I might be energetic in my personality.
Which makes things happen by accident.
Some things just move or at least hum.
Maybe me.
Episodes.
I started having them the way centipedes realize hopelessness, I guess.
Episodes.
On a Monday there shouldn’t be any door hinges left, I pried them away.
And evaporated stuff that dangles like spring’s whine.
When you start having episodes.
It’s like when a wolf learns about books somehow.
And you can’t read unless you really are the one.
In a word-daze, and he can’t really get annoyed in a human way.
It was never an accident that stuff happened like crust in my eyes.
Episodes.
I can move or at least hum.
In the cloying, glazed over way that an engine wavers.
I told the nurse
I swallowed a snake.
He charted: religious mania.
But I felt her—
three and a half turns
sleeping
just south of the back
of my clavicle.
I called her Vera
then,
full breath
pried me open.
Fire-rising,
slithering:
it was gospel
sliding
down my vertebrae—
a ladder
Jacob had forgotten—
yea and behold though
we came
back for it.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Or crying.
Or saying
I saw light in the colorless
rooms
outside
understanding.
When I explained, again,
how god comes
in my root,
propels
herself through
my expanded
throat
chakra,
they were furious—
branded me
inpatient,
wrapped my wrists,
ordered more
Thorazine.
They don’t let me
sit cross-legged,
say my mantra
disturbs
the others.
Just between
you and me
this energy wall
crumbling, this crux
of second comings,
this fifth horseman—
is a woman re-forming
initiation:
an apocalypse
finally
worth the animal
salt-sweat
hump
it took to get it
going.
I pried with a screw-driver driven into a lid
sealed with age, and rust, to crack open a
callous retribution, set aside, tombed over.
I was curious to learn how much remained
and in what condition. Up came the lid with
a gurgle, fizz, hiss, expelled with age smell.
The paint on top, had dried, to a skin, a curd,
a viscous scum of strange foreign color that
did not auger well for its pending redemption.
I poked through the thin skin, scooping it out,
to reveal the paint separated into its primary
colors. Once, thrice stirred, it slowly rejigged
into its original color and form, ready to adorn
marks on the wall, scraped and sanded ready
for a fix, now all's done dusted, and forgiven.
They said love was tender,
so I offered my throat
to your ghost-mouth,
let your breath curl into mine—
viscous as syrup left out,
subject to the shape of its jar.
Your bombardment
of devotion felt like hail,
each for your own good
sharpened
to a fine mother's edge.
A crate arrived
that you wouldn’t let me open,
labeled not yours,
but warm to the touch,
and I swear
I heard it weeping.
When I finally pried it open,
the dark inside eclipsed me,
but not like the moon—
like a father
who's sat too close in the pew.
No light gets in.
No light wants to.
I closed it back up
before you came in.
Then we went to breakfast.
Do you know what to do
Can you stay true
When your life’s falling apart
And yet I try to open my heart
Wishes are fading
I always seem to be waiting
And even after ranting
Do I know what to do?
Does this answer your question,
Because every time someone seems to mention,
Legends always seem to make a mark,
But last time I checked I didn’t have to share that spark
You talk to my friends
You come without ends
And when its said and done
I guess I want to be number one
Because when they ask this question
I start to feel tension
But when I look around
Everyone else is also on the ground
Do you know what to do
When your feet are stuck in glue
Because there’s someone inside that chews and then spews and then skews,
Until you finally get that clue
That you’ve become quite blue
I got pried,
And then I just cried,
Cause when you’re stuck in the middle,
You just start to shrivel
I suddenly start to swivel
As you suddenly start to drizzle
Into the cracks of my life
Where there’s about to be a whole lot of strife
But now I have to be true,
And simply admit to you
That I just don’t know what to do
Darkness walked quickly to me from its abodes,
Silence of the night then dealt me a heavy blow,
Except for the loud scary croaks of flirting toads,
And some short sharp chirps of birds on trees near the roads,
The loud silence would have been without any foes.
Foolishness isolated me there to my plight,
I thought the babbling of evenings lives in the night,
But as soon as the dark sky smiled, noise took its flight,
Then the tall trees of the forest brought me a fright,
The deafening silence around me wasn't right.
I cried for the echoes of my voice to be heard,
Silence allowed them a while before they slurred,
I was scared by the illusion of ghosts with beard,
Tracing back the way given by the sun was hard,
Childhood made the path back to my home very bad.
Then an echo of my name played drums in my ears,
The distant voice of my father pried through my rears,
I ran to the voice that was whispered by the seers,
The more I ran the more the voices removed fears,
Then an ocean of faces greeted me with cheers.
Hearts designed to beat together
torn asunder, grope and stumble
Seminal streaks of lightning flash
thunderbolts rend and rumble
Lips yearning, pried apart
demonic forceps ice-cold-sterile
Amnesia, sweet sleep imparts
Love’s embrace, for aye imperiled
An oyster felt an uncomfortable itch
Caused by a stinging sand grain.
Ten fathoms deep, he slowly made - a pearl,
So that he was free from pain.
A tenacious Japanese ama, dove,
This mermaid beauty 'neath the tide,
Unbreakable, with just a knife and grit -
A pearl - she deftly pried.
A dream of a lovely fair-skinned lady,
Perfect shoulders, flawless skin -
A pearl - to hang between the snowy orbs,
Below her graceful chin.
A plan, a desperate man, a revolver,
Its handle made from - a pearl -
He'd purloin a huge oyster's record yield,
But that's not how his scheme would unfurl.
An oyster turns lemons to lemonade.
Conversely, a man, instead,
Takes that wise and appropriate adage
And flips it on its head.
My hands are sutured
behind my head.
I lie like a fallen yield sign
on the side of the road.
My path is yellow and humble.
My hands separate. Pull.
And split open the back of my skull.
Evolution takes place in the gaps
of solitude being locked in a room,
away from all influences.
Natural and spiritual become one law.
And I yield . . .
Pried open with my crowbar
hands, the grey matter separates --
creating an entranceway
for new experiences.
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