The cars move steadily on the streets, drowning out the busy rhythm of paved slick roads. Outside, long afternoon shadows stretch across the city grid. Everything shifts incredibly loud, moving to a choreography we steadily notice until the music of traffic stops and the city becomes quiet again.
we move
in circles
racing through green lights
fast move on slick roads
the spinning world will never slow down for us
still on the asphalt we yield
then rest
Their shadows, daytime's, invite
A moral night.
Whilst these, as toweringly leaved
Family gatherings.
If tipsy, each, both hung wide
Over, blood shot eyed
The more accepted who toasts
Life; out real love springs.
shadows drift
arriving first where
daylight leaves,
wait calmly
like they realize something
sun has forgotten
River bends westward.
Cottonwoods burn softly.
One crow crosses flame.
Light clings to treetops.
The day forgets itself.
Shadows inherit.
WHAT SHADOWS TOLD
Beneath the glow
While candles burned
Our shadows told
What secrets shared
Fast your breath
Untied your dress
I miss you most
My thoughts are there
You never told
You could not bare
You counted stars
Till sleep drew near
Among those folds
Of linen cold
In that room's dark
You disappeared
I am 67 years old now.
And as the shadowns begin to fall.
And I approach the evening of my Life,
I want to try to get closer to my maker.
On my way out, I want to wish Humanity well.
In terms of advice, I want to see a striving for more unity.
More togetherness, More Love, More Care.
The corners hold a murmur,
a breath against the pane,
a low and restless rustling
like the whisper of the rain.
They gather where the light grows thin,
along the quiet wall—
those shifting little whispers
that seem to fill the hall.
They echo through the quiet rooms
where busy thoughts collide,
a restless tide of words
with nowhere left to hide.
Yet even in the heavy dusk,
beneath the murmuring tread,
there is a quiet, steady voice
that lives inside my head.
Appears alone under the mad moonlight.
Moves melodically with inept inertia
Faceless flora, shapeless sapiens
Kissing clandestine by the elderly elk.
Hands hurried with precise passion
Cutting curfew is non-negotiable.
Infant inception in dark destinies.
Before the first dawn split the sky,
before light learned to speak,
there was darkness
endless, ancient, alive. ??
From that abyss came chaos,
from chaos came pain,
and from pain came us.
We are not children of the light.
We are forged by shadow,
carved by silence,
tempered by storms no eye has seen.
The world believes darkness destroys.
It does not.
It creates.
It burns away illusion,
tears apart weakness,
and leaves only truth standing.
Your scars are not wounds
they are scripture,
verses written in fire and survival,
proof that you were broken open
only to be rebuilt unshakable. ??
Do not curse the shadows
that raised you.
They taught you what the light never could:
that strength is not given..
it is forged in the places
no one dares to look.
Even the stars were born
from the deepest black,
their brilliance a rebellion
against the void. ??
And so are you.
Rise, not quietly,
but like a prophecy fulfilled.
Rise, not as a survivor,
but as a storm that silences the rain. ??
We are all born of shadows...
and shadows do not fear the dark.
— Heart Hacker ??
It’s a nice old wood
she says as we hand-in-hand
walk and the dancing
shadows of old trees filtered
from summer sun meet us there.
I experienced early on the block
Don't respect a rebel
So I etched my own lane, created
On truth,
And battled every day just to
Earn my come-up
' Cause the streets only fear a real rebel
One who won't fold, won't flex from the truth.
Some twilights I bled for the cost of truth
But discomfort never immobilized my
Hierarchy rise,
It only amplified the fire in a rebel.
Rebel, truth, rise; the lore I transmit through
The shadows
I walked through the valley of darkness.
How breathtakingly beautiful it was.
Gaze of birds watching over me,
I draw a veil molded in ocher clay.
I walked holding my breath.
Unseen, the ticking sound of unseen birds,
I walked through that valley of darkness,
Drawing yet another veil.
I do not pray.
At least not in this moment.
Though my body is feminine,
Inheriting the wild instincts of a seven-generation cat,
Before a swarm of cockroaches can infect me in an instant,
I sense it beforehand and let out a fierce roar.
"Meow!" "Hssss!"
Why, you ask?
The life of the slum
Always cries out,
Even within its depths,
Building its own cruel pyramid,
To attack me—
Someone they deem even less than themselves.
Story of gentle metazoans in yellow
Furry and soft, above trees and below
Frolicking after four
Canoodling on flour
Shadows of naughty paws on meadow.
The soft light slowly starts to fade
Where shadows erewhile softly played,
A PENUMBRA begins to spread,
An ELIXIR sets out to head
IMBUED with a magical shine
That seems to lengthen one`s lifeline
With outgrowth of a tender grace
Seeming to fly in time and space
With onset of a feel of peace
And a sense of distinctive bliss.
Many adults seem
like they are
spiritually broken
and the youth
already knows
so when we
show the light
and call
things out
openly
the ones
who do not
know how to
be honest
or self-regulate
will always
send forth
what we write
to one another
all just so they
can psychoanalyze
and crash out
about what we said
to whoever will
listen
even though
the ethical
healthcare
experts
tend to
agree.
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