When I don’t see your face
It’s like the wind has abandoned sail
And my sins become my fail
For your passion has always saved me
But on strange days when
I’m denied your saving wind
To guide me into intelligence
To hide me from myself
You know the me who second guesses
Who lives in my head and digresses
The me who would rather be you
Who lives in a fantasy without you
Strange days made to character build
Testing my reserve faith and free will
Without you I struggle to find my way
Back to your haven from strange day
You can’t burn out
if not on fire
You can’t be hurt
without desire
You can’t be found
if never lost
You’ll never melt
without a frost
Your memory void
without a thought
You’re never freed
if never caught
You’ll never plant
without a seed
You need the words
to have a creed
The past depends
on present spent
The pawn shop thrives
on items lent
The morning lost
without the night
The truth abeyant
—wrong or right
(The New Room: July, 2022)
In these days of covid and the likes
you need to adapt a learning curve too right
for in these darkest of days abound
one must stand strong ready for the fight
Whatever is yet before our eyes
no matter its dangers and threats
but there's inner joy and peace
that somehow will bring no new debts
Learn well to truly persevere
to look on ahead no matter what
fill your mind with a certain hope
don't let go just believe for your spot
A spot that needs to be sought
your own spot will be there
as you look over that big hill
by each step overcome it if you dare
Remember we're never left alone
the founder of your joy will abide
with you knowing your every step
strange these days are you're on victory side
(This is written about how I have kept going in these hard times during the Covid 19 pandemic.)
Today when and once i awoke
Much like any other day
With no or other apparent reason
After giving up all hope of hope
And instead of wishing time would
stop and for the end to come
I felt something foreign the
strangest thing as if a
blast from my past
As for a single second i remembered
what i was feeling was in fact the
sensation of being happy
And somehow had been granted
my lifetime wish
Only for my joy to be tempered
by the simple fact
I couldn't for the life of me
logically understand or
comprehend
Why ?
Because i am still me the very same
person that fell asleep last night only
to awake today
So how come all of a sudden given
i haven't done anything deserving
since dusk till dawn
As i can't think or in anyway explain
how i have gone from misery to happy
The only thing different or actually changed
Was i finally gave up praying and
wishing for my prayers to be answered
Maybe it's because i have eventually
now exhausted both the patience
of the living and Springsteen himself
But hey that's life
I was always told and new
from day one there's a hell
of a price to pay
Gilded days, before the sudden rain,
Hot, green fields of sweet sugarcane,
Tree melodies that naught can contain,
A meadow of the moonlit firefly reign!
Oppressive heat in languid, summer rooms,
And outside the windows, breezy blooms;
Myriad azure days of their dreamy perfume,
Make for the fragrant nights-an heirloom!
Bush and tree stand in an idle beauty,
Now greenly sheltering the bees' honey.
Cheeky rabbit eats up the garden bounty,
And black, gleaming crows caw cacaphony!
Lush lilypad upholds a deeply jade frog,
Queen ladybug sits upon her velvet log,
Scarlet birds in much ardent dialogue,
And cicadas scat their noisy epilogue!
They've been most flamboyantly ablaze,
These strange, fervent nights and days;
Guess it's all part of lush summer craze-
By chance to sniff those wildest bouquets!
Oppugnant and invert,
are the faces of consciousness,
so systematically permuted,
are the intergalactic fences.
When talking to nature,
walking the trails of great explorers,
while taking a troll around,
and submerging in those dances.
Distinct is the face of nature,
For the man, machine and transients,
A play it is, of the heavenly pieces,
of perfect music, what are the chances?
The musings of nature, so calm, quiet, divine,
An art is it all about, a collection of strange instances.
somewhere in the back of the freezer,
there is an old gallon of ice cream
somewhere in the middle of the refrigerator,
there is a cup with some cold cashew milk in it
somewhere deep inside of me,
there is a hollow space where my heart used to be
my whole body has been replaced by ice
my whole mode of thinking has been overtaken by the mercilessness of the cold
in the center of everything that is me,
there are no friends
in the corners of my life that used to be free,
there are no ends
at the surface of every angle that struggles to be,
there is no life who depends
somewhere along the way,
i lost touch with the rudiments of life
someplace within the decay,
i allowed black cloud normality to simply suffice
at some point between the turn of night to day,
i ceased all efforts to healthily sacrifice
the ice cream is now gone
there is no more cold cashew milK to sip on
all that remains is bad gas, regrets, and many wishes
i now barely exist counting the merciless gnats as i wash the same six dishes
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