Upon my father's demise,
Something inside of me died.
It took years to realize,
As that something was in disguise.
It fought hard to remain on the inside,
But it was mine, not his, to decide;
To decide that it would no longer hide.
A younger sister exposed it; not I.
In 1963, it shut down inside of me.
In 2003, my sister's comment set me free.
In 1963, when he passed away in May,
There was nothing of him I had to say.
Until 2003, subconsciously, it stayed that way.
But at a family reunion, it was forced to exit,
Revealing another view. And I was introduced
By a younger sister to a father I never knew.
In my early teens,
Just turning 14, I gave
My heart to Christ.
It felt so nice.
Indeed, I was reborn.
But subconsciously,
I was torn
Between personal
relationship with Christ
Which brought freedom,
And religiosity with people,
Which permeated my tender
Soul and imprisoned me.
I hasten to say,
That sometimes there are areas grey.
They are enticing, inviting, and subtle.
But grey areas can be very deceptive.
I am grateful that, when still a teen
Of 19, the religious fever with people
Was pealed away and its hypo spirituality
gave way to a relationship with Christ.
No. My relationship is 'not a license'.
Yes. My relationship is 'based in love'.
Oh, present believer or new reciever,
I sincerely beg of you; let not that which
Initially draws you to God be more appealing
Than the simplicity to be found in Christ.
VULNERABILITY
A love so deep tis' nevermore,
into itself it drowns.
Love's well intent, worth not a cent.
subsurface thought abounds.
Dare not to speak of life's past woes,
open not the heart too wide.
Lest the spark leap from her eye,
and the love's left high and dry.
Tis' not the words, nor what is meant,
tis' that the tale was told.
The deeper down your love is felt,
the less it must be sold.
Oft seen as weak, subconsciously,
still waters yet run deep.
Resist this plea for intimacy
and sow the love you'll reap.
Oceanic Mechanisms
It was here that I found her sleeping softly,
Somnolence is so beautiful to behold,
When oceanic machines purr,
And the streets of her dreamland,
Bustle with fantastic automobiles,
And subconsciously, the sidewalks
Are strewn with people carrying flowers,
And waking life is very soon to commence,
As I pray, she brings this sublimity to consciousness.
VULNERABILITY
A love so deep tis' nevermore,
upon itself it drowns.
Neath glass facade of shallow trust
subsurface thoughts abound.
Dare not to show how deep love grows
it leaves no place to hide.
The bodies swell, and start to smell,
and love's left high and dry.
Tis' not the stench, nor what is meant.
tis' that the tale was told.
The deeper down your love is felt,
the less it must be sold.
Oft seen as weak, subconsciously.
Still waters yet run deep.
Resist this plea for intimacy
and sow the love you'll reap.
Tomorrow’s Dawn
This concert-filled night thrums with slow-motion static.
No signal, no return, with no way of meeting you.
Our sense of consciousness has become an intermission,
On a winding road in the fog, as the night fades.
One moment before, when melancholy weaves an overturn
For part one.
Subconsciously, it orchestrates a Cassandra. Met with impediments, as this moment resonates.
You’ll find yourself in the scene,
As emotions rise and fall in the
Waves of our concerto.
That fades into limbo.
Only to part tremolo passages
through mirrors of moonlight, the lover’s duet
Adds a refreshing luminescence to the atmosphere.
Allegro vivace, rushing into,
Tomorrow’s dawn.
Some say the husband has been unfaithful.
Being in her profile pic won't change anything.
The crown on her head's already withering.
She was never really her husband's queen.
Disclaimer: This poem is about the general population of mean girls with their spouses in their profile photos, who, for whatever reason, subconsciously feel a need to prove how successful and stable their marriage is. No offense is actually intended. If you find yourself feeling triggered, step back, take a deep breath, and exhale. Do not give words on a screen so much power over your mind.
CURIOSITIES BECOME REALITY-:-
rationally
verified
patternd
unconnected
specialisation
of EMOTIONAL AWARENESS
subconsciously
residing
turbulence
chaotically
liberated
provoking DEEPER INSIGHTS
embracing
implicit
swathes
defining
art
I know for certain that memory’s a virus
We’re susceptible to in varying degrees
Infecting some, randomly chosen, like us
Memory drifts in on a gentle breeze
I’m switched to the channels of subtle perception
It’s due to the memory my life carries on
I flick through most precious of my recollections
They’ve been given to me until I shall be gone
Then I’ll be removed to the isle of the dead
There I’ll meet you, thanks to our memories
Something will be missing, though it must be like that
After long separations and many calls missed
But I reckon, subconsciously we’ll reconcile
With the loss of those lovely details, for we managed
To save some of them in our favorite style
Aren’t we also the details that time couldn’t damage?
Remember we gazed upon the green hills
From your bedroom window with breathtaking view
In our case they’ve been grinding too fast, those fab mills
So we’re not that exceedingly small to come through
Many trials and hindrances, daily calamities
All those stormy Mondays and Sundays alone
Here we’re bound to wait now, among the tall cypresses
For the ferry to moor, to deliver us home.
I spent the early part of my life
Giving little to no thought of my
Father and what he meant to me.
I later discovered by self analysis
That I'd subconsciously shut him out,
Thinking of nothing positive about him.
But there came a day when I was 54,
At a family reunion, a younger sister
Shed some light on our dad. On that
Summer day in Oklahoma, my entire
Attitude toward my father was forever
Changed.
He was no longer just an angry man
Who smoked and drank heavily; who
Verbally abused any who stood aversed
To him; who seldom smiled and was hard
To please.
He died when I was 13, and I reconsidered
That had he lived longer than 58 years, we
Would have gotten to know each other better
In spite of there being 11 minor children.
I tell you, I rethought a host of things and
Began to write about him and the treasure
of his brief life.
Today, please allow me to say in a few words
One item from daddy's treasure chest. Daddy
Provided a modest livelihood for mother and
Us, NEVER LEAVING US UNTIL THE DAY OF
HIS DEMISE.
Crazy how past
days weighs
heavily on each
raindrop passing
by, as a train
token in the abyss,
it sinks deeper
subconsciously,
i reminisce,
careful thoughts
glide over ice,
paradise is not
enough to suffice
the wreckage
that ensued under
the night sky,
mind afloat
in the flood of
broken hopes,
staying above
not wanting
to drown,
gazing upward,
it persists,
clenching it's fists
it insists
to seek
help through
the mist,
as raindrops
carry time shops
to swap eternity
when it stops.
A life long choice, to spend wasted time~
Was your search for silence
~and~
tranquility of the mind.
A matter of delusion~
That Such thing exists to find~
Believed only by those, who are subconsciously inclined.
How can a world, which posseses symbolic seas
- and -
Crashing waves, symphonic with chime
Continue with rotation, without it's voice of rhythmical reason
-and-
Universal rhyme
her charcoal mind makes meaning of colors
Favorites included turquoise, orange and yellow
Red is always prominent in her frontal lobe
Dancing and singing, leading her into her own society
She used to dabble in cobalt but there was insanity in it
A poison that can turn your dendrites into mush, right?
No one has ever used the word serene or calm to describe her art.
A mental picture appears as her muse subconsciously creates.
She feels she is clear-headed, though there is insanity in her family
Her artwork is continuously clever, concise, and colorful
People respond to it on an aesthetic plane
Red leads the way
ravens croak
applauding twilight
larks churr
saluting sunrise
a last dance over
an inverted verge.
a perpetual encounter
the last mesh of murk
against gleams of glow
held in abeyance,
opposites wrangling
like birth and demise
asking intricate questions
preserve or discharge
uncertain anxieties
ravens claim temporal flesh,
their ravenousness relished,
dominant despotism
it seems.
yet our lark’s song resonates
stirring our species
influencing our intimate impressions,
channelling subconsciously
our choice
around that inverted verge
eternally guarding us
Hurt
Immersed within in us all lay such deep rooted hurt
A pain so profound, yet staying subconsciously inert
Be it physically or an emotionally charged event
How does this apply and what does it represent
Hurt can transform us, make our deepest fears multiply
Can abruptly change our life, all within a blink of an eye
Events compiling, wondering if you can bear all this strife
Leaving you unsure of what’s next in this chapter called life
Hurt can derive from an assailment on the body or of our minds
Manifesting into suffering, a life time of sorrow, pain of all kinds
Burying deep within your subconscious, hiding how you truly feel
Not allowing yourself to yield to pain so surmountable, so surreal
Hurt can be an excruciating experience within your whole body
Debilitating you wholeheartedly, within everything you embody
With all your good intentions, all your inner will you can exert
Seeking no more than a simple solution to ease all of your hurt
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