Determined to remember the beauty in my life

Our Bed a Spot of Life


Sleeping next to you I breathe your breath.
Am I dizzied with carbon dioxide?
Or have I been snared by the promise in your
gravitational pull?
I orbit around you and revolve,
my source of life
in a cold, airless abyss.
The lashes of your closed lids
entice me to the paths
my lips would take, tenderly brushing your cheeks.
The water betwixt our tangled limbs
overflows from my soul
finding perfect repose in your embrace:
stretched beyond perfect relaxation
into ecstatic harmony.
I melt beyond my earthly
container and mingle with you,
inseparable and home,
expanding until I am permeated
and assimilate you into my being.
Our sweat joins from every pore
and we dream peacefully
in and throughout one another.

A response to being a reluctant consumer of an oppressive culture

Consumerism

I watched as the flesh yeilded
scabbard-like
to the repeated thrusting of a bloody sword
and I hated.
I hated the Man
composing the law which ravages humanity;
I hated the woman
all eagerness to please and fading into non-entity;
I hated myself
who joined my voice with those in the horde,
despairing that my whimpered protests
were lost in the squall.

Borne from boredom and reflection

Ruminations on Giving Up Hope

Each Day passes away
as I pass away.
A cycle of sleeping and waking:
always sleeping and never resting,
relentlessly shaken from sleep
never fully awakened.
Even the wraith of me fades.
What a hardy shade!
It dwindles to a lone atom,
ever dying yet not to be extinguished.

a snapshot of a fragment of where i am right now

i find myself totally inadequate for writing about the big things. i am afraid to write about things that i know are common to all humanity, like the problem of suffering and justice. the problem of a good and merciful God and a shitty world where everyone suffers and nobody is able to and/or nobody cares enough to do anything about it. i find myself struggling to bestow wisdom when i am totally unwise. that's really it i think. i want to fix it, or to make it palatable, but i can produce nothing without cliche. it seems wise to say there are no answers sometimes, but now i think that's just a prideful way of saying that i have no answers.

Rough Draft... Michael Thinks its too Melodramatic

I Know Your Head Aches

Scream, cry, prick yourself and moan...
You'll never get home...
now lick your wounds.
... always alone, you'll never get home.

Off on a shadowed island unattached and bound
ever on and into nothing.
You are nothing where you are
your self and alone.
You, the cause, are not the solution.
You, the lonely, are not a home.
So flee on, and as fleeing
descend into void.