Tag Archives: impressing The Subconscious

Things you make me Feel
Late last night, I took a double shot
One to the things I need yet never get
And another to the things I see yet never touch.
And so I thought;
Of the things you make me feel
My heart feels and my soul knows
‘Tis my home, my place and haven.
So strange I feel, ache and desire all at once
What this might be, I know not
Too new to last and assess, yet too rare to break
So I sit and ponder
A bird, seeking air, home and a nest
In a rather arid cruel earth.
It troubles my mind and yet completes my heart
This woman built in perfect skin and body
It kills me to wait yet gives me life, the hope of meeting you again
Now I know why
With love comes death and more death
For I feel my life oozing out my bones
Craving certainty and reassurance yet never find.
Forgive me, if my heart stops beating
Because for you I’ve lived and for you I will die
So forget the words you need
And just tell the word you know and have
How this became, whether by eye, heart or ear I know not
But my breath for you I hold and for you I feel all this joy and pain
So my heart for you I rip out
Take, my dear
Do with it, as thou may.

Dilemma
Giants, great and tall
Giants, brutal and cruel
Giants, among which, I am nothing.
I walk in the wilderness, I fear, they lurk.
Giants, I made my bed yet I seldom rest
My mind races and bewilders
in longing for completeness and filling.
Where to run, what to do?

My heart beats and breaks,
alongside, a beast is awakening
Let live or let die, what to do?
Only one must be, me or the devil inside.
The meek and complacent, or the insidious and chancy?

Awake I lie, like a night owl
Waiting, hoping and afraid, that the defunct remain so.
Giants, pitiless and damaged
Deep inside chained and buried.
To be broken and suffering,
or whole, fearless and apathetic?
What to do?

Giants, agents of deception and disguise
I worry; the monstrosity tempts me
Forgive and Forget, or convict and chastise?
What to do?

When is it ever not the time to.
Kill me now, kill me later,
Granted, I must die.
Is it not overt, that breathing is plight enough?
It is written so.

Late last night, at the superhighway, I thought.
How painless could death be if I drove off the way
But I thought again, I need a new pair of sneakers.
So, tell me now, don’t you know, or am I the broken one?

Kill me now, kill me later,
It is granted, I must die.
But if I am to choose when to,
My Lord, let it be after August.

It has no name, that which presses weight upon her head
A steer of wind, a vortex of a gloomy gorge, rough and blustery.
In her genteel heart, there is emptiness, and she bears the weight of an anchor
She does not seem to care, nor want to, yet she craves entirety
There is a heavy stone inside her head, and she cannot bear
Yet it has no name, whatever that is.
I warned her, and yet in my belligerence, my words came true
She did not care, ‘’After all, what does it matter to lose one soul,
Millions have been lost in ages,’’
The voice from her laughter, so calming yet her eyes gave a stern glare
The false conviction in her gait, her neck so high, disguising her fearfulness
Hankering a little insecure girl in deep want of love and passion yet with fear of uncertainty.

She fails to make meaning of life.
She breathes but does not really feel alive, she smiles but is never happy
The face she wears out in the open is ripped into a forlorn and sad grimace at sunset
She looks at the desire of her heart heretofore she cannot claim
Her lips burn, her hair stand, and her skin tingles
But she cannot allow herself to be vulnerable, her heart burns and her head pounds

The full moon comes, and the old pain of torment
And the fear that she might never find what she is not looking for yet desire
She is uncertain of what might be of her being alone, or of courting.
A stone rests upon her heart so heavy,
And on it, there is no name, no answer to her troubles
Only one truth, that she is bound to suffer with every breath she takes
Her duty conflicts with her heart, she knows not whether it is too late to turn back from duty and away from desire
Broken, solitary, and under the scrutiny of those she much hides her feelings from
And when she hears a baritone voice, her heart skips a beat
Silence follows, and her soul dances, but a memory of her life’s meaning flashes,
Soon, her head bows and her eyes shine, and she wants death more than the life she craves
A feeling of emptiness floods her wholeness
What she once felt, love, passion, happiness, and joy.
Well, they are gone, and there must she remain,
She cannot name what she really wants nor what she really feels,
She is consumed by her own expectations,
Yet it has no name, that which she endures.

But I only felt it once
First, a soft touch like a pat on my shoulder
And then an itch begging me to scratch
Followed a boring prick that left me burning in pain and discomfort
I felt my heart pounding faster and faster as the little creature steadily hummed close to my body
And with its wings wafting a cool little blow as though to calm me of its own sting.
I did not know where I was, and my legs could not move an inch
All I knew at the instance was that I was alone and going to stop living
Then suddenly I was down, and all movement stopped like an occluded car engine.

The roof of my mouth was dry, I could not swallow
Every breath of hot air into my lungs robbed more water from my dry self
They called it The Sting of Life, for not one of the hundreds that were stung yet drew breath.
So, I gagged. First with quick successions, then slowly, I was in deep sleep
‘’It is going to be the loneliest death of all,’’ I thought
I could feel air leaving my lungs and none being drawn in
I could feel my heart slowly fading and beating tardily
I tasted salt in my tongue, and then pepper, and then soil, and then there was darkness.

In the darkness I could see some light, and a silhouette of a woman’s figure!
Oh, my joys, the joys I had nursed so warmly
I felt my lips move as though to smile at her, holding a lantern to my face
I could see her, but I could not see me, and her eyes widened with zeal and anticipation
I wanted to speak to her, but no words came off my mouth
And I wanted to touch her, and ask her where I was at
She was a beauty to reckon!
Here we lie, without life, for we chose not to live
Because we had much shame to let live
Here we lie, stung to death, losing time and chance
But I would rather be here with the love that hears my skin tingling
Than live a shame.

Here where we wander freely and without purpose nor expectation
Here where there is darkness, but we can light a lantern to see each other
Here where we were stung to.

And I wonder
When then, will it ever end?
Tomorrow means less,
We’re the salt of the earth, awaiting a storm
Dust, my friend, to dust
all the pain, all the losses
All that we have overcome means nothing
We might have cast the darkness away
But it still remains just within
Always broken, always scarred
Death awaits, in the wind we wade
Lots of secrets await us in our graves
But at least, today is silent.
Salt, of the earth, is all we are
So I wanted you to know, that I will bother you no more
I know it’s a little too late
But I’m sorry, I want no more bruises
Whilst the lights fade out,
I’ve bled enough
And we have nothing to talk about anymore
This time next year, I’ll be gone, or you, or just I.
Yet still my lemon head wonders
When will the right time be, for lemonades?

Nothing is ever round, or flat, or plumb:
I see now in trueness, that love is blind
Whether two are joined together in a blossoming romance,
Or merely just a fetish and immeasurable desire for pleasure.
I cannot see or smell the freshness of the greenest leaf nor life’s earnest beauty
Whether it is my inability to smell or see, I will fault it on love
I have neither the heart to stop nor the intent
My dreams and visions have become but a reverie all for an utterly made creature
For oh, my love is born of one dream divine,
Sandwiched in the beating amazement of my intellection.
Last night I dreamed her face, and I almost saw it
I know nothing else but her and the scent she wears
The thing we share, is what the vast creation craves, the joining of our lives for eternity
And only at the touch of my lips on her face, is when the trumpet shall sound.
The only sounds I know are the sounds of her gasping as though asking for air,
And of her groaning and squirming whilst honey flowed from the parted pot along my fing’rs
And the sound of her heart beating faster and faster as I breathed on her triangle of hair
And a feeling of peace in the warmth of the sea like transferring my life into her and taking over hers.

It is true, love is fire, and food and wine
For I feel this surging billowing heat inside of me when I think of her
And an insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst and lust
It is like, when I am alone, I want nothing less than her.
It is like the world is on fire, and no one can save me but her
Oh, this feeling.

Tell me how life can be prolonged
Tell me how to become immortal, so I can spend eternity with my precious love
Or assure me that there is life in death.
If I must die, bury me then, with a painting of her, so I will not forget the love we shared
I have walked, I have trusted with open eyes
I have seen all there is to see, but I do no more
All because of a simple word that was whispered to me by a daft musical voice
I have plunged my head deep in the moving depths of desire and intimacy
So, if I must die, let me die with her
But if I must wake from this dream,
Tell the room service I did not mean to.

Mirror mirror on the wall
Not too light, not too dark
Oh if I don’t have it all!
In the shadows I’ve been known to lurk
For the world was on fire
And no one could save me, but her
Had I not been such a crier
And looked in the mirror with a blur
Perhaps, I could have seen my all too lonely soul
Burying myself deep in this forlorn hole.

Sinner man, where do I run to?
All my hope is lost
And now i am all but wrapped in this deep black hue
I feel like I am becoming a ghost!
Yet I look in the mirror, and I see myself
Not too tall, not too short
But tell me now, is this an elf,
And all my life, is just a swart?