Brave Love-To my Mother.

I carried my pain for along time
it eating me away slowly day after day
bitter flesh eating away
for I seek the better day.


Here she comes healing the way
filling the void with indescribableness
what was never, is now.


Most take for granted
though for me it is brand new.


I should learn from there error.



Others speak of what is there unknown
my known being my present reality.


In a world where all is perceived, all is not
the many trample what is, for the sake of ego
passage I will, to the distant parts of self
filling what was lost, connecting the fine fibers
that the nothing of time spread to the four winds
knowing one day it would be again.


The form of which never known
it being wondered in years as I have grown.


I feel weak
soft spirit then cradled
her fallen flesh of ago.


Love truly does end all woes
dries all tears
reveals all fears, realizing they are not that great.


Love gives meaning to to otherwise meaningless things.


For many things I have failed, for this love I did not know
true meaning being a figment of others imaginations
it is not that they not try
only that they could not give in the way needed
from source.


Originality.


The great healing begins, change is upon me once again.


Good, I am glad.


The mighty Brave once went to the refreshment of his mothers bosom
only to return refreshed with her love, ready to go out to battle again.


receiving warm intimacy that only these actions can bring.


To revive


To become.
out of what is.

Love unseen until it is seen dirfting away.

I have become a man in which need spend only a few moments around a women to 'know' if there is anything left to exsplore, this sad fact has left me single, and lonley for much time now. I have really never needed the company of another, but as I age I have disdain now for solitude. I still find it amazing how many look in bar's and other trains of society, when the wind they never catch. But really, where is there to go to meet single people anymore, no one hangs out at places in which you never think them to be anymore, and life seems to be nothing but a slipstream of nothingness, that is best ignored, than embraced or drawn close too. In passing women throughout the daily maze of life, I look into there eye's, and feel the presence of soul, seeing if there is resonation, for I resonate with women of calm, warmth, and intuitiveness. A balance of self, for self, and then exstending this to another; strong, when strength is needed, but when not a gentle flower so molded in beauty, that words become pointless, imagination only conceiveing it. There have been many times; out of fear or self conscienceness, that I have looked away from eye's wanting to look at mine, saying ' hello there', speak to me, for I want you to', and yearing to hold my stare, as I turned it away. I am tired of my heart being treated as a childish prank, but still yearn, to love, and be loved by a wife again. But to most I am damaged goods, and that is fine for they dont deserve me anyway. I want to write another poem of 'love', for it really existing within again. I have written about speaking, for then the opportunity of 'saying' such things in which is bubbling at the heart are not said, then the moment passes, eventually ceases within itself. And the what-if is born, and it is a reasonable reasoning, but not for long, and I will let my mouth free. On the other hand, speaking the things in which are desired to be spoken will progress the state of desire, resulting in an outcome of the desired desire. Blah blah blbiahb ieoipvwub aiub we;nbaw nfbw wl, what I am trying to say is that once again I have seen a face, eye's to soul, spirit, of another that I think of when her picture is not in my eye, the minds eye then imaginates the thought path tree into the distant future, as I do everything in which I think about; both of which are my downfall and briallance. Slide moves agross screen, of the doorway that preludes his thoughts, showing him a journey in the springlife grasses of daylight bosoms's, a fander within the realm of its captivity it soothes the wounds of desperation, of the coming infliction of universal tithings. 'But what of those families, did there line not travel the road of ten warrior's, or am I mistaken at the forgetfullness of your heart?' No, I remember, it was not that long ago, when the seven bridges fell, and this wind cometh stronger by day, into the place of refuge, the last of the strengths, for the time for mightyness is here. 'The way of her is pleasant, but is it strong to handle the wind within, the vast space of permeation that ebbs out, then flows'? I do not know, for the dream is waking, and the sort that disquiet the mind, elucidations lead me to the palm of the hand, feeding there in scent for a time, then moving below the cloads larking within the realm of realization, the mere thought of it I deny, for the habit of, has become in me, hopeless fool that I am, a fool for believing in such things as love, mere mortal fallacy for our crutchfull existence. 'Oh now, the times of being hard on self are over, the period of morning has passed, let rest what should rest, for the past is the stalker in the night, leave darkness alone, return to the light." The light does not suit me anymore, for the light is now hot on the skin, melting away what hope still exist, and now the desert awaits, teasing me with water from it's mirage of dirt, seeping into the imagination, only to root the brain of desire anylonger......... Far removed is another conversation, this time taking place between a mother and son, twice removed from them is another, but a couple, talking about the memories of ago, while sitting in a cold room, laying one down to go to sleep. Three times is a child, born of love, but dying in hate, his only wish is that it come sooner. 'You see, vison is useless unless is it is used, not just glanced at. At present you exspect the worst, then this is what you will get. Emerging from the half dream of conscienceness I realize that instead of turing the glance I will make one. Create future, not that It is fully known, but because there is nothing left to do, but create.

The cocooned gift that helped me grow into who I am today, this is the place I grew up.

, and the wind did speak saying " What is it that you seek high in the clouds when the answers remain on land, is it not that destiny only finds those seeking it, or has forgetfulness seeped into, corrupting the innocence that was never there. It strikes upon the cold night with thunderous voice, commanding reason coming forth to support its claims, but the time of long winds has been forgotten, and the storm is invisible to the unseen". I still feel its power of rush, animating the leaves that day, as if the swirl of universal energy had settled up my forehead, and stillness yet remained. I inquired further asking ' did the leaves ever permit the ground a breath, or did they burn with the fire of night'? "No they permitted the leaves breath, but for the sake of there branches in the tree, only falling on there command, seeing how there life comes from them. The ground however is solid, yet soft, and is more massive than the mere tree, each grain being infinitely enumerable in quantity and space. However the ground tends to crack and break without the flow of enlightened water, or the "nectar of the ground", for by doing so will free your progeny, for they are the "Heir to THE Thought", this by reason of your thoughts produce feelings, which in turn produce action's, thereby molding there world either with action or inaction". I see. So what then if there is no sustainment and cohesion of the ground? " Then by the reasons of such the roots of the tree will grow into all the ground, filling all space on the ground with its bark, roots extending to the center of the ground, through and through its veins will go". As I walked out of " four valley walls " I could feel the crisp night sparkle into my skin, the sky musky, with sharply torn sleeves of golden cotton, raying through the prismed sky.............

Journey Of Light Through Forest

A long time ago, of thousands of years, as girl found herself at crossroads. Her violation came from a man unknown, unseen, but a shadow. Not only was it her violation, but also her son's, whoms' seed had just sprout and taken life. During the long journey that was but a few months he grew, dark turning to light, the every increasing glimpses of conscienseness revealing itself to reality and then back to self, until conscienseness knows itself. Self awareness then starts to ask, which in turn leads to conclusion. Feelings develop into thought, even if it is 'what is this feeling', of course the thoughts are very abstract at this age. Going on knowing not what reside in her womb, a changed, now 'woman', in the twinkle of a stary night life was changing, into dreams that never were, hindered by actions of a dynamically constant universe, where there is no justice in random occurrence(that is not to say that in particular circumstances I do not believe in predetermined occurrences, whether by human or any other influence.), and the river of life's currents are fully felt. Then one day, probably in her room, she knew, the whole sum of that truth looking her in the eye, its presence being felt within much space-less expanse of itself. It soon happened that many changes came again, and choices where made both from perfection and imperfection. A new world was forming, dim light, sudden movements, and laughter started to form and be realized. The swaying pendulum of fluid embracing, warming the egg like the fluffs of chickens. Great sadness and pain of heart, 'it was him growing in her', 'it was her growing in her'. All the while the boy grew, and simple wonder started to enchant. Yes, the movements and glow of light during day where mezmerising to him. She had spent the most of her life independent of another, and now she was faced with being the dependences of another, and this worried her so. Memory of the cruel hands of the past around her; these same hands that would support her, and be the 'parent's' of her and her son, she could not be bear, and knew that her son would have to grow eventually without her, and this thought drove her mad for a time, the tearing within of 'what to do'.

Picture-EA

I wish upon a blade of grass

I wish, that I could mentally project my conscienceness into the conscienceness of others, seeing as I do, exactly what exists in thought, the thousand fragments of abstractness that forms together into the mental and emotional perception that takes place in all realms of our beings. But the same is thought in everyone, hoping that another will 'understand', completely, wholey. In reality we all do understand, for the simple fact of all feeling this way, the individual circumstance's of such really not mattering, for the core in all is the same, and humans in reality go through nothing that has not 'already' been through. Epiphanies happen over time, small realizations accumulating, then one day this 'fact' becomes clear, and present all around existence, it suddenly rising to full sharp clear perception, and we give it a name epiphany. Words being just another desperate attempt at articulating self, which is ceaselessly sought, never gaining full measure of itself. So should the articulator stop in there journey, accepting out of defeat of non-attainableness? Articulation never ceases, and the mass whole is accumulative universal evidence. Change is coming, clouds will deliver there anticipated arrival, for the dust of past has covered many gems, frustration only produced from the hand of the desert, the bearer having to refill the well of self, from self, this being no small and dainty task, and one than has been anticipated for many years. The wind speaks of long ago, telling its wisdom to the clouds below. Water moves in time, from the same place as the wind, but from farther away, its essence revealing dilution of matter itself, ageless energy that resides in smooth flowing form, a drink that refreshes the soul. Time spent in the realm of imagination, seeing its frutation emanate from all around, soothing the wanderer from many rainless days of travel. The only thing that matters in the end is that justice will take place, and love will prevail, the details are unimportant any longer, for that is a endless debate of personal preference, based on personal belief. I do believe that the universe did not create itself, and that the mechanics at work are far to complex to ever ' fall ' into place on accident. I do believe in right and wrong, and know that there is core principles of each that are universal, and will not say another's is wrong because of the uncertainty of my own, for at the basic structure of all there is not solid proof of any, and then one creates 'faith' in what one believes. Period. In the end, everything will work out the way it should and was purposed to. This might be perceived as a passive gesture of words, and in ways it is, the "Webster's Ninth Collegiate Dictionary" defines the word passive as ' 1. acted upon by an external agency 2. receptive to outside impressions or influences (c) 1. lacking in energy or will 2. tending not to take an active part (d) 2. not active or operating'.
We sometimes gracefully bow our believes in respect for the other, only for the simple fact of being secure with these things, not having to prove ourselves right. And sometimes one is viewed as being 'passive' for this. We all have gathered what we know from others before us, we must be the ones that take it home with us ourselves, thinking, reasoning, on the accumulative information, and when this is done we are not really being passive at all, for we no longer ' act and are influenced by outside impressions. We become then what is conjured within our beings, we become because of it existing before we did, just not in that very specific individual way. All is good and right, for what we see is only an illustion, and every deep thing is tucked away, awaiting the time of revealing, and truth being known. Ourselves are not of supreme importance, the happening of this event though is, because of its universal impact. Right will conquer wrong, truth will wipe away deception, and love will destroy hatred and confusion. Ones in which want the continuation of the present turmoil; the blood, greed, deceptions, and sacrifice of the innocent, will fade from the earth like the dinosaurs, the earth will be used, for it was not formed for nothing, and core purposes still exist. Yes some will go to other places in the realm of existence, but the earth will stand, for if not then a purpose has failed, and nothing set into 'grand motion' will fail, nothing will stop the desire of the former, for this ones hand, nothing comes back to empty and failed, and withered in purpose, it will come back active and prosperous.
We all are passive, and influenced by the collective.
Do I trick myself yet again, to grasp to something in which I really dont know? Some might think me blind, but that is the often misconception of undiluted thought, pure thought that is not passive.