Seeing from utter lowliness to hope again

Sitting in my own contempt,
singing what it is he’s spent,
laughing through smiles without grace:
movement flowing false and bent.

Cheshire cats in trees circling the tiers
taking only a nickel to be rowed across the river.
Sly, practiced, and stale.
Thick muscles of paper mache to deliver;
bring the goods, place them at my feet.

Mountainous digressions underneath all expression,
transient wishes drum away expectations.
This day in every plight, solid, stagnant, the tide.

Borne anew moment rises and is suspect
wasting the dawn bores coming eve.
Bring alms for the risen clay-is your reprieve.
Inside burns glowing lights, hungry embers;
original fires continue to seek and not deceive.

Taste of malignant children sour a heart.
Blessing from whom reach through fingers alarmed.
Kisses and hugs-ransom of kings gone astray.
Seedlings for hope and desire must be farmed.

Huts of indignation spring, no reason, yet abound.
Husks proliferate, grain going downward.

Ink for feathers turned to gold with a stir in the pot.
Nights, lustful nights, bright nights without sound.
She grins and with a jerk, pain meets pleasure.
Green, blue, red, and purple reign the sky our cradle.
Within folds, wrinkles of greed beyond lies treasure.
The darkened vines, brush with thorns stick so able.

Photo by Lance Asper on Unsplash

Dreaming tides wash away scornful memories.

Flashes of vestige strikes sing the thought,
together in her arms, we fly amidst desired achievement,
only winter’s sickle fingers grasp and cooly brought.

These days of my tomorrow ring melodies sometimes askew.
Longing hours given, allowed the lot, wasted by them.

Crackling, rising sun: Will you always bring my dinner?

Steady, unrelenting my doe lets in more of you each day.
My shelter and breath used without caution, we must mend.
Blatant yawns skip afoul throughout and in streets our desired
youth gone for even my dolls are torn — no longer any yarn.

Replenished she awaits me outstretched tears apply, evolve, move on;

“Just Do It!” she cries blazing my pyre.

Apart for once we’ll shout mentions.
Whispering truth, just silent resolve
-clear the rubble-
pushed away stale winds begin flowing with subtle smirks.

Fresh shaping castling clouds billow in our day and bring cleansing rains.

Rain GIF on Gifer by Cordarana

This writing came from a low place in my life but there always remained an untouched place in me allowing for hope and redemption to spring and grow. I urge all to find and keep your kernel(the true you)alive no matter how dire your situation. Fight for your truth and spirit to stay alive and to thrive in spite of any hardship. Break your self-imposed shackles, as mine were, and be free again.

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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