From this angle, she see’s the universe,
the infinite promise of light in dark
and ponders if believing is perverse
Like the damned wishing on eternal stars.
likely soon he’ll skin the flesh from her soul
bleed her dry till she’s tender on the tongue
shelling the carcass upon an old knoll
ripping at rotten scars where life had stung.
And she’ll tumble, doe legged into headlights
the scattered remnants of one’s own soldier
fettered to the darkest skies of twilight
falling nude at the hands of her poacher
Perhaps we pander to the passing planes
Thinking them stars, just spectators of shame.
The body, when perfectly whole Without cut, scar or gaping hole Is a vessel of beautiful perfection Radiating aura without detection of cast of entities from darker sense…
Each cut, scar, hole leaves open essence protection fails as they seep in heavy thoughts they always bring feeding on energy, power drives on reality is rewritten, they become strong.
To cleanse, to hide, to meditate is never quite enough to fight for holes in auras outer shield are the reason for the magnetic field They deceive, come in many guise
Such power they feed from mine so wise, S’not you s’not me, they choose just feed are blind in choice beyond holes of sieve Such holes they must be healed To regain your protective field.
Even in distance across time and space healing occurs from source trace, All is needed, permission granted intent is thought a decision planted Allow me, and I will remain silent till thoughts quenched end of violence.
… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandora’s chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open, knowing it was time…
We grew up on the sharp edge of poverty rebel with a cause of our own repelling authority, society, reality followed a path of wildness sown. They said, we had perfect hips Was good for nothing but having kids One dad, two, three, maybe four Poverty cycle, repeating the poor. We succeeded at failing, came top of our class, Sipped on cider from our childhood flasks. No need to worry, no need to fret, At sixteen we become part of Britain’s great debt. Teachers never bothered, the head didn’t care, No one even noticed when we stopped going there. We wore indifference across our lips prostitute red, layer on layer, glossy and slick. And when time suddenly came, exams taken, Sixteen went past, future forsaken Some of us fell, hips wide and bearing, New life created in a career of caring. Some of us paused in a psychedelic dream Locked between worlds with adulthood to fear.
Me? I had failure at hand, expectations to break, So I picked up the books and read by the lake. They said I couldn’t, I was all hips and blue eyes, that’s all, I accepted their words, I’d most probably fall. I didn’t aim for the top, just a life with a view, A place where I’d happily dream skies of blue. They said “You’ll work in a shop, and not a thing more” And soon I was a manager, they were right for sure… But I kept going forward had stereotypes to destroy, Whispered through days kept my dreams coy. I climbed and rose, walked on painted tippy toes, No place for the poor done good, I wrote my own life show.
There’s a glass roof for women unbreakable you see, An etched line for the men, a reality, not a battle of wits, wisdom or intelligence, No, its a line that demands female defiance…
But poverty has no glass, just hips and glossy red lips, No succeeding, just expectations of failing, You either fail at school and fight for a life, Or fail at babies and become no-ones wife. My roots are seeped in the stench of poverty, Skyscrapers, someone else’s reality, They set a standard, the poor girls target, dreams are only for the rich they say use the gifts God gave you that day…
They said I was good for nothing all blue eyes and hips for kids to bring…
My Dad said, girl, do you see that star? No I said, we ain’t taught to look that far… He said, keep walking till you have that in sight, That my girl, is your glass ceiling, that, is your light…
… to know my worth exceeds the grave and cradle, that each breath holds meaning and each second depth, yet, When I ponder of my existence I feel more alone than ever.
I do not wait for the apocolypse; neither enlightenment nor end days for both it seems to me pander to the reaper… … And I find no sense in surviving the darkness in wait for God’s mighty hand of justice, for what point lays in waking, breathing or ultimately kindness.
… I do not believe my woes to be the karmic debt of my Father or his before, have you ever met these men? To spend a moment in their presence is to know the strength of my conviction.
I tear holes in the ideology that we are born to die, that greatness is achieved on death, I ponder how many false martyrs are formed this way.
The same sun that will warm my soul will also burn my skin, and the same snow that ignites my spirit will freeze my heart, yet still I can be found dancing beneath them and when eventually I die, I will tell great stories of the way Gaia touched my soul, the way stars ignited my heart, the way darkness gave me light and light gave me darkness.
… And when I am before my Diety, when I am asked, am I happy to be home, I will say yes..
“But to have lived, is the greatest adventure of my existence.”
An explosion of necessity No man is wise on words alone Come closer let me lick the essence of your soul and leave a trail of iridescent glitter through transcendence of thought so I may gently touch your lips on whispers of a dream Do you feel it? Within the frequency of beats curving through the array of numbers, right there, that haunting feeling of nearly a kiss… there flies pans shadow dancing through the ethereal, an astral dance of need vibrating through linear time, he searches for his Wendy. I’m sorry, am I the catalyst of sense that spills chaos, for every word learned I have a kiss that tastes like stars, a touch… Tell me please, what is that sparkle within your eye, even within the creation of a hybrid race, there is always a dominant gene that will prevail. Tell me again of how the world is formed through numbers and words, pliable existence, so I may slip between your fingers knowledge spilling through atoms of energy. Show me how the universe works and I shall capture its flavour upon my tongue and share with you its taste. For no man is wise on words alone and alone no man is wise…