A repeated whisper finally touched my senses,
Leaving a mark upon my soul.
It was said I was to be a lover,
To unite with all I’ve to offer,
Like sacred pools near sweeping oceans
Another whisper upon my neck.
Crawl out upon breaking waters!
Raise your hands up to the gods!
A breath beneath your light footsteps,
A sun upon your brow.
As I flowed into mist
The flower showed up,
Dancing in front of my soul
Until I reached forward
With one large inhale.
Synchronizing madness
Into unified bliss
Soaked towards Seva,
Sharing the burden.
Never alone he traveled the Seven seas
In sound and perfect harmony
Like wisdom is a memory
Clear blue days were sanctimony.
For our strong Captain whose sea was his own,
We fought together – bonded right strong,
Aligned was his order at once to every cause,
Slave to the Master, Master of us all.
Lost in distances were clear mountain peaks
Of a land no longer home that we’d set off from,
Wives and lovers we’d taken on who
Intently listened for our great song carrying on.
With strength of a thousand men strong
Our ship broke mooring, the voyage was on.
All hands on deck looked forward, ho!
Minds focused intently on journey begun.
Land became imagination that coo’d our souls
Quietly to sleep, rocking to and fro.
To every morning, as we woke to clear day,
Cheap sailors rations to make us row.
Night to day and dark to dawn,
Feign attempts at moving on.
A sailors dream but lasts two days,
Quickly blown and torn away.
It’s here where brotherhood arises,
Amidst thick fog and setting horizons;
A common quest, through all disguises,
Men! Heave-ho! Booty and prizes!
Aye! To think the lot a mere bunch of sailors?
Ruddy men dancing with nightly fancies!
Whence stopped at port, may the best man win!
Captain Black Gun and his notorious escort.
Tis’ not all easy for the roughest of men
Amidst all deceit lives honesty then,
A Pirate’s code delivered in blood
Rests all accused deep below their judgment plank.
And as time comes for setting on,
Morning awaits, mooring long gone,
For silently creaking we steal away
Locked in our treaty of the great Pirate code.
Off again then, land locked lovers lament,
Open sea and sweet smelling air.
All becomes lost, save the fresh smell
Of a clear sunny day and wind in our hair.
So whenever you hear tell of a sailor’s ship
Sailing through the Seven seas at a magnificent clip,
Think to yourself of Captain Black Gun
And the legend that carries the Pirate code strong.
What is soul?
The temperance of good and evil
And deeds undone,
Magical memories and
Love forever long.
Heavenly fancies
Or romantic necromancers
And histories past
In lives ever lasts.
Misunderstandings
Mixed with love
And her delicacies.
Where is soul?
Did you walk with her here?
Sometimes dreams don’t leave room for imagination;
Waking with a fright and deep recollection.
Hollering into night cools my lone wolf.
I’m a man of slip-slopping recollection,
I dine with strangers who share my wine.
We beg for answers when we’ve shown no mercy.
We all do.
It’s the cruelest of tortures that bless us rancid
Until our feverish states blow our sails full.
Darker seas then any wind-swept sailor would care to see.
Rupturing up my torn soul
I do continue to howl in my brief waking hours
For my window has closed and my feet become sore
And my alley of sinister has just become cold,
To await my march as darkness in greeting.
Whisper to me
For I never want to hear you,
I never want my ancient soul
To remember what storms have passed,
I never want to recognize
Landmarks in my heart
That have emblazoned this day
Upon embers of the phoenix.
In the end, we never really know what we’re coming up against.
Like a thrill seeking pre-teen with ill conceived notions of danger.
…life ain’t a movie man. Life just ain’t like that.
So there we are, hanging out with our dicks up Five street.
I shot into darkness as if I knew this foreign lover language;
But never did skies open for my warmest of wishes.
Collapse! Collapse my dear lover, it’s gone on too far.
I’ve pushed to the end and I’m not quite back again.
…Whisper my madness with two squiggled lines to display it in this dust.
Misunderstanding again with my heart. It is drawstrings. It is amicable.
It is pleasing to eyes that only pray upon sunsets.
It is a thousand masterpieces; perfected.
I cannot hurry your authorship, for wind is at neigh and folly on the deck.
A thousand hungry scavengers await in lost calluses at bays end,
Like cavernous regions of our shoreline amidst Gaia’s sweetest affection.
Cower young souls, breath in foul punches of thine enemy,
Congruency only relays smartest on deftest of blokes.
Carry this lanyard on further, as wayward as you choose.
Empowerment exists without your honorary titles,
Without conquesting rituals
Or calls to center stage.
Empowerment rustles the shoulders of every single soul
That walks along side streets and hidden passages
And log boardwalks and office sky-rises
And dirty alley and popular establishment.
Empowerment is an obligation.
Empowerment is a level flag that rises every hour at attention.
Empowerment is breath, and you’re all doing it.
Being able to take over the heart of an ancient soul was creating pressure within the young boys heart.
He saw wisdom, he saw truth, but he also saw the windows of time shift from opportunity to rest, from an ounce of hope to pains that lifted one awake shortly after midnight.
A silent lake was a window.
Like glass, a heart is precious; always suspended at the edges of tomorrow picturing faint smiles and implied intentions.
Here the young boy clutched tightly to his grandmothers pointer finger, understanding conscious kindness in her forever eyes that always found his quietly.
They were together often for this reason, but also her lemonade tasted like sweet nectar.
He would remember this as time would slowly reduce rations of nectar but still filled full with every bit of love.
Only mid-summer’s sun and a lazy bumblebee were present as Grandma smiled and laid her head against the sun chair, closing her eyes.
The young boy drew a shape of a heart on the dusty table top before he walked down the steps and out into the yard where he found his foot soldier, Rusty, the valiant family golden retriever that kept watch over the young boy while Grandma rested her smiling heart – shaded, but in the sun.
You’re not a hero until you’ve carried, tall,
Souls of motherless children upon a back so bent;
Until weather pulls your burning heart,
And swarthes upon unkempt stars.
It’s here that builds a hero’s heart,
To link a master with learning’s start.
For now and then we think we are
Beyond the truth; not quite so far.
Take your truth and run it far,
Relive a thousand lives astart!
But don’t mistake a hero’s heart
For social injustice, as gone so far.
Take your ends and tie them tight!
The ride is long and plenty steep,
And all great wisdom is buried deep.