every day of being human is a war. every night I buckle up and set myself en route to the endless road- wordless, 'cuz everyone's chasing the same goal, the same mystery, the same journey.
at one point midway, we're all scarecrows hiding behind chalked smiles. angels hover over our lifespan, stretched like north and south poles, we can't see either but they exist, frozen in their own places.
I see people, building walls in and around themselves, I try drawing boundaries to keep them away, often forgetting I'm as much a human as them.
before it dawned on my visual field you were gone like a ghost in the wind now the air is stale and speaks a foreign dialect. my mind picks up the last few signposts of summer, waiting like angels of transition- one eye verdant, another blood red. maybe this evening is possessed or maybe I'm seeing things or maybe, just maybe the world is racing too fast. two hours past the end of this summer, my arms are frozen from your transparent embrace. two swollen orbs traverse the skyline, searching for a rebirth of dawn, when electric poles cast longitudinal shadows on the thermodynamic sand, but farewells last longer than wordless prayers. nightmares tiptoe around the borders of my town and monsters creep downstairs from their highland houses- battles resume in the wind, muffled voices hint at silent prayers, a sigh a door, a plagiarised speech on screen, two bottles of champagne- one underneath a bed, another in bits claiming a quietus. thousand soldiers on road, and three battles curtailed at home. in a world where winter lasts forever, orphans of life still peep through windows, a prayer in their gazes knocks on summer's door.
a sunset a day, two battles a night. someday there'll be a dawn without martyrs of a quotidian summer dissolving with hopes on the shore.
A series of chemical reactions occurring in the blink of an eye, A motherly expanse eyeing its own creation exhaling in grey to its face, An orphan of nebula homing at free all generations of refining pilgrimage, A vague anatomy of the graceful hand sighing at guilty minds seeking empathy.
Everyone seeks wholeness from an illusive entity who only feigns perfection.
#wild feeling wild/ All Rights Reserved 11 Oct 2021 10.33 am Lazamon's Brut ends similar line/ _____________________
When Whims Wander Wild ~ Stories/
Petals passled on panorama Paintspray of pollen prime / Some seeds of washed away dreams blossomed as wildflowers when hope drizzled over and dawn dusted them with glitter of glee They grew thwarting borderlines and thrashing boundaries, too strong for fear to nip yet too delicate for time to cwtch ~ winsome wildflowers //
Timber tryst with time Tall and taupe, tinted thick / Some walls welcome warmth and grow up throwing branches to the welkin, intent to reach, intel to soar, inspire to stay rooted They hold hands in twigs and leaves, form arrays of labyrinth permitting navigation, entrusting the wind to waltz in whims ~ welcoming wild woods //
Fusion flames of forlorn and fantasy Fernwah on fire, fighting fabht / Some flames don't duel on fondness of luminosity, they burn enraged to take vengeance on natant mirth They set ablaze anything on their path, saffron pyre creeping on caves and crevices, ways and worlds, gulping martyr muses ~ wanton wildfire //
Flesh of prey, blood of plight Fighting fate and playing plate / Some lives are stranded on estuaries, futile footprints on coasts, meandering on marshlands and migrating moribund They flourish in dusks and flail in dawns, waging wars with weather, brave yet branded to bane, their cries are left to an ignorant fate ~ wailing wildfowl //
Territories trailed by trambles Thrones and thorns forbid trespass / Some territories forbidden trespassing, their nature and laws strict on nurture and freedom, lives that deserve no shackles They blend in harmony, respire selcouth symphony, orchestra a language of love unadulterated, all they need is not be meddled with their sustenance ~ warzone wildlife //
Wide and cast stretched wilderness Whims waltzing in and out wondrous / Some minds are inlands of wilderness, not a lane of narrowness mapped, only left with trails of none/less trodden pathways Spontaneous and sporadic, nefarious and notorious, unfiltered and unconditional, they are the ones most capable of love and light, dare and death, sin and sane, win and war - they don't exist, they live with passion - there, most vulnerable the cruelest of all creatures ~ wilderness within //