Trance, first episode.

I don't know your name.


I was dead
Well it was dark
And it was damp
Darkness enclosed.

A shaft it was
Or a raw tunnel
The air felt wilted
And I was so tired.

I reached out
There was a crack
If I could get through
I might be saved and live.

And I felt death
Yet crawling forward
Upwards to the aperture
The way out, maybe heaven.

Soul worn out 
All in me ached
Torn into a malaise
Hurt, tears dried fears.

Then my heart skipped
And earth's crevice flared
Sheer joy chased my frame
Standing I would reach glory.

And all of a sudden
You came from behind
I didn't know your name
You claimed, you maimed.

My need minified
By emphatic demand
Of hurt so deep so fierce
It cut my happiness to rags. 

And I gave way
With bleeding heart
My chance to be saved 
Only one could go through.

I became a step
Compelled to assist
Utterly sad still at ease 
As your need felt bigger.

And as I gave way
My happiness to you
All of a sudden I moved
Out of the pit, out of the dark. 

Relieved, released, haven
Not what I saw but what I felt
Now I could sleep again wake up
Heart bright life glorified a first a save.


End of trance one. To be continued….

Source. 
I was in that tunnel. I was crawling forward. Upwards to the neck.
That was the way out. And just as I thought. Well finally I'm there.
You  -I don't know your name- were right behind me. 
And claimed emphatically. A more higher need. To go through the neck. 
But you couldn't by yourself. You needed my help to stop crawling.
So I gave way and helped with heavy heart. Knowing that helping you. 
Was giving away my chance. Of happiness of reaching the light. 
Yet your need felt greater. So I gave way and I became your step. 
Accepting somehow that I should feel fortunate to have come this far.
And all of a sudden. With a bright heart. I had reached heaven.

See Me As I Am

Now you know
That all of us
Well most of us
Present ourselves
In ways we are
-not-
And what we are
-not-
Maybe it is the who
We pose as
That tells us what 
We really are
-not-

Artists* have their tools

To reveal and unrevel
Bits and pieces
Of the self
Whether true or false
Be it open
Or concealed
How much or how little
Do we give
-away-
When we create
In our chosen form

But just as sure 
As rhyme does 
-not-
Implicate poetry
The way we present
Ourselves and
Or see ourselves
-not-
Reflects the real self
-not-

Yet despite 

All gloss

Are we 

-not-

All saying

See Me As I Am 

-...-

*
Composers, philosophers  painters, poets, sculpturists and writers c.s.

Postcard Romantics

He 
writes
poetry
Because 
she
is

He said
You are beautiful
She said
So am I

She said
You're my prophet
He said
Fill my dreams

She 
reads
poetry
Because
he
writes

He wrote 
this poetry
on a postcard
his words of love
She never replied
for the postman died.

Mourning Star

Mourning Star


We floated through the heavens

The lights went out and all got dark

Dying and abating

A morning star burning up in blazes

So dismal and doleful

A silence that travelled through the ages

It stayed with us until



The hurting had gone, perpetual you and I

Though there was nothing to see

And you meant little to me

Oh, Gehenna



The melody it lingered

A raging silence, loud as light

As Tartarus was roaring

For heaven to fall, a hole in the night

A blackened, lonely left day

The cold of her hand and the frost of her sigh

Passively withered away



The cohesion now gone, remain you and I

And while there was nothing to see

Chaos sure meant little to me

Oh, Gehenna



Still you meant nothing to me

You still mean little to me

Oh, Gehenna
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