Don’t lose sight of the light.
I close both my eyes, but
Leave the third one open-wide.
Absorbing and Transforming,
Life is a canvas already been painted on; which color will you use to highlight the accents?
How many ways can I contrast the madness?
We are often too busy adding structure to the broken pedestals that once seated those you placed highly.
Deceived if depth can’t be seen without views of the horizon.
Still can’t hear me yelling – only seeing me naked.
This one really speaks to me…
Eye can’t teach them to listen.
Splatter paint like emotion wherever I go.
The world is my canvas. I create in the shadows.
Wash that mask, under that mask, beneath the skin.
Peel the flesh back like old pages.
This book is blank just like the canvas.
Invisible ink disguised as experience.
Squeeze the color out my veins, and witness the light ooze through pores.
Decorating the pews they are glued to.
Stained with the truth not illustrated on the glass.
Looking out the window is living in the past.
Breaking that window is living.
I’m breaking my silence how trees uproot sidewalks.
I belong in the street.
Driving myself crazy, playing hide-n-go-seek with self-identity.
Don’t be lazy.
Chasing my tears to the waterfall of my dreams.
Now I’m glowing..
I stay woke.
Instead of sleeping I think.
Conversing with my Conscience.
rekindling memories and setting ablaze doubts.
I am the smile and the frown, together
Jaded compliments, opening old wounds
Tho deceptive as the skin may be,
The density of my bones, upholds a heavy spirit.
It beams light, and eases darkness.
Breaching the infrastructure of this tale, it’s growing
Rooted so far down the sky becomes the ground, and
My solar plexus houses the blueprints of galaxies.
Invisible to looking eyes.
Tap into the 3rd frequency, and see
Wisdom is heard in the whispers.
Instead of sleeping I think.
Imagining my own colors,
Sanding a frame of sizable impression for masterpieces.
Empathy is kept safe in the right atrium’s, saving what’s left for the ventricles.
I found love on a two way street,
Sitting at the crossroads.
Unlocking the gift to
Instead of sleeping, I think.
The spine is a trunk.
The nerves are vines, draping insides of beings like sound-walls.
Meditation is the freeway to higher learning, of self.
This truth is no pyramid scheme;
Judge taste – not people.
Leaves fall resembling coin filled wishes, to the bottom of a pond.
Whose depths are more than seen on surface.
We are all flowers.
The branches of energy are
fruitful, delicate, and sometimes blemished.
Mother’s of the sun birth daughters of stars, with crescent eyes.
Upheld by Orion.
Their voices mocking Little Walter;
Singing blues to the blacks, browns, and all bands of color.
Harmoniously their cries spawn tides, expunging identities.
There is peace lodged in the throats of mutes.
Yoga is poetry in the form sign language.
Exchanging idioms between flexibility and endurance.
This Being –
Firm like a mountain, pose
Still like a tree, yet
a Warrior soul.