i'm told freedom tastes like sweet red wine i do not drink rather i intoxicate myself on memories and hope. i imagine peace smells like blooming flowers on the first dawn of spring something my allergies allow no pleasure from she tells me stories of her youth with furver as if to lament in days of love she talks of duty as adoration as the chains clank in the wake of her footsteps she speaks of her love as an adventure her eyes tracing memories as if her hands ruffling through the pages of holy scriptures carefully revealing truths and lessons she speaks of blood as a gift though all it's ever given were sacrificial piers duty, she says, is rewarding as she carries burdens never written for her adventure now defined as anywhere other than what others label home though cuffs can be seen shackled to her feet and her face burdened with a smile she has bequeathed me many lessons the art of escapism my most cherished.
life is a game we play for this soul no longer exists obscurity is the nameless god blurry face is the lamented worshiper my body a temple ruin running thoughts through the mind a death trap maze my tongue governed its whispered name politicized my eyes warrants of self murderous thoughts my hands restless with the blood of my relatives their sins bathe me crimson - invisible their voices muffled into pangs of self-righteous beliefs the tree of family with its rope branch hugging my neck my eyes sparkle with faded dreams overshadowing leaves stretching over my very being unable to become my own icarus my wings have long since melted within the scalding flames of love.
You say if you could fly,
you’d never walk on earth.
For you only have eyes for that faded,
You know if you can just break free,
you’ll find what you seek.
So keep trying to release yourself,
to that faded,
for someone with their head constantly in the clouds
can sometimes feel
like a thunderous
waking you out of peaceful reverie
stealing the wonders
of the ethereal
parts of the world and
reality is often painful
that to live in this world
is to conform.
but this is not life.
it is existing.
it is torture
for those intoxicated
by the foggy
airiness of the
Featured Image Bennie Rose
I am wandering around the obscure walls
of the sunken place
searching its oblique halls
and I can’t see past the darkness and the emptiness.
there is only hollowness.
I am alone,
unable to fathom my surroundings.
It is as if the hollowness of this place
came to hollow me out.
It reverberates through me
and in currents I am
nothing and everything
– this oscillation is undoing me, irrevocably.
Sometimes i grieve for my innocence lost.
My hands covered in the blood of my ancestral hopes.
Like shattered glass my dreams lay etched reflecting the broken sky.
The stench of gunpowder and forgotten mistakes perfume the air.
My eyes swollen and my vision impaired,
like frosted glass i am suspended in time.
the memory of who i am…
the vision of who i will be…
The pride of my folks,
wained under self loathing and disappointment.
Though hidden behind sunshine,
Suspended in time,
my body shivers,
for anxiety is my new neighbour.
My heart grows weary,
and in its chambers where a soul once resided,
now barren of hope.
But my mind of mistakes,
ever so bold.
And my innocence for life,
long since distasteful.
Now only a dark forest grows,
swallowing the very sun which brings life to it.
And thus trekking in the forages,
of forgotten hope
and misplaced pride
along with shattered dreams
and hazy memories,
i grieve for my innocence lost.