Sunday, August 14, 2016

Chaos... you lil stink.

Well, here's a clue that all is well...
looking down the wishing well of disillusion.

An old memory haunts me, me, my mom and grandma
sitting by an old well... wishing well actually, and
eating orange boat slices together, My first feeling of
anxiety and disillusion. Those two whom I loved so dearly
did not one another. It was a cold chilly feeling on a warm
sunny day. It was a day of quiet realization that love here
does have boundaries, and it is not free and warm and
nurturing. It is hard and survival skills count. My love
for these two icons of heredity were put to the test.

I looked into the well, and all i saw was darkness and an ancient watery hell.
The birds were chirping, the grass was green, and sweet
juice of orange was all i could seem, and enjoy. They could not connect.

Sad, for a young girl looking for a strong woman for a mentor.
Women bound by the spell of distemper. Humming like a rainbow.

She grew, and knew that the women of her past she would outgrow.
Genderless wonder for a while, just looking to be free. No labels,
no not for me. People meet and share and seek what they need.

Scarlet red, to violet night... colors stolen in the day of the light.

Really, X-men you stole the show, the slips are cowbells to the seeds that you sow on a sojourn to bring some more of the same, your whore of babylon knows
your name and your game.

I wink, and think... a funny dream can really stink... oh it's not cute,

but forgiveness is needed to the cowardly brute. He's really an unloved
Fauntleroy in disguise. I saw it with a goddess eyes, it's no surprise.

It's just chaos in disguise.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The scent of the senseless

Oh brother, what a bother
to know the intel of senseless lies.
I know, therefore I hide from the
scalene side. The eye's is a-watching
and a-learning in stride, I look, I see,
and I feel it inside... like the wake
in a tide.

A protest detesting, something or another,
the chanting and professing of the vile deeds
to another, or a brother, or whatever.
High on a perch like a fish out of water,
i hear the mayhem and feel the slaughter,
like a good little daughter.

White folk are protesting like black lives matter,
while a black soldier far from chants doesn't matter.
He's sleeping on the sidewalk in spite of the chatter.
The cameras were there and plenty of police, and some
sniper camos looking spooked in their creep.

Just another attempt to lure sheep from their sleep.

It was over before it began, activists shout to
the shatter of scam. The civil war was over, but it's
back in the hearts of some. It's a a battle of us versus them,
it will never be won. We are One.

Love isn't boastful and it need not be snide, it's inclusive
and quiet and in hearts it resides, no weapons or chants
will make it survive. It's children who act out the dreams
they are taught, and when all is said and done those
chants come to naught. Or so the blind man thought.

No snipers were needed, not black cladded cops, or posters of anger
from some white snappy chops of the media waiting for a story
to tell... it was over so fast and a no story for hell.

Love was waiting in the wings and saw the charade that this new world of order brings. Hope to love you to death, to the crease of your seams, schemes, seems.,,

Everyone dispersed so quickly it seemed, to carry on with their own unfulfilled
life and their own broken dreams. It's all OK or so it seems, for now... disaster averted... it's only a small chaos for now...

Sweet dreams!