21 pardon me 

Forgetting is easier when you’re not around 

No lights and no sounds 

Just the pain that I drown. 

It’s a simple decision, 

I never back down. 

Reduce you to silence, 

Your face, drawn to a frown. 

 

It is after this ending,

I start to consider,

The pain I often deliver.

An unbearable sinner.

The quieting calmness ripens my heart.

It’s a simple start, 

Where I set you apart. 

Carefully pulling the string of your past, 

Wandering to places corrupted and trashed. 

 

You say, 

‘Pardon me, I’m uneased by the presence you bring. By the way that you walk as if you know all of me. 

I don’t feel the same. 

Loss is to blame. 

Hardships I’ve framed, to keep lovers at bay.’ 

 

I reply, as if you’ve said nothing at all, 

Measuring myself tall, 

A god roaming your halls. 

‘Pardon me, enraged one,

Your message is lost. 

I wish to deliver my pain with my thoughts. 

They travel to find you, curled up like a child.

They claw at you, and hound you, 

A beggar defiled.’ 

 

You shift in your seat, 

An uncomfortable sway.

The life which you’ve carried is one of dismay. 

You begin picking the edges of the folds on your pants, 

An anxious agitation, compelling me to advance. 

 

‘Pardon me, once more, 

I notice you are plagued. 

Locked out of your days.

You feel you don’t have a say. 

What is most intrusive,

You keep at bay, 

But I must say, let it stay, let it roam, let it crave!’ 

 

Blushing ensues, 

Eyes drawn to the ground. 

You’re shaking by now, 

Hoping I drown. 

 

‘Pardon me,’ you reply, 

‘There is nothing for you. 

You have taken it all, 

My dreams are unused.

I’ve been battered and beaten, 

I’ve been stolen from life. 

I’ve taken the beatings and I've taken your pride. 

No more will I take it. No more will I forgive. 

Your meager excuses lay lamely, lay dim.’ 

 

I pull myself up to tower above you. 

You tremble, but now your eyes meet mine. 

 

‘A simple pleasure, a simple crime. 

To me you’ve given your valued time. 

Gracious have you been, though flighty and insecure. 

Delectable at once, now I crave you no more. 

Be gone from my presence.

There’s nothing left to amuse.

You've uncovered courage, 

So I must stop my abuse.’

 

‘Pardon me, fair lady’, 

You return to my surprise, 

‘I have grown to adore you, 

Manipulated by your lies. 

No one knows me as you do, 

Though your love leaves me bruised.

I'll never excuse you. 

So, Pardon me, I’m a fool.’ 

 

22 inclusive 

—on writing my thoughts, feelings, & experiences into poems, and whether the ‘written me’ is of value or it is the viewers that are truly the most valuable—

pointed without pressure

wanting without need

vague narrations from the things that I perceive

i doubt i bring a brighter view,

or show a better way

i know that i oblige stressful things

which might cause your dismay.

 

to show you that i mean well,

that this is not for show,

to show you that i think of you

beyond the time you go. 

linger here my friend of foul,

my friend of vile ways,

linger here, beyond my sight,

beyond my dying days.

 

i want to be the one who writes

the tale that measures you,

never forgotten, sought quite often,

for the wisdom you produce.

selfish, i have often been, and for this i have no say

i give you my life, the words that i write,

in hopes you let me stay. 

 

crying, for the sake of tears,

crying, just to weep,

crying, to drink something,

parched and lost of speech. 

you never seem to notice,

until the spotlight moves from you,

inclusive, till you’re taken from,

reductive when you’re out of view. 

 

it seems i’ve struck a bargain,

with a fitful monster bride,

a woman bred of wanting,

wanting that won’t subside.

and though i reflect on you often,

i bring you up at every party i attend,

though i saturate the world with you,

i’m not inclusive enough to befriend. 

 

so harken my words, 

what i reveal of you will not paint you in kind

either way, i’m sure, you’ll fancy it,

at least i’m speaking to your mind. 

and those who watch will understand,

the meaning you’ve often disposed,

in the beaming stage light,

as you shield your eyes, 

the audience will be the only ones known. 

 

23 spirit in tune

Embrace the silence

And what do I hear? 

Roads are unbarred,

My voice becomes clear. 

 

The echoes and shadows

That follow me ‘round,

Abate for awhile, 

My purpose is found. 

 

Calluses heal for a temporary time,

The fruit I then bear is sweet and sublime. 

My fears turn to longing for how I’ll enact,

The next feat in the prism of future and past. 

 

Dust is removed, cleared from my lungs,

The battle I fight lays tired, expunged. 

I dance without weights, 

I shift without care, 

To music unheard, imagined, yet clear. 

 

I revel in my fortune,

As if it is all I’ve ever known,
Though the darkness that follows

Never has left me alone. 

 

It remains out of breath, 

Scorned by my new mood. 

So, I call it ‘ridiculous’

I forget its harsh tunes. 

 

For my ears fill with joy,

Laughter of content. 

My eyes fill with wonder, 

To a world I accept. 

 

It all comes and goes,

I remind myself, wisely. 

When I feel this way though,

There is nothing that binds me. 

 

My soul pours out, like it’s never been disfigured.

I steam from my spout, letting passions grow bigger. 

I create without mind, without malice, or thought. 

I’m tortured no more, a reversed mind of rot. 

 

How simple and peaceful these moments can be, 

I forget they exist when I’m burdened by weeds,

Which stifle my growth, leave my flowers wilting,

But moments like this, I feel the soil is shifting. 

 

All has a purpose, I know this is true,

I deem myself worthy of a life in bloom. 

The weeds and sour tunes still harshen my world. 

Then I long for the feeling when my petals unfurl. 

 

When this happens, you’ll know, 

You’ll sink into your chair, 

Become one with the art, with the life we all share. 

A soul well fed is a spout of great joy. 

A revelation of success without worry employed.

It is a fusion of body with universal intent,

It is a joining of spirit with mortal content. 

 

All can find this wisdom,

One need not travel far.

For this truth is not hidden. 

It is all that we are. 

Look within for your purpose,

For what makes your heart sing,

For what cuts through the echoes and enlivens your dreams? 

 

You’ll know when you’re upon it,

When it’s held in your hands, 

Time then bears no purpose, 

All desires at your command.  

 

24 paramita 

Observe with me,

In the pale of the moonlight.

The wafting air brings subtle notes of vanilla and spice,

The calming breeze tickles your skin,

And flutters your eyelashes. 

The crickets dance in the darkness,

Harmonizing their cacophony tune. 

Grass swishes hastily,

Guising the field mice,

Who scurry to and fro with suspicion and unease. 

Your breath rises and falls,

it’s rhythm steady and wise, 

For it needs no guidance. 

A distant howl breaks the instrumental sway,

And upon the top of a hill in the distance,

A coyote gazes at the sky and cries for the things he’s lost. 

He considers this, none too long. 

For he’s off in an instant,

His howling quieted by the arrival of a darting rabbit,

Apprehensive of the danger she’s encountered. 

You sit upon a wool blanket, spread over the grass,

There is nothing more tranquil than the nature of the Earth. 

Intentional, in appearance, in purpose. 

All that is seen provides meaning, at times, beyond our interpretation. 

You breathe in and out, once more,

The air, inflating your chest, then releasing itself back to the elements it knows.

It is transformed by you. 

As you are transformed by it. 

A passage all can experience,

If only they were privy to the settling of all things,

The stillness one can create by permitting the energy around them to ensue. 

Without resistance, without holding onto what is not meant to be held. 

A balance has always existed, 

Peace has been struck on Earth, 

Long before humans had the luxury of enjoying its offerings. 

Bear witness to this balance,

Live within this peace,

Then you shall know what it means to be—

Whole and complete. 

 

25 desperate 

Eyes made from marbles,

Swirling inside,

I look into yours and I know what I’ll find.

The craving you carry,

One that cannot be quenched.

It is one you will marry, 

As if it was heaven sent.

 

Purple explosions in the milky blue sky,

A wondrous emptying of all that you abide. 

I know in these moments,

Your urgency lies. 

You draw close to me quickly,

And I shrink down in size.

To you, it is caring, caressing, adoration,

To me, I am lost in your outlandish translations,

What is love, is not love, when it is given by you,

Twisted, contorted, stretched beyond use.

In my tired incantations, you find nothing to say,

‘You’re ungrateful’, you shout,

As I crawl shamefully away. 

 

I ponder your accusation, 

For I am not unaware.

I wonder if it is I, who is wrong to despair.

Showered by love, but shouting I’m caged,

A contorted distortion that makes me insane. 

I then dance for hours, compelling a change. 

I find I’m complicit to accepting your rage. 

 

There is nothing worth wanting, 

For nothing is lost.

Nothing distinguished, or equal in cost.

You pedestal me, 

Apply blush to my face, 

Provide eager opinions of all you erase.

I find I’m not crazy, 

I have not made this up,

Though you love me to death,

You empty my cup—

To fill yours endlessly, always longing for more.

I’m no longer human,

Just a doll from a store.

 

I have found my answer!

This is your crime!

I am not ungrateful.

What you give me is guised. 

Ornamental, exquisite, polished, and pristine,

I dangle from the balcony, your goddess, your queen.

Then, I hope I do drop.

Fall to my death, 

It would feel much better, 

Than the love you deliver,

In desperate attempts. 

In desperate attempts—

To make yourself whole,

You steal what ignites me, 

Because you fear what remains, when I leave you alone. 

 

26 to a meritless friend 

No life is given to those who take, as fear crowds their soul. 

A life with malice, doused in hate,

Is one which cannot grow. 

In their fight to be great, to be called “the best”, 

They stomp on and stifle who they know.

Their friends then weep, unwilling to keep

A friend who is stuck in a hole. 

A hole filled with pain, and terror that reigns,

A hole that will never hold love.

Complacent in their ways, longing for a day, where their rage gets them all that they want.

But desires lay unnourished for their life without purpose, 

As their friends all fade away. 

Their wills undelivered, their heart consumed by triggers. 

Left empty with the haunting of their plague. 

 

27 president

I’ve written this before and not because I’ve grown repetitive and tired. 

It seems though, America has. 

We are graced, nay, intoxicated by the breath of a madman, 

Who is set in a position to rule our worlds. 

And what is most disturbing is that he seeks to extend his reach. 

To absorb power beyond control. 

Doesn’t this remind me of someone in years before, so significant and atrocious? 

A facade so ingenious, and old. 

We’ve seen this act before. 

As I recall, act 2 bears hideous consequences. 

Have we all forgotten the past? 

Or are we simply too blinded by the guise of his state affair to believe he could ever bear the same mark as the beasts who came before him? 

 

Hypnotized are some. 

Disdained are others. 

Yet our opposing feelings bear no meaning on his status. 

He has won the nation again. 

The feeling that the end is nigh haunts me. 

And I wonder if it is simply dramatized…but when I speak to others, I see that what I imagine to be true has been confirmed in reality. 

 

He is not stupid enough to just speak. 

He is willing to walk, to do, to disturb what has long been tranquil. 

He measures himself as god.

Couldn’t he shoot someone in the street tomorrow and still be crowned America's king? 

This, he himself has proclaimed he could do. 

Rhetoric can be excused, propaganda can be dismissed, but when actions demonstrate the same narrative as what is broadcasted, it is hard not to let fear settle close to our hearts. 

We cannot forget the history of our sibling nations. 

Lives lost without meaning. 

 

Truth has no meaning to those who follow this leader. Evidence bears no influence on their minds or hearts. Hate permeates the air around us. 

Hostility jolts our waking hours. 

We are lost to our family members, to the people we once called friends. 

When he turns over, as he will do, the side who carries him as king will fall to their knees far too late. 

Long past the days where cries for change could make a difference, 

Long past the days that warned us the balance was upheaving. 

Long past the day when unstifled power would anoint one deceitful man. 

 

I fear for the people, the ones least likely accepted by those in power. 

I fear for our freedom, as he praises leaders abroad who paint with a similar stroke and palette as the totalitarian regimes that came before him. 

I fear for those who follow him blindly, 

Illusioned, 

Entranced, 

And prepared to give it all up for a man who seeks to spread hate and inequity in all policies he creates. 

 

The fear has risen and it won’t subside. 

Our leader should be in prison, yet to the law he won’t abide. 

If we ever had a chance, it’s long since passed. 

Remember this is your king, now watch how he acts. 

 

28 be (wu wei)

Be not what you are,

But what you were born to be.

Be in conversion always,

Upon something greater, 

Something more immeasurable when standing next to your peers. 

Be an exhibition, 

An ever changing construction of faults and fears. 

 

Or—

Perhaps, embrace your standing.

Embrace the posture you already hold.

Change nothing at all, 

Land where you fall

With acceptance and grace of unknowns. 

Be kind to the parts you long to change,

Let them mingle and meander,

Without pressing constraints. 

Let your merit pronounce itself,

A sight to behold.

Let the waves wash you harshly,

As you bask in the cold.

Let all that is willed pass around where you stand, 

Let the changes that come take away all you have planned. 

And if that’s not enough,

Pain lingers longer,

You find you still ponder,

What could be, if you wandered—

Beyond what is now, 

Beyond present presentation,

Beyond what you know, 

Hidden deep in translation.

 

I promise, for I know,

Your searching heeds null,

There is nothing to gain, 

There is no where to go.

The being is here,

What’s needed is now. 

What’s looked for won’t come,

While you’re looking around. 

Be complicit, be tortured,

Sit silent in pain. 

Through hardship, through leisure,

Who you are is attained. 

 

No going beyond, 

No shortcuts to find. 

There is life, there is living, 

And there are those who survive.

 

Be not the one tortured,

The one lost in what could be,

The one longing to change all the things they perceive. 

Be the one who is settled,

Content where they are.

They see the part that wants to change them,

Is the part they must discard. 

 

29 on death—

The door shuts but never seals 

Between the cracks at the bottom and sides, 

What’s contained inside leaks out. 

Though finality rings out abrasively,

There is a continuation, 

An aching that reflects no merit, 

Except to weaken those who remain.

Adorned with the stench of destruction. 

Silence bleeds into the day making it impossible to move.

The wafting aromas rip into our nostrils, 

Painting our insides with the splatters of life’s  unavoidable doom. 

The door shakes on its hinges, 

Cracking from the pressure of what lingers on the other side. 

Shutting our eyes doesn’t work. 

Running works temporarily, 

But the door meets us again, 

Pulsating with the breath of our loss. 

 

There is no suppression.

All arises. 

All bleeds through. 

All sinks into our souls. 

 

Some reach for the handle and fling the door ajar, 

Prepared to face the inevitable blow of absolution. 

But preparation is always faulty, 

And on knees they will find themselves, 

A salty familiar sting pouring from their eyes.

 

There is no healing, 

There is no laughter, 

There is no vision of what could be. 

All falls flat and stale. 

All feels lost. 

 

Every life has a door which is open for all as long as they breathe,

When the door slams,

That is when we are exalted.

That is when we scream we are not ready.

That is when we mourn.

We regret all the things we failed to do inside.

We wonder what could’ve been if the door stayed open longer. 

 

When it shuts, it can always be opened again, 

But it never feels the same.

Nothing can be taken back, nor undone. 

Nothing replaced, or did over again.

Though our brain paints these images, they are faulty, 

Working only to cause us more pain. 

 

There is no conclusion, though conclusion is found nonetheless. 

We sit wondering, haunted by the reflections of the past, 

Berated by the missed possibilities left unattended in the future. 

And our present is an abyss. 

A hole devoid of pleasure. 

Wherever we turn, we feel the pain,

Whenever we breathe deeply, we recognize what has been lost will never be returned. 

And for this we are enraged. 

 

Death is permissible, but when it’s volatile and unannounced—when it’s unfair, 

That’s when screaming and burning the world feels most acceptable.

 

30 fires—to mesiah

Fires i can’t put out

Demons i try to fight

All that weighs on me heavily cannot be disposed of,

For this i am unending,

A part of me is lost in space.

Contained in time, but spiraling beyond sight.

 

You might be found there too,

Smiling i hope,

Cherishing what time you had,

What time you spent feeling the sun on your skin,

Or tasting the snow on your tongue. 

Letting your pencil press the paper till an image appeared,

That made us both beam at what you created. 

 

There must be some place where you can sit now,

To gaze down at the world,

Or maybe you’re floating in the cosmos,

Distracted by the glittering lights of the universe.

Wherever your position is now, 

I hope you’re happy.

 

Here the world is on fire,

It never stops burning.

You felt the flames before,

They knocked you off your feet many times in life,

But you grew stronger with each burn,

Always considering what could be. 

 

For us, it feels like hell now,

The flames surround us all.

But somehow,

I feel,

You're free from them. 

They don’t touch you anymore. 

You don’t even sense the heat we’re all trapped in. 

 

Fires burning all around,

In them you are no longer found.

We shall burn, for it’s what we do,

Life on Earth, in pursuit of truth.

And i will always look for you,

Because though you’re gone and the world still blooms,

The birds sing songs

That fill my room. 

Melodies, none can undo. 

I notice then, where you finally rest,

Delivered from the fire, 

Laying safely in their nest. 

Though not literally, 

For your face is unseen,

But I feel you here,

Both in thought and in dream,

And in spirit, and in world,

You are in everything. 

You are reborn

In the bounty of spring.