Cleansed in the Abyss,

I possess the Infinite

That lies in your eyes,

And the phantom flame of our

Passion bonds our dying Souls.

Purpose Found

As tears flow down,

A well fills inside.

Stones rest at bottom –

Wishes of children.

Shelves gather dust

On which books await

An inquisitive touch –

Abandoned.

Children grow,

Wishes change

No more into wells

But into graves.

Abandoned libraries;

mysterious.

Air of Intelligence;

uncatchable.

A grave unchosen –

Very unwise.

Death, a choice?

Surprise, surprise.

Slipping through,

Light in a gap.

Piercing,

Relieving.

Purpose surprises

At every turn.

The well, now full;

Joyful tears.

As wisdom grows, meaning begins to decompose.

Concerning action, ask not what is the right course

But forsake it altogether; a journey is only profitable

In right weather – a storm rages in the eye of assuredness

As a hermit observes from a safe distance.

I am not a cowboy.

To break a horse, energy is required.

I do not want to tame you; Mustang of the Wilds

Nay, I am one of you but a Stallion no less.

All I’ve ever wanted is to ride with one of my kind,

To chase Freedom to its refuge.

What would horses do once they’ve caught Freedom?

I would hope realize that their Freedom lied in the chase,

And that Bliss danced in the company of their hearts.

Genius Poetry

I recently uncovered some poems I wrote as a child, and they are rather earth-shattering.

Haikus:

Swift, flying, graceful

    Then they call to each other

Flying together

Beautiful, silent

Alive twenty-four seven

Always being polluted

Tanka:

Werewolf, dangerous

When bitten there is no hope

You’re dangerous now

You are consumed by the curse

Don’t try to resist, you can’t

(clearly, I loved werewolves at this stage)

Limerick:

If you ever met the God named Hades

He would make you go totally crazy

When you saw his hair

It would give you a scare

So much you’d be pushing up daisies

(In the time since I wrote this, I’ve actually met Hades and guess what, he’s a righteous dude)

Cinquain:

Hydra

Many-headed

Dangerous, scary, overwhelming

Cut one off, two grow back

Serpent

(Hydra will pwn you… noob)

Barriers

You find yourself on a river bank. The scent of the fresh, mountain water transports you to heavenly clouds; the gentle flowing nestles you to sleep, like a mother does her child. A tree reaches out to touch you; its colorful leaves paint your skin – the perfect canvas. This touch sparks warmth within. The feeling evaporates as you look across the river to see a shade; their face is unrecognizable but the desire to meet them overwhelms you. An impetus stirs you into action; as you take a step to wade through the river, the once clam current erupts into a tempestuous flow; the river rises to an unsurpassable level; you retreat several steps to save yourself. You look across the river at the shade once more; it waves to you – eagerly, you return the gesture. You desire so deeply to cross and meet the shade, but the river’s determination denies you passage. Hands now at your sides, both of you, the shade turns and walks into darkness; as the darkness devours it, the river returns to its calm flow. Despair settles into your heart; you want to see the true face of the shade. Looking around, you search for a way to cross. Moments later, you see a bridge off to your right. Without thinking, you sprint in its direction.

Now at the bridge, you notice that it’s made of brick; also, the midsection of it is missing. Still breathing heavily, you walk slowly onto it and to the edge of the gap – too wide to leap. You glance over the edge. The river consorts with the sun such that it sears your eyes with its reflected rays. You lift your eyes to view the other side of the gap – nothing. Suddenly, a smile exiles your despair and revives hope within you. You sit down with feet hanging over the edge, and wait.

Flash Fiction

Here is a piece flash fiction I wrote several years ago:

The Dragon is green; its scales are samurai swords, precise and without blemish. This one cannot fly but this one cannot be seen; at will, it can disappear, and today, its will is active. The Dragon walks through a wood. The trees are tall and charred; a recent fire swept the trees of their bark. For some reason however, the leaves of the trees retained their color: white.

The Dragon halts beside one of these trees. From a hole on the right side of its roots, a spectacular Rabbit emerges. It scurries about the trunk for a second when the Dragon asks, “Why are you so small?”

The Rabbit stops and replies, “Why do you ask?”

“I do not know. I’m curious, I guess.”

The Rabbit scratches an ear with its left hind leg and responds, “I am small because I am small.”

Upon hearing this, the Dragon scoffs and retorts, “What sort of answer is that!?”

“Tis an answer that suits me, does it not suit you?”

Perturbed, the Dragon says, “Not at all. What are you called?”

“Zylox.”

The Dragon becomes invigorated and it says, “Ahh, I have heard of you. You are the Rabbit who can see the future! Tell me, who will I become?”

“I see what is. The future is now! Why is it that every time I arise from my hole, I only end up talking to myself?”

The Rabbit rolls its red eyes, scratches its ear again, and dives into the hole. The Dragon, confused and unsatisfied, continues on through the Charred Wood. As it takes its first step, a white leaf from the Rabbit’s tree falls on the Dragon’s right claw. It shakes the leaf off and then steps on it; the Dragon can still see the leaf. At this moment, dawn reveals itself in the Dragon’s mind; its will is still active.

Talking About Talking

This person knows

boy with a hat

Mouth to ear

One of the reasons I enjoy writing so much is that I can express myself better through writing than through speaking. I find it difficult to communicate with other people face to face or on the telephone, to express my thoughts and emotions, to make friends, to become close to others. I do not stammer or fall into a paralytic muteness, but my words never flow, and when they do come out, they seem jumbled, haphazard, incapable of conveying what I think and feel. They never seem to be the right words.

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Unsuspecting Adventure

A buzz erupts on my nightstand. Half asleep, I rub my eyes and yawn. I open them but there is no use, the darkness remains. I have the path to my light switch memorized; of course, it’s not that far anyways. I move my legs to the floor, stand, and take a step over to the switch. The light attacks me, concentrating on my face and eyes. I squint as a defense, it’s in vain however. Still squinting, I grab my cell phone to investigate the reason for the vibrations. A friend messaged me; she needs something I have of hers. In this moment, I decide whether or not I should return it this night or tomorrow. I hear a sound boom from outside the house and I turn in its direction. Unconsciously, my eyebrows scrunch, indicating an inquisitive process of mind. After some reasoning, I know what this tone signals. In a few short moments, I’m fully clothed and I have a jacket on. I secure my car keys, wallet, and phone with my pockets and I head toward my vehicle. The night beckons.