The mourning finds a scattered soul and a present hurt
Clouds run to hide the warmth of the sky with a monstrous vengeance
Roses bloom extending venomous cleaves and a lack of hospitality
Sounds of haunting calls beckon, summoning the duality of hope and hopelessness
Still the bleeding reaches
The hand vulnerably opens and finds no rest
Gaze falls and the verdant world becomes uncertain behind the curtain of sailin
To walk is full of cruelty
To stop is full of pain
The beaten road opens
Revealing the mirage that’s joy
Walking tethered to the pages of doubts
Burdened by that which is true
The traveler now climbs and sees
Only to find he’s blind
The sweet essence of gardenias entoxicates the senses and chokes the emotions
The sight below, a sea of those longed for
A sea of the indifferent
The journey ensues on the road built with gold and tears
Feet bleeding from the jagged cobblestones
A heart broken from the distant goal
longing to mend itself it searches for hidden relief
A smooth stream of comforting air greets the seeker as the road bends
Pain
Peering through the quagmire of self
The burdened sees the figure
Tall, dark, and full of promise
Desperation swells as the hands hold fast
The linen heavy with cries drags the lost
Away from the path
Away
A monstrous black swirls below
The edge, slippery with regret
The faceless one stares
Piercing, comforting
A step forward, one step to go
The eyes refuse to see
The ears hide from sounds
The tongue forgets what’s sweet
The skin retreats in slumber
The everything cowers at nothing
And nothing consumes all
But in the bowels of the obscure
Deep within the center of never ending
All stops
Silence steps into its throne
Clarity is allowed to speak
A whisper sings
He remembers
His sight now clear his feet now stop
He hears his name
He sees the caller
He remembers
He sees the road before him
Sanity
Weighted chords fall
Harmony is lifted
Wants retreats
Needs presses forward
Migrant colors find homes
Fear’s fight is lost
He remembers
He is seen
He is sought
He is he
He was never who he thought
He was always who he was
The morning finds the wanderer
The wanderer finds He
Tales from a Nut Shell cracked open 