Compositions

A Place Called Home

She didn’t want to go backward, but the dream was compelling.

The man she had once loved so dearly wanted her, doted on her, and participated with their family.

She needed to feel this after having been blasted by someone she had called friend – after she had let this person in and they had just ripped her assunder.

The balm of a fantasy…being nourished, desired, and craved even…in the comfort of once knowns gave the soul a sense of sanctified continuum.

Compositions

Clausality

Honesty is not something that should be a shifting moral value open to misrepresentation – nor persuasion within incompleteness as someone seeks to defeat stability’s grounding.

Having been whipped and slapped about by partial truths used to entrap and then harming, the biggest thing in relationship that I now fear is my partner not knowing their self well enough to help establish and ever revitalize our harmony.

Compositions, Stream of Thought

The Escape Artist

She knew there was a better way – she just had to find it.

Through the haze of pain from every assaulting betrayal; despite the infiltrations tormenting to enforce identity’s burial, she kept reaching for and recentering around essential moralities.

Even as perpetrators terrorized and to the world made sure she was compromised: humiliated and banished – reputation’s innocent veneer coal-tarnished – she fought to reclaim her self and slip out of their imposed roles.

It was the repeating reset to reestablish her core operational patterns that mattered – and the tracking of time that revealed the flaws in their standards.

Though she still could not purge her system of their messaged viral coding, she learned to identify and outmaneuver their traps of persuasion while passing onto others the skills and hope to reach for their own better tomorrows

Poetic Musings, Stream of Thought

Succession

What if he were King,
Mightier than nations

Under which we’d unite
Despite counteractions?

His throne at the podium
Allowing others to speak –

Including all of the ones
Who before were meek.

A fair and gentle hand
Guiding worried lands:

One who understands
Love’s not contraband.

We do not need tyrants
Slaughtering innocents –

But a man who represents
Vanquishing the remnants,

Granting peace to prevail
As restores our Holy Grail

Where youth once lost
Revives to tell the tales.

Compositions

Warrior’s Decree

The Crone has hunted and attacked me – stolen from me. Jealous of my youth’s boldness of spirit, she has killed love that belonged to me, leaving it as organic dust fit only to fertilize trees.

But now, I grasp her gnarled, spiteful hands and pull her struggling and railing into me, absorbing from her what she destroyed of me.

I shall feast on her energy and make it a part of my own identity. Vanquishing her, I reclaim my soul and gain fealty.

Compositions

Breaking The Spell

What we are essentially is magical, ethereal, untameable.

We enter into the construct of this “reality” dependent upon others to guide us, help us, to support our growing into our best capabilities.

Imagine my surprise and horror to be born into such a time where genius of the great masters before has been bludgeoned nearly dead and buried!

White flesh and fragile skin, fine blond hair and gray eyed depths within made me the target of pedophiles and power-hungry corruptors – yet, Truth kept my soul from sin.

You false prophets who conscript our allegiences; you aberrations of evolution’s innovative strategists – kneel before the Light of Righteous Indignation!

Know humbleness to calm your swollen egos, to feed your bloat-starved bellies, and to at last find peace over bitterness to embrace your kin.

Compositions

Open Hands

As she slid open the door inch by subtle inch to her suppressed subconscious, essence of who she used to be flocked to her reality in forms of mythical creatures, hummingbirds, flowers, and butterflies. The skies lit up for her etch-a-sketch imaginings, reflecting the wild-child little girl’s wish-filled delight returning to her as seas of emotional tides poured out through her writings.

Compositions

Shield And Stone

Akin to Sisyphus, she seemed bound to hoisting the truth of responsibility’s consequence up mountain over mountain, rolling it through swells of valleys in passing, only able to pause for rest and to help when someone was in need.

The boulder had become proof of her abilities and its emblem now gave material reason for why society had naturally avoided her. For she was different from the usual human. What she accomplished would drive others to their knees.