As incense carries prayers to the heavens

So I hope does the smoke from

Bridges burned

Sparked by knowing return

Is death repeated

Looking over the chasm

Back at that old place

May I learn from my mistakes

And success come from failures

May life flourish using the falling ash

As minerals for strength

May those left behind find

Their own paths to new lands

And hate not live within

May love flourish in new places

Grow deep roots

To burst up into

A sun-drenched canopy

May this new land

Become home

An angel that feels
Fallen
Know her strength but
Denies
Her divine nature
Even
When devil’s cast her out
She misses
The halo in the mirror
A light
That lifts souls around her
Holy
Set apart for greatness
The attacks
Armies crashing hard against her
Produce
Walls around a treasure
Some souls
Drawn from distant places
Feel
Power and light inside
Crawl
Through the dark battlefield
Scale
Walls of stone and bone and mud
The gravity
Of her buying light pulls them
Standing
At the door of true beauty’s home
Some ask
Not knowing the words she truly needs
Some beg
But beggars will never win her ear
One
Passes through the rabble
Knocks
Low and firm, confidently and simply speaks
Open
Latches click and whirl and he alone walks through
Now
He will spend days in the pleasure of
Showing
The things she misses in reflections
Building
A palace she should always have had
Stepping
Between her heart and dark wars
Caring
For her as she does for him
Together
Facing what may come

Laying lonely

her hand touches

the cold emptiness

next to her in bed

the one she chose

chooses himself now and

leaves her waiting

while the one who

tried to choose her

deals with his own cold and lonely places

in his hands he watches

the magic glass

looking at old reflections

waiting for the next

flutter of light to

show him her face

her beauty drawing him back

even though the pain

borders on unbearable

he still feels the parts

she hides away from

everyone else

knows the value her choice

could never understand

he waits and watches

the shining mirror

brings other faces

sends his out to the world

he releases himself in words

written about and for her

out

into the energy of the world

his sadness calls out

the emptiness echos

into the collective consciousness

frequencies that resonate

with similar souls

dejection still sits on him

broken parts of his heart

find bits of hope

in the familiarity of others

who have also lain in pieces

torn, the dysphoria caused

by loves desire to hold on

to help

to show unconditional care

fighting

with cracked parts who

want to cause hurt and see

the same internal bleeding

needing rescue

needing the love given

that was taken and unreturned

the imager held

shows other hearts

with the same lost craving

and they find solace

together

his core still rattled

grows slowly stronger

daily

his head still shakes

over the empty side of her mattress

some days it seems he

will always have her hearts in mind

others darkness overflows

and anger bleeds out

connection probably

will never be a possibility

he is sure she expects

more

in the view through

he watches affection given

and moves further away

knows the new he’s found

is worth

not letting this shake it

reluctantly still

he closes the window on her world

and opens the door

to something new…

 

I see you
I see you…and instantly my mind brings us together, bodies intertwined, sweating, exploring, buried in you…

And you smile…the sweet, breathless smile you give when you know we are together this way because our hearts and minds have just as much desire as our bodies do. We aren’t just interwoven flesh, but thoughts, emotions, we share them all. The pleasure you feel…I feel it, the pleasure I feel, makes your body shake with mine.

Your thoughts don’t escape my mind, mine stay with you causing your skin to glisten more and more. One mind focused not interested some finishing point, but fully in the moment. Nearly overwhelmed with each new moment that comes we carry on knowing this each one belongs to only us.

Desire. Each individual desire has passed and it is only our desire, not yours and mine. Its not mutual as much as it is simply one, one sweet, pure desire that courses through one lovers’ body. It’s become something new, unselfish but self fulfilling. A pulsing, red hit heat that won’t be satisfied at climax, but will continue in each mind through the coming days.

I see you…and this is what I think. This is what I’d give, this is who we would be…if only you’d see me.

Yes, you may find me smoking a pipe, whilst wearing a flat cap. Then I take the cap off I’ve got a slick haircut with a razored part. I may be a fan of vintage things and have a wallet with a chain. My face is covered in hair, the past three years it’s been covered with full, trimmed, groomed and balmed hair.

But, my friend, said facial hair has been there in one form or another since high school. I’ve worn the flat caps longer than that, because my grandpa gave me his when I was 9. Both my grandpas workshops smelled like cherry tobacco smoke from a pipe. So I wear a hat and smoke a pipe like the men, the real men I’ve known. My hair cut is reminiscent of my dad’s too. .

So I may, at times, look like a hipster, but please don’t think I am. I am not some urbanite that has never had dirt or grease on their hands. That broods over indie music like it’s the height of all art. I don’t Yap over some IPA like I’m a brew master. And I don’t wear skinny jeans.

Skinny jeans. Right. My thick thighs and man ass tear the stitching on regular jeans, if I squatted down to look at something in skinny jeans I could kill someone. The seams snapping like whips at circus tent raising. You have got to be kidding me.

I may have moved to a town from my farm, may be degreed and know how to run a business, I’m just as much rural as urban. When I’m not driving the family Flex, I could be in a rusted out pickup, with knarly tires. I wear flannel for a purpose as much as fashion to cut wood for my campfire pit. I might clean up good but I can sink an ATV in the mud and come out looking like one happy swine.

I can change a tire or my oil or my brakes…in fact, I can tear my ’71 Chevy down to the frame, put it back together and make her look and sound real pretty. I have the tools and skills to do so. I was raised by a man who taught me how to do most of it just by doing it himself.

I create things in my woodshop, I can hang, mud and finish drywall. I do my own plumbing short of tearing up the entire septic fields. I remodeled my house, I build…I tear down…I use my hands as well as my mind.
I am me.

Man…Yes. Hipster…No.

-MindfulSage

The deference is the difference

Approaching her with devoted adoration

Unfounded in petulant eyes

A nucleus that radiates bounteous heat

Formed in the reaction to affection

Espying a exquisiteness

Hand crafted by the cosmos

Duplicate to the chasm inside

Yearning for liberated love

Calling out…crying out…

Fulfilled, believing

(beat)

…Crushed, alone

Overlooked, secondary

Destitute from a full offering of self

Somehow hope remains

Rebounding only to plunge

Over and over

A moment

Resplendent light of souls intertwined

Interrupted often

Valued above self

Above pain

Genuine virtue and value observed

A devoted heart waits

He could see everything,
Reversed
Upside down
Rounded
Life moving in wrong directions
Colors the same but slightly distorted
Like a summer pavement shimmer
Things were the same but totally different
Distant, the light caught his eye like never before
Suddenly into this strange
Opposite but the same
World on the other side of the drop
It pulled him through,
Shrank him
Then stretched him
He stood where he was
In a place altogether new
His walk was wavier here,
Gaunt
He looked down at himself
He hadn’t changed
But had
Looked new
But the old him too
This place here and there
On the other side of the dew
And as suddenly as he had gone
Slipping and dragging back
His time here was through
With a jolt
His new old head was back
In the place it started
The only real place
And he looked as the drop
In front of his face
Lost its hold on the edge
Of his old porch roof
And he lost sight
Of his new world too

The traffic rolls passed

Fingerprinted picture glass

An unaccompanied man walks by

Icicles cling to his stubbled chin

It’s frigid

But snowless

Grey clouds drape

The fading day in

Lackluster mood

By gone men

Chatter loudly

Stories that mattered

Once

Nodding, knowing

Their companions truth

Has grown over the years

As has their own

A woman with

A lonely face

Picks up her tepid cup

Of hopeful smile

While

Music too upbeat

For the evening

Echoes

Lightly off false wood floors

Each soul passing time

Lost in the labyrinth

Of unceasing thought

Miss the beauty

Hidden amongst these

Melancholy moments

Life happening

In hidden bubble clouds

Egos perspective

Demands precedence

Bellowing behind

Pulpits of fool’s gold

Preaching to choirs of

Feelings

Dressed in guilded robes

Nodding to sentiments

Of doubt and fear

The unending sermon

Distracting

From opportunity to see

Even in this seeming gloom

Life is calling

To see

Beauty meant for

Their eyes alone

New perspectives

Made for healing hearts

Lost

As traffic continues to pass

Pure white fairies dance softly down
Illuminated in a hard cone of light
They twirl and twist, swoop and swirl
Finding a place to rest in each other’s arms
They land, so happy to have found
And been found
They become inseparable
Another step and another cone
Another grand ball of magical creation
I count myself suddenly lucky
Not many venture forth
Not many brave the frigid black air to see
These mystic beings in their promenade
As my cheeks redden
My hands ache from Jack Frost’s bite
A smile pushes out to curve lips
This hard life tries to take these moments
To make a mind miss the wonder
And it wins at times, at times it wins most times
But not this night, not this walk
This walk belongs to me and my momentary companions
All of us spinning, twirling, swooping along
Together we dance
Together we find…happiness
Light in the lights pushing back the night
And break the hold of troubles hand
Free for now, sure, no maybe, to be found again
But this dance is ours and this smile is mine
Passing through the last light
Before my doorstep comes
I flourish a bow and bid adieu
And make my way to warmth of hearth
Lips still upturned this memory will last
Past sleep and day and things to come
Finding my way to slumbers home
My head turns on feathered pillow
And as my eyes grow heavy and close
I hold tight to the feeling of warmth I found
Walking in winter’s cold