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Free Spirit Fail Safe
Unhinged, the floodgates collapse
The waters weighed so heavily on them that in the dark of night
do they unwillingly liberate the transparent stillborn
unto the dry soil once adjacent to the gates.
Two clocks tick, their gears turning at the uneven tempo
Unwound, rusting to a screeching halt on the command of the flood.
Time stops at the hinder, And neutrality dies on impact.
What a sight as I close my eyes,
Late at night when energy dies.
Taken to flight my psyche then flies.
Do as one might, the cold sweat brings about my cries.
Fighting my fight, in where my imagination lies
The withered flowers ashen and in bloom
Be my soul to cower, from the ever impending doom.
Two clocks tick, one my own and the other my fate.
The flood arrives to consume
and to the end does the time die and go black...
Open my eyes to the dark if night
An abyss before me to lay back down...
down where the floodgates come unhinged
and my imagination lies.
Outcast and away from shore,
to the center of still waters,
where rest my tears.
A float, the setting sun
beats its dying light
against my coffin.
Where within lies
my mind in darkness,
afloat amongst the still
waters of my tears.
Confined to a rotting cage of wood,
Time is my mortician,
at the edge of my thought.
The haunting consistency overtakes me,
compromising the process of my existence.
God help me, as the wood
is surely rotting all around me
I shall hold my breath
Just this once and final time.
I have found the haunted wake
past the lens of my sight.
I am the mad man,
within the shell of me
fighting that battle
which I reluctantly wage.
I will wait with my patience,
which with me drowns...
I will await the oak of my coffin to rot,
so that I may break free,
and swim away from my demise beneath,
To the above of my fallen tears
to whatever light remains & awaits me,
in the new world that I will call my own.
A Shade in the Fog
Gazing onward with the wanting eyes,
in search of nostalgia and reminiscence
is the shell of me.
Repression of thus, my depression,
I recall little to nothing at all.
Find me within the fog of my thought,
Shade of my Lord,
for lost am I,
drowning in the murky waters
of my ever fleeting psyche.
The third eye wanders,
Zoning in and out of reality.
Focused on theories,
Never on proof.
Prayer only begs for hope,
Off an indecisive tongue.
Knowing not what to do,
But only to worry and fear.
Paranoia sets up what seems like the end,
The third eye tears up...
An effort come and gone,
Dead upon running its course.
Thus begins a means to an end,
Or so we think.
As a conclusion is never desired,
The heart continues to beat.
Fallen From On High
Embrace sweet calamity,
The darkness which engulfs you now.
Apollyon, of that intrepid verse,
Now awaits, drooling with a gaping mouth.
Of temptation, the liars tongue,
Striking up the deals that bring you only to ruin
Just below, Tartarus waits for you...
And the patient welcoming shall be of no surprise.
Embrace now, bitter calamity...
The retribution that has longed for thy touch.
The clustered storm, prolonged, procrastinated,
hovers over to knock you down.
The portal, that vortex, to plunge you down.
Have you to own, no peace...
only what is allowed to your filthy hands...
Recollection-Chapter 1:The Hills are nothing new.
Normally...Journeys...quests...the idea of a purpose upon an unknown path...they always have some sort of ending...the story ends, and the reader is finished. It is rather hard for the reader to move on to another story when the writer is all but mortal.
I was once mortal, like all humans on this Earth, but fate has always had a harassing sense of purpose with me, before and after the Great War. These words will be of the roads fate has placed my old feet upon. There is so much to tell with the memory I have...However, I primarily write this to maintain any bit of sanity I may have left in mind...Lucidity is quite the difficult thing to hold onto to in a time of madness. I only ask that you do not take what is written here lightly, as much of what is to follow could very well teach the reader a great many things. Yet as always, one must remember that life goes on and its hills will keep coming...but in the end, the hills are nothing new to the mind t
That Elated Kiss
Between us both, that kiss of God
From to and upon the souls within the very cores.
The fruit of this knowledge was not ill-gained,
As meant for mine eyes was the gotten teaching.
Ah yes, the inspired motivator amongst my tongue,
Pure, but deadly, as to protect what is owned
By the cavities that contain ours, the beating hearts.
This marathon to & through
which I gladly volunteer to run,
Has my limbs aflame, enthralled with elation,
Striking down to its knees, the very calamity that
once over took me. Bless you, from above,
as from my lips between us both, a kiss from your lover.
Taken aback, never have I been so ashamed...
And lo by the brethren of my very faith!
Bestow upon them your grace,
sweet Heavens above,
For they realize not
the ignorance of their arrogance.
Forgive them my Lord, as I cannot...
Many attempts have I made
To make amends...
Yet they continue to abase and abash
Those whom can truly claim witness
to your infinite truth.
Their judgment should come from me not,
for I wish them to make their way
to the shores of the ocean of their making...
where they may drown within their asininity,
to which their ways now lead them,
Moths to a frenzied flame.
I fear I must now express
My views of us, your flock.
As I have so boldly expressed them
to my mistaken kin,
with only a hint of lended ears...
We are flawed O'Lord!
But of course, I mean no insult!
As I hold absolution to your greatest plan!
Yet I feel I must speak up,
And let my confessions pour out,
over my vile human tongue...
And I will do so out of faith...
These words, Father,
come both from fea
What You WantMaybe you want them to notice
Maybe you want them to see
Maybe you want them to care about
How you’re lost and lonely me.
Maybe you want them to ask
Maybe you want them to know
Maybe you want them to care about
How your happiness is a show.
Maybe you want them to quiet
Maybe you want them to listen
Maybe you want them to care about
How your blood does glisten.
Maybe you want them to leave you
Maybe you want them to die
Maybe you want them to care about
How your life’s just a lie.
Some Words Hold HeartsThere are some words
Many words ,in fact,
That aren't meant to be read
By an audience.
That aren't meant to be condemned
For their validity and originality.
There are some words
Who's only point is to exist.
To give existence
To show someone their pain is real
That its important.
Their anger is real
That its just.
Their love is real
That's its true.
Their hearts are real
That they 're whole...
Even if no one else sees them that way
Even if no else knows them that way
Even if no one understands
Or reads those words.
Those words hold our hearts
And that's all their meant to do.
Broken PiecesIn an instant
Pick up the pieces
Bond them with the glue of mistrust
Re-frame that perfect picture
That you hold so dear
The CrowOnce upon a time
I knew how to fly;
with the wings of purity
I took the giant leap
over the dark blue sky
and the ocean beneath
I never thought
I could fall down
My wings were made of steel;
they shone the shades of silver
and my heart was made of gold;
or that was what I thought.
The air under my wings:
purity and honesty.
I breathed my principles
I reached my goals.
I found the new land.
But now I'm one of the crows
without an ability to fly again
Wander to nowhereA ghostly walk on the autumnal pavement
Even my own shadow is gleaming more
Than the empty shell of my body.
As I keep wandering, on this endless pit
Picky starving crows are looking down on me
The leftovers of my thoughts order me to die out.
This path of glory I've kept away from, it might be gone.
My dignity and pride, where have you fled?
I'm searching for the graveyard of redemption
Where my promises are all buried
Shot down by my deceit's gun.
Will you ever forgive me?
As I'm standing there, the icy silence blows ;
As time goes by, the ruthless mutism of yours
Reckons that time for forgiveness hasn't come yet.
Drink DeepWe are not yet
dead, but the
have you believe
that we are dying.
We have rehearsed
the methods of our
We make muses
from nature and
from each other.
We assume, like the
canyon's high-water mark,
that the floods
will not come.
Who am I
to say that
this is false,
that we have
that hold us apart-
(we are ever so slightly
levitating off the ground
and from each other.)
And the streets protest
by rehearsing the methods
of our end.
When our blood
turns to alcohol
and the first thing
they see of us
is the white
of our bones.
Monsters Under My BedMonsters.
Monsters are under my bed.
I would try and get help.
But people would laugh at me.
'There's no such thing as monsters!' They would tell me.
They didn't know how wrong they were.
The monsters were horrible.
They taunted me, raking their ethereal claws across my face, leaving invisible scars.
People wondered why I was so 'different'.
It was the mental scars that changed me, making me into a whole new person.
Go ahead, tell me that monsters don't exist.
I dare you.
But one day, you'll be their next victim.
And you're going to regret every single word that slipped past your lips.
One night, the monsters crawled out of their hiding.
They took my life in my sleep.
But still, no one believed in their existence.
They'll be coming for you next.
KidsWe're just kids, that grew up too fast.
Due to expectations and isolations.
Adaptations, illustrations, separations.
It's not how it used to be.
I wonder will it last?
One words replies,
Now it's lies, cries, guys and skinny thighs.
Oh I despise, but I'll advise,
Do not trust a soul.
Blasting music in our ears,
Hiding from the sneers and leers,
They're picking on the queers.
Aren't they our peers?
Alone, and other feelings I've never known.
Upgrade your phone.
Dye your hair a darker tone.
Wear cologne and dig the drone.
Welcome to the cool zone.
Break and clatter.
"I'm fine." or "it doesn't matter."
Am I flatter or fatter?
Definitely the latter.
Watch my heart shatter,
And the pieces scatter.
Cause we're just kids, who grew up too fast.
Due to expirations and deprivations.
Situations, innovations, realizations.
It's not like it used to be.
Now we're an outcast.
Hear the silence.One of the most important things is to know when to listen, not only to others, but to the Earth, to the Universe. We're all constantly communicating, via our actions, our thoughts, our dreams, our energy.–– it's pulsating around us like a constant breeze and it deserves the silence we constantly murder, with our ever so blatant need to be heard.
The moon has seen billions of years, and it's still lost every morning.
The audacity of wanting to know it all, when the sun still questions itself at night.
The arrogance of coming to "factual" conclusions, when the stars engulf themselves with doubt.
One of the most important things, is to know how little you know, to be humbled by the extraordinary realm in which we live, and acknowledge we'll never understand it all, to surrender to it's will. All we can control–– is how we react to life, and the best way to react, is not to.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Ignorance is Fear
What knowing have you
of what you speak?
The rotten fruit from which
you've bitten and consumed,
has truly brought to you
the seeds of idiocy.
What have you done,
to comprehend such words as provocative?
As pure and professional
are the letters that I form to art.
Doubt I that you
know a significant thing.
The ignorance you so proclaim,
is the fear from which you flee.
You dread whatever is misunderstood,
and without reason do you lash outward
with teeth and claw,
like some rabid beast, tormented by disease.
In the end, the clarity has marked
that yours is the feeble mind.
Yours is the debate of madness,
and the indecency of your own nature.
In the end, you know nothing,
because you are nothing.
Keep in Touch!