Reflection

I have sutured a carousel of hearts
to beat among crowded breaths in my chest
What started out as love
now a map leading me away from myself
To a reflection in running water
that can never be held


Monologue

For I have seen,
The ruins of a grand temple,
hidden now amongst groping vines;
Under a canopy thick with green.

Further North, a basin rests,
With a beast at its heart.
Through the mist, I caught its scream,
As its three spider limbs scrabble in the dark.

“If only I was done, for Mt. Bonochi tires,
Facing an army of clouds, and relentless rain…”
And the story went on; but little did the listeners know,
The temple remained unseen, and the beast in the mist unslain.


Telling the story

Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading
our lines, repeating what we know is right.
When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you
give in? My heart can’t emerge from below
the ground if you don’t fight for new soil.
Mud dries, pages loosen.
This story starts with you and me.


Your hands

Your hands
Have always known
The way around
My body.
The highs and lows
Where to press
And where to hold.
You studied every inch
Like I’m a hidden map
And you’re looking
For secret treasure.


My Heart

This heart is more pain than pleasure; more villain than victor
Thriving in the breath of ashes gathered from burning time in all the places we don’t fit.
But it’s the only one brave enough
To navigate in the dark beyond right and wrong to meet our dream in a sky we can’t see
To taste fire in the beautiful chaos of an almost lover’s absinthe lips of apocalypse
To pick poison after poison to feel alive
And still survive.


Chapter 7 – A father’s love

An arduous path, fate has set before me. The kind which relentlessly taxes my spirit and has begun to slowly erode the very seams of my sanity. The deafening cries inside my mind keep me awake and the deception, lies and manipulation have made their mark on my thoughts. The decision to forgive and not seek retribution has now weakened the once willful patient man. They say that those who leave such matters to faith and goodwill eventually find peace.

Does the father, who withdraws; not because of the unending repression by the ruffians hiding behind their false agenda, but due to his deliberate choice of not separating his daughter from her mother, not deserve better? Or would it have been wiser for him to have unleashed his wrath until he could have had her in his arms? On this path, I have found that a father who withdraws for the sake of his child has a love far greater than the one who does not. I would have never forgiven myself, for letting you be used as leverage by those who sought mischief. I left you in God’s care and I hope you have the same heart as me for you will need it to climb out of the moral-less abyss.

I could write a hundred words, to express how much I miss you and how I long to see you, yet when I start, there is little I can muster. So, for this Father’s Day, I managed to get a painting made for you which I hope holds true to the adage; a picture is worth a thousand words. May you always be happy and healthy and may you always choose the right path, no matter how hard it gets. May you find peace through morality, like I did.

To my Daughter;