Is there a refuge unforetold
or a grave error not sold
to the wonders of a bereaved, crazy world
that studies its atrocities in the cold.

Not a whisper or a sign
that calms the nerves in the night,
not even a shady look that covers its cry
from being discovered as a lie.

What a day have we revealed
where the questions reign unrelieved
of the burdens of the past
married to a future that can’t last.

One anger joins the raid,
silencing the rage to close its gaze
onto that which is answered
but only as a pale homily ransomed
to shut the eyes
from the bloody mess it hides.

Oh, the questions question their questions
in an attempt to find an answer that suits their festers
oozing with vileness and greed,
finding no resolve in this never-ending bleed.

To this mercy, there is none
so not to be shunned or turned a nun
running out to say there is a place
for an answer to claim its space
is an understatement grown
to a reality that is sown
from the trenches of disdain,
dying to say,
give me one more question to be
without ever stopping to see.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

P.S. Using my face not to hide from this disgrace we fear to look in the eye, for a world that deserves not to live in a cry. Reply with yours, whatever that looks like for you!

To see or feel
To start without a deal

The world turns
The scenery burns

In ashes of what to see
In the glory found beyond the sea

Is it a moment that can be measured
Is it a voice that can be lessened

The movement moves
Without earning its grooves

One day to shine onto the other
One night to wake to no bother

To see is a mystery
To wait is the history

Until the eyes tire
The shape shifts in its entire

Walking another day
To see, to listen what can I say

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

This second is so rich, you are not bold enough to admit
Being aware of its depth, you are out of your element to witness
As if seeing will make you see the marvel in its kindness
Of beauty unimagined, hidden in plain sight, yet so hard to commit

To the plain, simple, and darn difficult-to-perceive truth
Those thirty or fifty years are nothing but an instance
In this second, they appear in the distance
Yet, in truth, they lie with you every night as a fairy tale, coming for a tooth

The story is not a matter of exchange of monetary value for your time
Since the beginning, it was never but a tale
Governing your life, whipping it in endless gusts of gale
You thought you had control of it all, until it fell apart in a dime

Oh, this second is so rich
Give it a moment to be your core
As it deserves to be and forever more
For it is not a dream but a reality if you wish

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Without a blip to be heard or a distraction in sight
It keeps your attention from all and any

It holds it close, so close that it doesn’t feel distinct
In it, a truth that speaks loud and clear

When the story goes, and you are it
Not a part or a character but the full story

So much so that you forget there was a story
And your role was once in it, but now no more

The story continues, and the narrator disappears
For when it’s close to home, you and it become one

For all intended purposes, it was never any different
Except in the stream of being, a blip disturbed the flow

And the story finished with an ending that took your breath
Only to notice that all along the story ran, and you were nowhere to be found

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

The sound shatters the inner cries of frustration and anguish and, in the middle of the night, succumbs to the craziness induced deafening the heart and mind in a single blow.

In the silence of an induced coma of nothing and all, it’s hard to remember how it was long before and where it could ever be forevermore.

The will, the might that never desists, sits idle behind and above in missing the truth often; it dwindles yet never falters, for its might is not for us to bear or its will a feat that we could dare to witness in all of its care.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

To be too late is to acknowledge that you know exactly the when, the what, and the where at every turn and step.

Yet as soon as you start believing that, then you should recognize as well that you are deeply convinced that everything is predefined and there is no wiggle room.

Can you guarantee it beyond doubt?

For you to be too late, everything needs to be perfectly square and, in its predisposition, an elegant narrative you have no control over or driving, for that matter.

For being in full control assumes never being late, and simultaneously to be driven by an exact path you cannot control reflects the precision of showing up exactly when you need to.

Isn’t that a wonderful conundrum? And which one is it?

You are never too late because the narrative of control escapes you in its beauty, predates you.

Be as it may, control or none, what stays true in either world you choose, never too late you are.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Its instructions are wildly inaccurate
Yet we blindly follow like a drunken mate

Into the endless rabbit holes it takes us
Craving a better version of thee with no fuss

Yet an editor is all it is
In the frenzy and need to edit, that’s its bliss

Merely a crave or a drive in shambles, it derives
A story that is almost true but really mostly contrived

Editing and editing away in fury and rage, it persists
Yet in silence it can’t fathom to exist

So in the cage of endless ranting
It continues to bring you down or up as if it’s nothing

In your head, there is an editor that doesn’t shut up
And its contract is up to expire yet, what a scary reality that is if it ever did

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Such a torment the clenched fist holds in their tight grasp to bring forward immense power, never recognizing the power never stood within them, rather even from them, but in the arms that hold them in a body that moves them as a whole, unclenched and yet swift in release.

The undeniable bitterness pierces through recognizing it can never own, and in its charade, it continues to waltz in the halls as a king and queen naked to the stings of endless doubts about what could be held or owned yet never to be within reach.

Swift is the justice often to teach the beguiling attempts that the clenched fist, the hold, the ownerships never will be happens in the mirage of myriad truths that never see what was the cause in the first place.

It’s uncanny to believe one could ever escape, yet in the escape, the bitterness dissolves in the wonder of the ultimate truth that there is nothing to be owned and no one attempt will ever land a blow in a clenched fist that aims to tighten the grip on what is soon to be felt as had but never will be.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

We live inside a bubble of a self trying to be aware of itself, consumed in a vicious cycle of trying to be but being defeated by the same goal it tries to achieve.

Make way for you to surface by disappearing and not existing at all, as if you are forgotten and lost to this instance from the records we try to keep.

Remember the instance, and don’t be aware of it. It goes against everything you believe, yet in the essence of being the most pristine and pure form is to be not there.

Literally, figuratively, and in every other way you can think of, it’s the scariest thing you will ever do, yet it will be the most alive you have ever felt or been.

Let go of the idea of YOU. The obsession with what defines you or the thoughts that keep you alive, and in your absence, your most authentic truth appears.

Unfiltered, unburdened by the cognitive load of being what it feels like is hard to explain, but once you find it or technically lose it, you will never want it back.

Get out of the way!

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

The more focused we are, the less open our gaze is. The more precise our predicament, the worse our acceptance. The more the more lies the lies of the cruelty of more.

The bully encroaches on their decisiveness and clarity, believing no other could be or is. Where the shy, the timid instead relax in the ease of a moment lacking, but respectfully probably way more than it merits.

Conviction is such a dangerous dream in the silence of a scream of the agony of clarity dancing in a haze, oblivious of the beauty of the blurry shadow that follows its every move.

Listening dies in the eyes of the all-seeing and knowing, for it has no room to breathe, and in the cacophony of sounds played to muse and command, the sound that carries or moves denies itself the gift of seeing.

For in the blurry of being, the whole of who we are melds in the blurry of the one. Withholding the seeking of clarity amid the haze of every day’s uncertainty continues to relish the moment where the blurry calls you and, in its essence, molds you.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

A simple dance that feels out of control and out of the passions of a single opinion blatantly, we succumb and fall into the trap of a deceitful question.

A question that never was intended for its answer, but its purpose dwindles in withdrawing every single breath that you hold dear, so no answer except that which that question already implied is given.

It is in that storm that we lose sight of the truth that ever is, that the question sometimes is not a question at all but an answer imposed and dressed in beguiling form, standing proud as if no other could ever be.

Simply in that context, which is depriving and naive, is to be witness to the power of reclaiming what a few words could bring forward to see outspoken and stating: it is simply the wrong question.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

The shy squeeze that contracts to release
Life and flowery red in the cheeks

To the rhythm in the endless wheel
That turns with every silent breath

A glory on its own, a bliss for every soul
A true story that doesn’t need to be told

The sound that beats without missing a beat
To echo in the chambers without a seat

For it doesn’t need an audience
Or a witness to its kingly moments

To shine in the wake of the dawn
Connecting all in a tapestry in every instance, redrawn.

To the rhythm
That runs the world without notice.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Lean in and dive
Reap the soul apart and thrive
In an instant, wield a shield
In a jiffy, rise above and yield

Pour yourself a glass
Not of wine or vice
But a gleeful might of brass
That takes you on a journey with no price

Scoop from the endless bottom
That seems to have an end
But it’s merely an illusion, my friend
Trust in the fragility, all naked and some

For there is nothing more rewarding
Than pouring and fearing
one scoop of heart
That echoes in the chambers of those depart

From you, within you, and all around
Scoop into the pond that renders all bare
Pour yourself to replenish the sound
That once was there to care

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

I have dreamed to fly and flying I have with wings I have yet to see.
You’re not sure what I'm smoking, but a mist is already forming, rising from within the depths of the sea.

I have changed without changing. And you have no clue how that could be.
In you, there is a silent, dormant genius that doesn’t know how to wake up. And yet awakened it needs to be.

It yawns every now and then, and a glimmer pierces through.
You are astounded by its radiance, yet quickly it fades too.

Don’t you look great, long hair or not, the glamour shines true.
Beyond the thick mist hides a genius dormant in you, and so far, you had no clue.

Stretch far, stretch wide, pull yourself apart to release you.
The dormant shall no longer be silent, and in you, a new you shall be born out of the silent genius that lies within the depths of you.

To the silent, dormant genius in you, I have a message

It’s about you and yet it has nothing to do with you.
Once the genius is awakened, no You will remember you.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

In turmoil, clarity is breached
In serenity, turbulence is beseeched

Neither by will nor by force
Neither will move or run its course

For in the faith of one
The other is redeemed and shunned

For within the dance of day and night
There is purity and might

The turbulence seeks the calm
As a mystical reading from the palm

We separate one from the other
While in each, neither is a bother

The turbulence that seeks the calmness within
Bears the marks of the struggling sin

In truth and lies, neither win
Yet faith redeems the peace within

As calmness turns turbulent
And turbulence becomes silent

Turbulence seeks the calmness within.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

The grey backdrop amplifies
In day or night, it glorifies

The beauty so solemn in its wake
For the peace to rise and shake

In contrast, we are present
In the stark divide, we repent

For days lost without a backdrop of grey
To amplify the wandering essence in dismay

Beauty rises, colors fill the depth
In the deep abyss of the dew falling, wept

The joy of an instant dancing
Between the attractive contrast singing

From a cacophony sounding at first
To a mastery in its delicate precision burst

The sound attenuated to the mystery
And finally recognized by history

Moving minds and soul
In waves of evolution out of control

Attracted to contrast, we are
And in its wake, beauty reaches wide & far

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Nor stormy in raging feelings
Yet boring and static with no dealings

Of heart, mind, or soul
Just old, plain, and whole

Distance being too far
Or just a tad of a throw from a scar

It brings home the silence
It deals with the violence

Of rage and grief
Angry and bereaved

Oh & oh some distance’s whiff
Break the sound over a cliff

Rein in the solitude and gain
Clarity in thought with no pain

In a singular instance
Of some distance

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~

Shy away, and it shows itself
Believe you can master its understanding
And it will never be revealed
In its fullest colors and vibrance

A mystery it shall remain
In and within itself not known
And yet reached without a path taken
Led by a non imageable freedom

A Life lived in the loud scream
Of music not attenuated or tuned
Yet dissonant in magnificence and eloquence
Undeniable and shattering through and through

A cocktail of contrasting tastes
In a sip revered over simple pleasures
Deemed worthy in the midst of the journey
A nightcap to be remembered yet forgotten

Vibrant life mysteries are
In all humbleness brought to be sacred
Yet not once do they miss a beat to resonate
A low bass hiss that quakes & elevates

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~