Verbal Death

death

Does he not realize
That he dies in front of my eyes
Every time he lies..?

He may as well wield a knife
And take his own life

For it is not the sword
But the deceitful word

That cuts the jugular and the femoral
in preparation for his funeral..

It is a permanent stain
His apology is in vain

For there is no return from verbal death
After he’s uttered his last lying breath.

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First Kiss

“The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. 
It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; 
because this kiss already has within it that surrender.” 
~ Emil Ludwig

kiss4

♦◊♦

the first kiss
makes me sad
because I can never again
replicate that feeling of passionate anticipation,
that pure unknowingness of a life altering expectation,
that can only come before
the first kiss

◊♦◊

“In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said.”
~Pablo Neruda

◊♦◊
but every kiss thereafter
bears within each breath exchanged
an offering ~
the seed of immortality
a promise
that unites two souls
for eternity.
♦◊♦

“We are all mortal until the first kiss …”
~Eduardo Galeano

A ‘not so empty’ Gift..

 

journal

A gift is fragrance out of breath

fled from the abode of the urn

seeking respite of a wayfaring vessel

within whom, it makes its return.

Be not daunted, open the cover,

Draw deeply from spirits fathomless well

Oh, water bearer for the soul of dry parchment,

A river of words erodes the truth a mountain can tell.

Lo, winds of wisdom for the seeking leaf

Softly turn its empty pages

Stir them not, but deliver the stillness

Spoken through the love of inner sages.

Leap not, be gently drawn

Oh, sojourner, not so soon,

Soft, the precipice waits for you to cast

From the abode of your own perfume.

Those who give, journey on

Deep in the heart of others who are given

And when the page seems dark, find the spark

When the flint of the lover strikes the Beloveds frizzen.

~ Skip Maselli
(thank you for this priceless gift)

Solitude

Andre Brito Photography

Within this solitude,
I have grown in ways I never knew possible.
I have delved deeper into the caverns
of each chamber
of this sacred abode
we call the Heart,
and discovered there is no end..
It is a perpetually incessant journey.

I continue to swim,
propelled through this bloodstream, ~ this heart’s dream..
my tears becoming one with the ocean
within the vessel that carries me forth.

Guided by a gentle hand, the inward immersion continues..
It is dark.. warm..
it envelopes me.
I cannot see .. rather I feel,
moving by the sight of faith.

There is safety in this sanctuary,
the guiding hand a cord,
the darkness a soothing, protective womb.

I inhale deeply —
as I hear the voice whisper:
 everything is allegory
      pain is a sculptor (it keeps us upright)
         love is a painter (his brush divinely guided)
            lust is a cello… (but what good is an instrument without a song to sing?)
and I am ecstatically transported to Tagore:
I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument 
while the song I came to sing remains unsung.”

I exhale cathartically —
Releasing..

It seems an eternity between the inhale ~ and the exhale..
a lifetime between each breath.

cello