jimon-jito

Drifting along to a merrily sung tune,
    discontent shadowed by fickle smiles;
    disbelief blemished by random happiness.
I often embrace causal melancholy
    like a well worn jacket
    with lots of pockets.

Until …

Strange images arise from my morning’s chats
    with the unblemished side
    of tomorrow’s possibilities.
I lost a tad in the discussion
    with not much guidance
    from the heart.

Until …

Righteous wanderings lead me slightly left
    of a possibly good time.
I say good morning;
    just a nice phrase
    that sometimes misses the
point.

Until she
    burned my world
    with her fierce intent
    and delicate eyes.
    Blessed my world
    with angelic grace
    and whispered sighs.

Driven by passionate heat,
    she surrounds this
    stillness,
    this earth
    with risen desire
    and hints of embrace.

She whispered.

“Sometimes tomorrow is tomorrow
    and nothing changes that
    like today.”

At times a sadness
    colors my eyes
    settles like a thin veil.
It is not so much for now
    but for times lost.

It is too easy to forget
    that this moment is only once;
    this encounter
    this leaving
    this kiss
    this glance
    a night’s dream
    a day’s drama.

Only once,
    your face as it moves from smiles
      to tears;
     your body as it wraps mine
      and moves away;
     your soul as it binds the universe
      and sinks to a singular point.

Only once,
    this ache of not knowing;
     this wonder in a child’s eyes
    this despair in some insane hurt
    this touch that lingers.

My past is full of
    misplaced regrets
    unexplained stories
    and sacred rememberings.

My future reaching for
    expected hopes
     imagined journeys
    and uncertain death.

The pleasure is to place my feet upon this ground,
    this one time
    this one place.

     Listen.

It will not repeat.

What holds us;
    our endearing hands
    grasping
    for a piece of the immortal;
    slipping to others
    the source of our strength
    blind to the cause of our misery.

The mirror tells a better story;
    echoing the lost eyes,
    the original face,
    the sadness
    at time wasted.

What is a lie
    but our hope
    given an honest face.

Smile;
    we are the creators.

Sometimes life sits on the street corner
      leaning against a well worn place
      nodding off
      completing the contradiction.

Scream for justice
      while weathered by traveled prejudice.

Scream for mercy
      while whipped by handcuffed defecation.

Scream for peace
      while clawed by narcissistic mutilations

Scream for love
      while driven by darken rejection.

Reach for it
      skittering beyond your fingers.
Run for it
      resting beyond your endurance.

Believe
      you never had it
      you never lost it
      it was never stolen
      it was never given.

Stop
      wearing pain like an ornament
      pleasure like an oddity
      shame like a dessert
      fame like a savior
      blame like comfort
      praise like reward
      loss like karma
      gain like destiny.

You are everything,
      you despise and desire.
You are the only thing
      that breathes life
      into this place.
You are the
      only thing
      that defines.

You are it.

Tag.

A grip relaxes
     fear taxes
     constructs melt
     memories felt
     doors open
     windows reopen
     lights shine
     loneliness whines
     passion moist
     attention voiced
     devil drives
     satan’s wives
     fears subside
like
     buddha’s bride.

A path flows
     like someone knows.

Backpacking in the center of Texas;
its heart, a restrained wilderness
where
    sanity is regained,
    voices heard,
    demons exorcised.

In this place, I
    lay in the dirt,
    smell the silence,
    touch the obvious.

At first,
    the quiet disturbs,
    the aloneness caresses
        the past memories
        like undigested swallowings;
    birth tremors
        of grief brokering a cry,
        of angry tightening a rage,
        of regrets loosing a sadness.
    
This restlessness
    abates with walking,
    the remembered voice
    landing
    upon a single bent flower
    nestled within the green.