The earth is my mother and she is my home

The sky above me, wherever I am. This is my father, my guidance toward future prosperity

I make my way with honesty, docility and adaptability
I make them my divinity along with life and death

I relinquish all concept of strategy, design, tactics, law and talent
I place principle, benevolence and the grasp of fore-locking opportunity in their stead

I hear and spout both reason and madness yet take with me only sensibility and gratitude toward insight

I am no longer prompt, for I refuse to look into concepts toward times restriction

I have no time.
I make the moment my time, the lightning my eyes and the relentlessness of the onset storm my very being.

My mind is my vice, my sword, my castle
Wit is my devise and confusion my destruction

My fullness is my strength, my smile my cure
My emptiness my reckoning and serenity my allure

i.

i am stone,
a bandaged angel
in the middle of hell
where the lightening lifts
the dark night from its gloom
and stars no longer shine.

ii.

i am a skeleton of flame,
death’s child of an ugly
war, and all the love
in the world can’t change
the past like a rose pressed
in the dust.

iii.

i am the living,
seeing the soldiers come,
and i pray to god and the angels,
on this broken road,
that the darkness is not real
and the angel is not stone.

sometimes,
i like to dance
with the devil
burning eyes upon me
in hypnotic dazzle
my toes easily
sweep away inhibitions
quieting my angelic
voice's suspicions
as whispered words
brush thine ear
my entranced ego
has no fear
endangering
as it may be
our bodies entanglement
appears free
with soaring thoughts
of ecstasy
we ebb and flow
in ****** mystery
seduced in music
playing rhythmically
ecstatically,
i dance willingly

It is a convergence
of classical cords
and caffeine
along with
the depth
of another
writer
who inspires
dormant desires.

I let the breath
of silently whispered
syllables
simmer in
the ocean
of my unconscious,

as ivory keys
percussively
pound little wooden hammers
against vibrating strings.

I am searching,
seeking
the speaking
of some cosmic being
that lives in me.

The utterance of
unnatural inspiration,
the soul of creation,
not a god force
but chemical particles
dancing in a storm
of confusion.

Dissonance
and novelty
gift me
each word
and verse's length,
but beyond this
I am still searching.

Still searching
in hopes the heart
of art will find me
successively
each day.