I’ve seen her once in shattered dreams,
A flicker drowned in silent screams.
She passed me by—untouched, unknown,
Yet carved her name into my bone.

She never looked, she never saw
The way her absence split my jaw.
I stitched her face from scraps of air,
And filled the gaps with quiet prayer.

She was never mine—
Not even close.
But something in her
Felt like home.

I don’t know her,
Not the way I need.
But still she haunts
My every plead.

She walks through me in every crowd,
Too bright, too soft, too far, too loud.
I memorized the way she breathes
Though she’s never even spoken to me.

I’ve built a shrine from passing glances,
A temple forged from phantom chances.
One smile and I’d lose my mind—
But she keeps her gaze,
And leaves me blind.

If she knew—
Would she run?
Would she scream?
Would she come undone?

She isn’t mine.
She never will be.
But still I wait
Where no one sees me.

I never touched her...
But some nights,
I still wake up
smelling her on my hands.
Her lips still burn on my neck.

She breathes through the cracks in me.
She dances in static and screen glow.
She’s never come home—
but I never let her go.

Scars within whisper tales only your soul can hear,
Silent stories hidden deep, beyond the world's ear.
In shadows they softly speak, of pain and grace,
A secret song of healing, in your quiet space

Being shamed
at having lived, survivor who hid,

ducked and covered, and lived, since

from when America
was a Grand Old Party, all righteous
free whites from foreign tyranny refuging

Come ye, to where the railroad grew,
straight across the Hunkpapa Lakota
happy hunting grounds
taken as
homeland
after the horses came
where

before the Methodists
Free Soil, and the making
of good Indians,
and relatively rapid fire ballistic devices
witty inventions circumvented careful aim
tedious patience selecting chosen heads
to remove from the great game,
played with boys
called young men, sent west, believe-ing,
we can take the land,
we can build a castle,
we can build a city and buy and sell
and get great gain, a city on a hill,
famed for sharing bombs, with
peoples of the book,

as sure as-
as sure as-

certain murders are not called ******,
American tradition holds tyranny,
under the banner
of land owners, requiring local labor
to eliminate hate,
by killing any who hate truth…

conserved order, leaders, managers, laborers,

and the cursed worthless good for nothings,
always bred to man the trenches, dig the ditches,

for which we now have machines, no slaves need apply.

Right, the Holy word for authorized readers.

We can all be heros, like

Caleb, whose land had giants, yet Caleb
had the conquerors's courage, his troops
had nothing to lose,
out of the wilderness,
into Ezra's exhortation, work or die,
Noah, Ezra, Joe Smith, same function,
heroic tales told
in Babylon,
under authority
from no less than the authority
of Moses, first witness to events in Eden,
whose will wrote the law, while atop Sinai,
obedient, to the letter, no lie, no lie
the command
not all of it,
of course, the ten commands,
one must clearly outlaw prevarication,
ah
wit wound windwise turning inward,
left and right, swirling axial role rights
tighten
time
BTW, jot and tittle
close inspection reveals,
"Thou shalt not lie" literally is not commanded.
Not one of 10 minimum obediances demanded.

Never the less, chosen to survive the womb,
despite definite spiritual cuckoo egged odd ducks.

Chosen-ness, excluding any not
of the blood, as determined, how, back when,
? serpent on a pole, no, what could determine,
who is included in the chosen to rule class of us

purging foul stench from shame on the mighty

by surging pride in rebuilding a people, a mind,

which when tuned
to prosperities patterns learns,
this is the old way, where good is, we sought.

We find, unnoticed,
here, held separated, by God,
not our fault, we did not choose
to be chosen, truth, Essene evidence,
is all the evidence
of Genesis we really have…

circumstantial historical happenings happened
to us, each one, made
from two, made
from four, made us, eventually deemed equal,

by virtue of a kinsman's redemption, shoe shucking,
symbiology symbolism recognition, by right, taken,

my ownable, fungible intellectual property, the air
I altered through mediating peace where none ever is,

at the core spin, the one, big spinning polarity that is,
present tension, hold us, each, in mindful now, this is,

as we have agreed, words work thought, we make
believe a verb, we use love as if it, too, is such, a verb…

active ability accounting for idle word, as such, loving

called to become, shapen
by time, the steady course correcting

force pulling,
momentum pushing, coagulating mass,

from once, when nothing was,
but the unspeakably
sacred potential
of you,

the one, you,
never one like you,
your unique role,
the one thing only you are,
and only you may be, that is
the one law
of life
in our bubble
of being, is to be, any must chose,

to be like whatever one feels like,
as birds of a feather flock on,
each parrot or person perfectly
randomly conceived to mature,
unique, vibration of reality
as manifestly difficult
to get through without learning

the root of beauty, is not beautiful,
its functional, essential no light state…
grow up, grow down, grow weary
become old and become soil.

All men decompose, no contest, all tie.
Dust or ash, same difference, pride

lay beside the heretic's troubled cognitions,
say true, pride alone powered all our wars.

-----------------------

Ontogeny, whence came we hence,
whither go we thence here after?

Bards sent forth with vatic blessing,
go, thou gifted with gab, go
say thus saith he with power,

to take the breath and the breather,
and punish each wrong imagination,
as adultery, in the core, in the heart,

done, done,
done… In deed, remarkably

non staining, resulting in no outward,
shame on the man, taken in the very act…

what standard waves the same
whether winds blow north or south?

Whose mind opens to recognized
authority, memory verses from childhood,
neighbor hood vacation Bible school,
instead of camp, great revelation,
instead of hell, your default after,

if, you wish otherwise, believe the good news,
it works, with patience, perfecting itself,

Magnificent, magnified,
eye to eye as any little child's messenger
app proves, there is here an interface,

a way,
a portal for important recognition
apropos your purpose driven life,

imagined, along mystical wilderness trails,
far as ever imagined from the maddened masses,

gravity, initially retracting reasonable doubt,
God, Elohim and Hermetic orderly revelation,

leaves us being, recent, new thinkers, thinking
original thoughts, using multifaceted wordforms,

holy invocations, declared knowns, all the people
said Amen, yet,
but

what if, the one turning universe, rewound,
stopped, sistere, reverse course, stand sun still

leave, this POV. Reader reading life in a book,
thinking time from a bottle, an ancient amphora,

thought possibly the uncorked source of story,
the Epimethean suggestion given hope, enough.

Make believe, let us pretend, behave as knowers,
leave us establish order, here,
believe my most used me to make you think

you know, what I mean, you hear, what I said,
filtered through beans in your ears, been there,
done that, read about it, heard tell, one time,

suffer not
a novice,
to teach or preach, eh, there oughta be a law,

lie not, one against the other brother, truth
is not elusive, after all's been said to judge me,

to weigh the worth of my time taken up, thunk,
functionally funky, rough shod, taken strength,

turning universally tightening chirality to work,
two wheels joined tighten toward forward
motion, heuristic conditional ifery, by word

righty tighty, taken to the left side, axially,
loosens and leads to wheels falling off,
and yokes breaking and oxen becoming
barbecue.
-----------------------

Through the industrial spinning
wombed men, leaving children
to fend for themselves, child wise,

never allowed to learn the art
used for casting spells to alert
receivers of magic papers read

as auspex read
the birds and feathers
informing ready readers
look up untested lies,
famously leaders seer's
methods for redemption
of unentertained mobs,
drawn by word of free bread,
too lowly for even the hucksters,

A poet's voice, oh, Emma, beauty,
make the New Colossus bow in shame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!"
cries she
With silent lips.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free,
The wretched refuse
of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost
to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" (1883)

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Lazarus>


Whose to shame, whose to blame, who
are we to say, we whose nation is so good…

steal from some mind feebler than thine,

self preserve,
within the life
after the womb,

where
in all potential variation
a we acquired local order
involving cascades
of coincidental
instances when next depends
from now,
by a thread, twisting
some how,
should the whole truth we swear
to tell, have fallen into JWST awful true,

look at us from a million miles away, wave,
make noise, holler like the last who in whoville.

What good does it do, who are you to ask?

A truth, fitly twisted,
takes any time paid attention a pinch of worths
good to know,
possibly freeing many children's convinced
fear
of holy wrath, likened
to a raging man,

stilled at the truth,
survivor
of a devious plan
to undermine heaven's command
to turn, universally, inverse, obverse, turn to

see men as trees, ently walking, literally as if,

we may say mankind knows the hero myth,
we may say ourkind knows the messianic version,
we may say kindness knows the kindest way

to say, God sent me, I am here to help.

Hey, sky pilot, what can you be proud of today?

Don't let an old vet make you doubt the whole
truth you are sworn to know beyond all doubt,
truth you serve, guardian of the story, faith tells

children, wordlessly, knowing seeps in, science
occurs, with first lottery lost, with last ditch crossed,
face to face with former soldiers lost to lies, true,

If, my son, you can keep your head…

ah, Kipling, I have wept with you, I, did not die.

My warrior days left me alive, did you feel that, too.

Common Form, we form, whatsoever we
agree, as ghostly reminders of spiritual facts, brave
is a spirit, diffidence and confidence, as well, mere

states of mind, kind of like standing, still, sol-stice,
sistere, tortuga, shields up stand, take the blow,
settle all accounts, love your neighbor, suffer
situations beyond mind's control, sequencing

Hallelujahs from trusters in horses, who deal in war.

"Should any ask why we died,
  Tell them, because our father's lied."

I found my peace, but it was brief,  
I thought it would stay, bring relief.  
Day by day, night by night,  
I suffocate beneath this fright.  

I washed away what left me torn,  
Through my pain, I bore and mourned.  
I’m no player—I’m a victim,  
Yet it still hurts, for I have feelings.  

Through the pain, both flesh and mind,  
I endure, though I’m confined.  
I brush it off until it’s gone,  
Yet scars remain, etched upon.  

I kept it quiet, held it in,  
So no one saw the war within.  
Voices echo, sharp and cruel,  
Scheming shadows, mocking fools.  

I say, "Be silent!"—they only jeer,  
Where did they come from? Why are they here?  
Still, I fight, though I am trying,  
To wear a face that hides the dying.

I scream where no one ever stands,
With fractured voice and pleading hands.
I shout to skies, to winds, to dust
To bones like mine and hearts unjust.
No ear will bend, no soul draws near,
Yet still I scream through every year.

I am the grave, the end you flee,
The truth beneath your trembling knee.
You pass with flowers, soft and kind,
But none of you look deep to find
The words I hold beneath the clay,
Of life you waste, the price you pay.

I hold myself, I breathe in slow,
My scream turns quiet, soft and low.
Not anger now—just aching care,
A voice that only wants to spare
You from the race that kills your soul,
And leads you to this silent hole.

You fight for love, for dreams, for names,
You guard your world from loss and flames.
But when your breath begins to fall,
None of it will heed your call.
No gold, no touch, no lover's face
Will follow you to this still place.

I too had dreams, I too had pride,
I laughed, I bled, I broke inside.
I swore I'd never die alone
But here I lie, just dust and bone.
The ones I saved, the ones I knew,
Have long moved on, as you will too.

I tried to shout before the end,
I tried to tell you, tried to mend
The path you walk with blinded eyes,
But joy and fear both sell you lies.
You hear me not—you never do.
You think this end won't come for you.

I watch you cry, then chase the same,
You wipe your tears and play the game.
You mourn the dead, then forge ahead,
Ignoring all we ever said.
You want to live—but not to see
The weightless truth inside of me.

So I screamed again, until I cracked,
My voice like stone, my sorrow stacked.
I broke myself to make you hear
But silence grew with every year.
And then I knew—this world won't change.
To them, the grave is dark and strange.

I, too, once danced and looked away,
While older graves would plead and say:
“Don’t chase the wind, don’t chase the fire,
All ends in dust, your false desire”
But I just smiled, then turned aside
And laughed, and loved, and cursed, and died.

So now I rest. My screaming ends.
No more to beg. No more to bend.
Perhaps this world will only see
When all return to dust like me.
But should you stop, and hear one day
Know it was me… who tried to say.