Poetry by kaletal
Reality, thinking and feeling
To combine all three is to be free.
Thinking about feelings
Does that alter the feeling?
Change over time for the collosal mind
Crushing those captive inside
Stranger than Kalamazoo or Kissimee St. Cloud
Strangers on this planet.
Floatsam bouyed by the tides
sharp shards of seashells shred her feet
as she runs carefree into the salty wind
Her mind is far away
washing in and out with the tides
Jerked back to reality by pornographic pictures
that protrude into the pleasure
Why cannot silence be free?
Where can her mind rest in piece (sic)
Jouney into the worlds of unsettled encounters
Unrealistic by their content and painful
in their reality
Struggle to the surfcae, gasping for air
not polluted by his smell or her feel
Worldwide destruction reigns,
silenced only by the depths of pain
where the world is so dense
there is no room for soundwaves to grow
Silence through density
Denial through Silence
Squandered chances lost forever admist the morass of dreams and aspirations.
Hatred spewing forth at innocent objects christen their lives forever.
Amid the signs of blood and tears the angry cry out
Crying into the darkness
Filled with despair, self-loathing and guilt.
Death is my maker.
Death my creator.
Free me to run in the fields
God of my destruction!
Opportunities sown and fields set afire with anger.
Hatred of self directed at self, inside of others.
Designs of lost souls dance in our mind
freeing feeble cries of pain.
Screaming for my destiny
Destiny of both my creation and our destuction.
Blood pouring our of ears, nose and mouth.
Let freedom reign.
Dance in my painting for your feet have already destroyed my creation
Fumbling through the thick grass and tall weeds
Tumbling down the shaft of pain
She cries silently as the irises grow
They are beautiful with their velveteen petals
Dark, dark purple with deep green and the contrasting
yellow and white.
Many are growing toward the shade for it is cooler and their color
Follow her gaze for the irises are beautiful
Look not for where the tears fall.
The land she sits on is hard, baked clay
It is cracked and parched; thirsty for the silent tears.
Never to lose sight of the irises.
She cannot rise to move toward their beauty for the scorching sun would follow
The want to be nearer their beauty would lead to their destruction.
Folly in a humorous way
Only to see and dream of what it would feel like to be an iris
Growing in the cool, forbidden shade.
Bridge of my destruction
House of cards blown to bits with the breath of beasts
Beasts of the letter world for hearts unseen.
The red wash tints our view,
distorts our reality
fumbles with our life.
Until she drops it and it shatters into a million pieces.