Soul-Poets

The nature sleeps so I must be awake In dead of winter My blood boils and my fingers twitch My mind reaching out To the twisting roots hidden underneath The sea is frozen so I must run In circles waiting for a signal to slow down Snow-white wind chills to the bone And the moon is silent As if also waiting for salvation In darkness of the mighty woods Here I stalk threads of my innocence Frail and shaking to the core I do not let up Until I leave my earthly body and its mind Until but the idea of me remains Branches rustle anticipating My return to the soil that feeds them And I wonder if I ever was at all Or if the trees are merely dreaming of me

calling all mistreated jugglers and wretches of condemned madhouses bewitched by fingers of freak fame the spindly fingers of trickster twins that open the floodgates to occult caverns unleashing the brusque wraiths the brittle symmetry of her glacial eyes cast down from the empyrean skies as a sanctified abyss from ancient past eyes as candlelit rectory windows shining bright like voluptuous pyre and ferryman’s lantern on turbid nights calling all gritty peyote coyotes gargoyles of noxious mind germination whistling by the graves of stars in the form of ravenous black holes so vexed by the self-immolation of lovers the musicality of their hearty asphyxia tantalized through thick and thin falling in cascade down the wailing well how do we always end up vampirized singing the longeval sardonic litanies outliving the meteoric tremors as monuments of the past tumble down calling all incorporeal beasts to swing the fate’s pendulum in effigie and mourn the motheaten grandeur of lofty

Look beyond the oneness Look towards the gateless gate It is there you’ll meet your reflection And shatter the mirror of the mind A million suns, a million universes Who knows how many there have been In this vast ocean of being Do not waste effort trying to grasp them

A place where the men around me stole my voice, they never heard me. I couldn't exactly hear them either over my pain of being misunderstood. Guided by women who only yelled and even then their words were silenced by the ignorant, truth from a woman unacceptable. No woman I knew could be silenced, they only pushed more. I was not like them, I shamefully stayed quiet. How beautifully strong they seemed, I suffered from my inadequacies in comparing. I never felt the urge to push but tried to follow the example set for me. Why keep pushing when no one wanted to listen? I've said my peace and I thought that was enough, yet the women pushed further. I couldn't understand what was even important anymore. The back and forth of the women screaming to be heard, men wanting them to be silent. When the women were silent is when I saw the men around be truly afraid. A tired woman was the scariest thing seen, given up, fed up, hopeless. The men I knew fed on the strength of women, they took it