A Barricade

 Now there is silence; convincing, dense.

A roadblock of dread: anxieties on what’s to come fueled by wrongs of times past. Next to the lumpy heap on sunless asphalt rests actuality and its plain might flees our naked eyes.

A playback of thoughts doesn’t still. Time drips like wax on flame.

Adrift in wakeful ages, I can’t locate the exit from the state of stand-by. Again and again, providence mulls if past our barricade awaits a second chance.

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An ode to a friend

Take me to the sea, an abiding witness:
Its steady shore my home
Its brawny hum a purge
Every one glimmer relaxing across all time.

Take me to the sea, the bearer of my secrets:
Where ebb and flow, eternal and equal –
Granting and taking without prejudice –
Pursue one another, our lives a playground.

Take me to the sea, it knows what to do:
Accepting crumbled wishes and daydreams.
Its majestic patience a reminder
Of surrender to the Gods.

Take me to the sea and I will sail again:
As grays and blues meld
And waves ground the soul, hushing the ache.
Seize my hand, now, and take me to the sea.

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The Core

A skeleton
Of us
Shapes of charcoal –
Dead or alive?

Wrecked intercourse
Solitude, and
Milestone-long
Exhales.

If we could share
The magnitude
Of desire
In our orbits.

The jazzy bench
Inside
For those
Who won’t know.

Without continuum
Immediacy
Candor
What will survive?

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Imperfect

The river
carries all there is:
we meet, and we part
each time like the first.

As riptides
wrench the roots
we hang on to the clutter
looking to tape back who we were.

Flow rushes
ahead; patterns
zoom in and out from
the inside of cracked eyes.

Against streams
we wade. To lull and
forget – if for moments –
is providence of a human heart.

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Vulnerable

It fizzes beneath the surface of my beliefs. Emerging every now and again, it entraps the inner guards and turns them into a dubious pile of clutter.

In a vacuum-like reality, thoughts get scattered by powerful currents. A place anyone visits on one’s own: reluctant, we stand at the doorstep wishing there would be a welcome, a bare greeting, by another soul.

The hall of mirrors sits, flickering eyelids in mute grandeur. She knows no vice bridges a solitary strip of path, and no ignorance hides the doomsday away from percolating scope of self-reflection.

But we choose to keep trying, lost in the sound of piercing barks aimed at the heavens.

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the blank page

in the light of a new day, I stepped
out of those relentless gray whispers
soaked with futility and doubts, and welcomed
the weave and smell of a clear page.

it was so long since the last chapter had begun;
the one who started it looks foreign, out of place.
the same handwriting perseveres to inhabit
yet another tale of continuation, survival, change.

circles and destinies mash together, making
as little and as much sense as imagination unfurls.
our books are perfected patterns, too swift for
one-legged grasp, running free in fields of chance.

in the newborn light I greeted the dripping ink:
lot’s sticky fingers led my hand to pour out
a hopeful phrase. paragraphs away from brand new scrapes
I drew in, with vigor, smells of fresh commence.

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On emotional banking

He steers away from heartbreak as if they have nothing to say to one another. Dozens of folders with snaps of his daily life depict his heart’s time-out: in them, he giggles, grooves, and exists.

In pursuit of positive thoughts and ceaseless triumphs, he proclaims his life a pain-free zone. As entire generations kneel before emotional buffers, most are oblivious to his cheerful numbness.

The planet journeys on, stumbling under the weight of selfies. Artificial intelligence is no longer a future away; each step of self-rejection brings him closer to his android possessions. Blinded by infinite filter options, he just keeps simpering…

Click?

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