The act of asking someone to love is steeped in surrender.
Complete unselfish surrender.
Offering everything I am, every day, over and over again.
Hoping that what the other person see is my soul, the offering I am making.
Not my fear. The fear that I am not good enough, that things won't last.
But it is the fear that makes things not work. It is the things we let get between us and bearing our souls that make things fall apart.
So the key is to bear my soul, every day, over and over again. In patience, acceptance, and honesty.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The seasons...
The seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, melding but separate.
The curves of my body change as peoples' arms slip away around me.
I lay dappled in the sun as fingers tip toe down my skin.
The seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, different but the same.
I smile as a snow flake drifts lazily down from the sky perching on my nose, as if winter is in no hurry, it will come when it is ready, for it knows that we will wait.
The seasons change and develope.
Falling over each other, tightening and loosening their grip on our lives.
My fingers wrap around others, as hand in hand, life changes, before our very eyes. The sky dampens with heaviness, and we wave goodbye to our past, turning our eyes to the future, with hope and anticipation.
The seasons grow and mature.
Accidentally bumping against each other, impatient to have their 15 minutes of Fame.
The green comes quickly now, pushing greedily from within. Ripping the seams of what has come before to rush unprepared and willing into what comes now. And the itch begins. The itch to turn one into two, two into more, and three into the future. To fall victim to that rapturous state.
The seasons sweat and pulse.
Eagerly rubbing together to create friction and steam.
The heat hits like a physical rebuff. Trying to tame our wild desires, but instead bringing them to fruition. Large, wet dew drips to the pavement and swirls of precipitation embodies the sky. Glimpses of limbs, pressed together, tumbling over each other, pushing past each other, drunken haze of delights.
The seasons crack and crumble.
The trees watch their young die in a fit of suddenness, the sun has abandoned them finally to focus on it's own inner torment. The clouds rush over to comfort the trees, reminding them that friends are still close by, through thick and thin.
And the seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, melding but separate.
The curves of my body change as peoples' arms slip away around me.
I lay dappled in the sun as fingers tip toe down my skin.
And the seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, melding but separate.
The curves of my body change as peoples' arms slip away around me.
I lay dappled in the sun as fingers tip toe down my skin.
The seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, different but the same.
I smile as a snow flake drifts lazily down from the sky perching on my nose, as if winter is in no hurry, it will come when it is ready, for it knows that we will wait.
The seasons change and develope.
Falling over each other, tightening and loosening their grip on our lives.
My fingers wrap around others, as hand in hand, life changes, before our very eyes. The sky dampens with heaviness, and we wave goodbye to our past, turning our eyes to the future, with hope and anticipation.
The seasons grow and mature.
Accidentally bumping against each other, impatient to have their 15 minutes of Fame.
The green comes quickly now, pushing greedily from within. Ripping the seams of what has come before to rush unprepared and willing into what comes now. And the itch begins. The itch to turn one into two, two into more, and three into the future. To fall victim to that rapturous state.
The seasons sweat and pulse.
Eagerly rubbing together to create friction and steam.
The heat hits like a physical rebuff. Trying to tame our wild desires, but instead bringing them to fruition. Large, wet dew drips to the pavement and swirls of precipitation embodies the sky. Glimpses of limbs, pressed together, tumbling over each other, pushing past each other, drunken haze of delights.
The seasons crack and crumble.
The trees watch their young die in a fit of suddenness, the sun has abandoned them finally to focus on it's own inner torment. The clouds rush over to comfort the trees, reminding them that friends are still close by, through thick and thin.
And the seasons change and pass.
Rolling over each other, melding but separate.
The curves of my body change as peoples' arms slip away around me.
I lay dappled in the sun as fingers tip toe down my skin.
And the seasons change and pass.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The Sacrifice
the ink bleeds into her eye as the pen floats across the planes of her face.
she blinks back the tears to preserve the ink marking her body. but still lightening bolts of tear and ink cris-cross her canvas. she is painted gold, burnished, prepared. the incense snakes through her nose and her body responds to the heat around her, sweat beading under her arms and behind her knees. the candle light reflects on the gold flecks on her finger tips as she clasps her hands in adoration. she moves her hands to her forehead resting her golden dyed hair and heavy eyelashes against her hands, holding her breath and releasing her breath in submission. she bows, placing her forearms on the ground, bowing her head in gratitude. with the release of breath she releases her fear. she releases her pain. she releases her weakness. when she inhales she breathes in the fear of the world, the pain of the world, and the weakness of the world. with gratitude and submission she breathes in her part of the world and breathes out her part of the world, each day trying to transform her part of the world into something. something that is finally only breath.
she blinks back the tears to preserve the ink marking her body. but still lightening bolts of tear and ink cris-cross her canvas. she is painted gold, burnished, prepared. the incense snakes through her nose and her body responds to the heat around her, sweat beading under her arms and behind her knees. the candle light reflects on the gold flecks on her finger tips as she clasps her hands in adoration. she moves her hands to her forehead resting her golden dyed hair and heavy eyelashes against her hands, holding her breath and releasing her breath in submission. she bows, placing her forearms on the ground, bowing her head in gratitude. with the release of breath she releases her fear. she releases her pain. she releases her weakness. when she inhales she breathes in the fear of the world, the pain of the world, and the weakness of the world. with gratitude and submission she breathes in her part of the world and breathes out her part of the world, each day trying to transform her part of the world into something. something that is finally only breath.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)