Love

I could love your image until it shattered under the pressure of my expectation. A sea of worry and doubt rolled into this bond they call marriage. The water is always calmer in retrospect and yet when do we ever take the time to look back and appreciate the end of a weathered storm. Still I feel your presence where it matters, a twin beating of the soul. I call it not a heart. For we own more than that, as we lock our treasured moments safely away at night. It is then, when the possibility of loneliness creeps upon our shoulder, that we hear that sound or that voice. That is the sound of love.

-OM

Poetry

They think they know how to sing a word and all I hear is emotion. Garbled phrases of memories being forgotten, they do not fade fast enough into the night. People say they know poetry. That they have lived and know emotion. But can they write the death of a flame? Could their pen intertwine my thoughts and like spaghetti twirl me by their demand. I hate your fork. My spite would melt your desire to the handle and scorch the hand that dared to try and bottle a tornado. With that realization a thought becomes an action.

-OM

Write for Me

Write for me your pain so honestly that the paper tears from your weeping words. Write for me your truth as you see it, so that I see it. Write for me your day in perfectly created word strings that are the footsteps of your life. Write for me so that I may know you write for yourself. Write so that I may understand the beauty of writing.

-OM

Stealing Hearts

Could I chain your heart to my resolve. Living with the knowledge that your action is a reaction to my inaction. It creates a quandary of the mind as we seek a middle and an end to what seems a never ending circle. Could I break your golden crown and tie you to a will. The will of the moment, a desire to have. I ponder many a thought in between breathes. They weigh equally on the scale of morality, but certainly they still all belong to humanity. For at night I am human. As are we all.

-OM

Hellflower

Given birth upon the back of a mistake. You shine brightly where the light has been killed. Frozen against the burning pain around you, one must wonder how you came to be here. Hellflowers carpet the floor here and give reminder to the fact that this place is for the truly lost. Their captivated beauty made even more delicate by the impression of their surroundings. How they glisten against the backdrop of humanity. Tears of regret fall constantly from these mistaken creations. They are bound by a cycle of life in a place of death, a life not worth living. Even their name screams of regret.

When all we see around us is an endless hell any written hell dims in comparison. When your vision is shattered by the light cascading off tear drops that dangle from your eyelashes like chandeliers of your failures. When you begin to search desperately for the last moment among moments. That is when a hellflower begins to blossom. A seed is planted by a thought and a blossom opens from a deed. And so each hellflower is a deed, a conclusion to end all endings. They sparkle and shine as they live their regret for all time. A beautiful mistake.

-OM