And there I was
My body, no longer chaste
My spirit, released upon his kiss
My soul, given at will to the sin of pleasure
I was a woman of his making; his captured prey
Fallen to his love
And the world was no longer mine to deny
Charlotte
Betrayal
And then, the lover sighting like furnace with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow, Act II Scene VII from As you like it
He gazed upon his lover…
wondering what was lost in him
To have been so tempted by her lips,
her skin’s stillness under his touch
Reaching beyond the heaviness; the quagmire of his days
filling the loss of something he could not understand–
it’s mere existence weighing down the spirit of himself
Something lost in his soul
as if from birth he was torn from her
And only in flesh their joy reunited
He looked upon his lover…
and wept
Spiritual Quest
Edvard Munch, Selvportrett (Self-Portrait) 1881-82
Guest Post: Tim Rhatigan
Spiritual Quest
I used to believe
we all needed a quest
to find out who we are
That life was one such journey
And it may be
But why should it not be
just everyday madness
Insanity is sanity
unless it’s sublime
And while I love the work
I don’t need another job
Am I Missing Something
Guest Post: Tim Rhatigan
Sconset Beach, Nantucket, by Edward Emerson Simmons, 1916
AM I MISSING SOMETHING
Days and nights
roll in and out
like waves
with no notice
of tiny sand pebbles
or life’s daily drama
The sand is silent
to the sea’s shifting tides
our prayers fall short
of the stars circling above
returning stubborn silence
to anxious hearts
A Page In The Akashic
There is not enough time to spend with you
God help me to understand
The distance of oceans; the closeness of sand
Our story
Unraveling Eternity
(Spring, Edvard Munch, 1889)
Unraveling Eternity
They tell me you are dying
Don’t they know?
From the moment you took your first breath you were dying
you knew that
The girl who saw the shadows as doorways
An opening exposing pasts that can never change
A hint of the future with multiple yous
Untapped, undiscovered, and predetermined all the same
Wondering wide-eyed into the light
Adventures only limited to the what the imagination could inspire
Feelings unraveled that were never tempered–not with you–
anger and love equal in fervor
Where is all that now?
Now that your body is no longer the vessel of experience
Questioning the reasons; tortured by the reality of Hell…
this process of death
I have looked upon you as a goddess–a warrior of life
A boundary breaker of a soul’s purpose
You didn’t limit your perspective
you saw the truth in living
And now as death reaches for your grasp
You pull back not in fear, merely an instinctual recoil
Not haunted by what has been, or even what is
but in wonder as to where you are going next?
The Matrix
(Satan Smiting Job with Sore Boils, William Blake, c1826)
The Matrix
Fierce is the storm that rises from the abyss
All must yield in its path
The weak curl; the timid falter
Only conviction of mind, strength of will, does one push through
Damaged and drained, savagery sneers
Darkening the brilliance of Source
The depths of Hell keep coming
There is no reprieve, only openings for despair–
Moments of bliss are only deceptions of reality
Belief in the Almighty spares your spirit
But Evil’s wrath ravages your soul
A feather is no weapon against a sword
And yet, we still breathe in the rapture of existence
