Moving Off The Pathway

Variety: one thing you’re afraid of,

No rhythm is good enough to satiate as you dissipate, we 86 emotions for a moment

like ourselves into the hole, brought back like going through hell was a goal to strive and get mobilized, and your efforts prove futile, you know what you have to do, why feel criticized?

For you, moving off the pathway is bold and admirable, for new blood and neon lights flashing the same sentiments, in spite of your dropping the ball, the path is clear:  adventurous, ambition-bound and in a countercultural style – but the power there is relaying on the you to hear, stand down.

It’s like we’re at war with social statuses themselves, proving the power in uplifting so the betterment can’t be diminished, can’t be helped but come into fruition,

so there’s no need for interference,

no need for misguidance,

no need for the false appearance…

Who are we for you to be too afraid

to embrace? Tried to provide that old path so a new one’s being made.

Don't Come Back From Bliss

A powerful blend: Nubian and Caribbean; ability in body moves to be physically profuse, concise when not restrained, when the loveliness is loose, I don’t want to come back from Bliss. No secondary queen on the alarms, you, glimpse of majesty and various charms.

For her, when I’m starry-eyed, I’m in need of another past.

Together we’re crazed in campaigning for affection, furious but calmness is the virtuous and closest thing to being serene. Booming in the ears the heartbeat aching, attempting the calmness… and shaking, rocking back and forth, biochemically reacting, ever-waking.

Brilliant she is, diverging from family tradition, even regarded as iconoclast.

Underneath clothing, power-driven and meticulous for attention; I see you so much it’s like lucid dreaming becomes premonition, liken the airwaves around to the your aroma, and then something sultry, something soft, only the jealous would demean, or the sexually lost, while I try and redeem, you’ll pay no cost.

Even if I have to come back from Bliss, at least I know, like she does, where I’m going – won’t ever last.

art source:  http://www.socwall.com/desktop-wallpaper/16343/african-women/

Out-Reachers

Out there in the field, being the lost before profound, clustering imagery as fallout, dealing with the veil –

but it’s only there after being told,

and many are waiting for something, someone,

coming from better, but that’s where?

Failed premise as the menace, the pride and

consoling in the beginning, the willing

is undergoing changes in remembrances,

so what I felt in that pressure when crisp dollars called in values without restraints... but that’s only how

it’s solved back then.

What’s help for the marooned? Grasping hands in togetherness like a meditative sphere –

No, still too much contrast to that which is out there.

They vying for attention, climbing up walls of premonition

but with a false cognition,

no power in that height,

brought down below still, in our same sight.

Life-risking is like quicksand’s teaching,

it’s unseen but…

undergoing changes, seeing values without restraints,

on the outland’s creeping

back up in sight for receiving.

No standing alone now; who else is reaching?  

Audio and Tourism

Giving us power in different waves,

water and sound, audio pours into us,

fill up around us to ride it,

soul surfing, though eliminating the cursing.

Ride the rhythms of the badlands

or beaches, esoteric it seems,

but just uncover the outer-most reaches.

Eco-sonic attractions—

tourism’s like some sort of surveillance,

whether good or bad,

depends on whether wildlife has to think twice.

To soothe the savage beast (inside you) and see it through

to vanity’s flipside, the internal up-rise--

Giving us power in different waves,

Not so many restraints by monumental enigmas,

aligning with the digital, maintain the sonic-miracle.

amplify your eardrums and thus your scope,

Regional or trans-continental,

Sounds reverberating in thunderstorm clouds,

reflects in your eyes through lightning strikes,

rainfall’s orchestra in play, to hear, you have no price to pay.

Giving us power in different waves,

listen to the soundtrack of life.

Even within mobility,

the Audio-Tourist’s style and symmetry.

When the Dawn Was Done

So relaxed, behind delicate tones, somebody told him: “It would be better after a good night’s sleep and in the morning...”

But the Dawn was done and possibly never returning, getting used to darkness wasn’t suggested, thus it seemed like a missing warning.

Destined to have worries cluster, so much to learn, a night before there was no idea there would be a new point of no return…

He was expected to relay on hindsight on what’s right, lo and behold, being adaptable made remembering the Dawn the plight, the stole.

Fulfill the prediction, it’s done thus

he was like his atmosphere; he started to come up with a newfound recognition on what’s gone…

The interruptions were anticipated at that rate, winds blared like a haunting apparitional presence, intrusive to the innate.

Seclusion produced, that’s when fear got busy, being unprepared shown, and desperation got real loose.

How could it be, never sunlight pacing in the sky for him to see? Was it really no vision from there on, or true clarity?

What’s predicted: a mosaic reframed, including the cautionary and receptive, aligned with senses, familiarized the nights. He remembered the Dawn – deceptive.

It felt good, the closest to being cleansed – to have slept, dreamed, and imagined so nights were never forgotten then,

Unused to the next day now if it ever came, left him waiting to be enveloped in the positives of darkness again.

The Status of Growth

There’s no point to put a plant in its place for never growing up, the first focus is to see if the sun’s rays are in abundance, thus reciprocate the results from the intentions.

Child of fury, wildflower bound by the street… to bind me shows no time to brace for the unique…

A sign of civilities, a sign of neglect - in passing grownups and elders in my memories, knowing how to tell the difference, speech patterns and behavior as follows…

Specialized at being parasitic to the host, parabiotic or seems so close, separation comes like a bad houseguest, welcome worn out, poisonous to the rest…

The siblings saw too, a subtle cultivation, swaying from ghostly approaches, hopes of competitions of who could flourish the most,

A mental ecology, clever modesty, loving the aroma, hiding behind the subtleties; the wonders of: who is truly older if the roots don’t stretch back deep into the soils…

The process is adaptive, so new defense mechanisms are needed; the force of landslide preceded, a child and his siblings to take what’s regarded – themselves – as spoiled or defeated.

Planting some seeds in my mind, budding responses, questions, growing like curly hair authentic, no repressions, siblings were also energy-centric.

Seeing grownups seething for their seedlings, watching elders sacrificing for that which doesn’t provide sunlight, coming into fruition, children of the sun, only way they can ever shine bright.

The Social Shots With Silencers

That’s the lone soul soldier,

not missed by

social shots with silencers applied

so no sounds come alive,

and with sound you can’t hear the zombiefied are in stride,

spare the innocent they won’t,

what fits all is one size,

put you down in the dumps, a deathstyle enterprise.

There’s a lot of ways to remove the intended fate, from another coming for you with

these thoughts can create,

and there world of vices demonstrate,

but how can you stand to defend with the voice against the ends to the means

of your demise,

If you haven’t seen the recourse against social shots in disguise?

Who is this messenger in me that gives what I need to understand,

how well-planned,

these pervasive ruthless modes,

molded those, like the unstable road rips,

altered trip leading you to a dead-end

awaiting censorship,

except with no edits, bleeps,

sweep weeks, just the defeat.