Candle and Coal

Candle and Coal

Into blackness these souls drift

you see them and they are so real

you think you can save them but it is impossible

that’s final.

Resonating only with pain and sorrow; it won’t continue.

Our love was a bold statement

it’s now seemingly burning down into a stub like a candle stuck on a table that has only ever been scratched and graffitied on.
Becoming nothingness, meaninglessness.

It is subtle and it creeps and it lets you know it’s there and it’s going to wear you down till you’re fresh again and nothing about it is sudden except the initial shock, accept the initial shock, every day because the shock wears down and eventually you are left with the numbness.

As you know and feel your heart it is continuously colluding with the souls that are drifting, that have fled, that have moved into darkness.

And you are left with your little soul that thrived off the love of a few big souls but now has no fuel to burn its flame and you cry out for something to burn but you are left with a little piece of coal and no hope.

You want to leave as well, and your soul is screaming to drift into the blackness, it has already moved so far over there that you haven’t one really, and it is waiting for you to make that final move, to embrace the new home of its friends.

Another candle is brought just before your candle was to burn out and leave a scorch mark on your derelict table.
You did not make it in time and foolishly you let it burn out.
You curse yourself and curse the fact that this love is now only a mark that will be there always to remind you of how you lost it.

Your piece of coal isn’t alight anymore and you dig through the ashes to find something hot, something real, because you need something to light your new candle with, you burn your hands and search deep amongst the ash and cinder and find another piece of black coal with speckles of red and you reach for the candle and press it against the red, you are patient and blow, hard, and desperately.

The candle catches alight and you melt its base to the wretched table that mocks your mistakes.

You melt the candles’ base right next to the old scorch mark.

An old friend goes out and fells a tree for your sake,
Another friend chops it up.
A new friend gathers kindling and dried leaves and builds it above your little black coal.

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A recommendation

Grinning,

I let my teeth bare witness to the aching of this moment.

And hope they show I mean well as I cringe at my own unfortunate state as without a shred of charisma I ooze out hopelesness as I talk to people I care about.

In and deep Im sure it’ll be made better some day.

Have you read A.B Faceys ‘A Fortunate Life’ I recommend it.

Pain as an institution.

Mark my safety on a line between dredge and transparency

Indicate where I’ll be in a year for the wellbeing of dependency

Instigate a moment that will make me worry for a while

End it for the time being and drink the tears of the nile

Produce the openness that we need desperately

Into each second, my friends I will leave

I will be alone and, in a moment, I won’t have a scare.

I will be alone and, in a moment, I won’t be a part of it.

But we can parley often enough for confusion

I will meet you on the edge of destitution.

And we can drink the blood of the committed.

Their screams are worth the bitterness that I swish around my teeth.

And my tongue loves the flavour but my stomach will reject it.

Make us vomit up the mess to a believing few.

And they will lap it up like thirsty dogs.

Easy Mornings

easymornings
Arna Baarts artist @ artofkundalini.com

Thanks to you.
Easy mornings forever.
I’m a mess and you tidy me up.
Shave my face.
Splash it with the water you draw.
Ready, Ready, Ready,
Thanks to you.
Explosive
It shouldn’t be controlled
Easy mornings forever
Thanks to you.

The hook

The hook, the hook.
let it slice and cut and bleed you out.
Everybody is screaming for the hook to enter and rip.
To scream is to bleed and you will.
We all will.
Deep, dark, live, snark.
Sad, open, fairy tales seeding love into your dull life.
lovely height lets you see more of your strife.
Easy, closed, turn around and walk back over those nails you put in those floorboards that you put on the carpet so you would tread carefully.

Link to photo

House of Stairs

Houseofstairs_(Sleator)

It is ready for your entry and you are you, ready for a little world of your very own.

Let it suckle on your life force because it is everything you ever dreamed of.

And you are ready and willing and I know you are tougher than you look.

You are going to take on the world for as long as you humanly can because if for not than a moment when you can you will shred the papers and build your brand new world inside four walls a door and a damn tonne of stairs leading to nowhere

The egg was laid in space.

The egg was resolute and wanted to be broken, to spill out its life essence but everybody knew the big egg wasn’t ready.
The big egg was full of life and it wanted to crack and spill and sizzle all over the universe.

People didn’t trust the big egg from space and they locked it up.
Locked it up with life and love and everything else mysterious and burly.
But the egg did not retreat into sadness, it didn’t give up and it gave the world a yelling.
It shook and shouted and pleaded with strength and gave it’s prison a what for.
“What for this and that?”
It shouted it knew all the answers but no one would listen and life would go on.
While the egg sat and festered and rotted from the inside out and eventually the shell began to weaken and the egg started to seep.
It seeped out a stench worse than your nightmares.
The smell was fetid and had a foreboding that could only strike remembrance in the battles of old.
Of trench warfare, where dysentery was not as common as death but it was close.
And men, rather than running to relieve themselves in an obscure crater that an artillery barrage had landscaped would relieve themselves on their iron dinner plates.
And men would cry and lose their minds and die of chemical gas and bullets shrieking through the bones and organs.
And the egg would seep this stench for a millennium and then a millennium more because the egg was forgotten.
And only a large puddle of stench and gusto would reside in it’s place till eventually, the roof split open and the sun would dry it up.
and all we have left is crackled rotten proteins that seemed to mock what could have been.

From a firestorm came the monkey

Artwork by Michael Baarts on http://www.artofkundalini.com

From a firestorm came the monkey.
With its tail flicking embers of its burnt-out womb into your eyes.
It reaches behind its buttocks and prepares itself to throw its feces at you.
It smacks you on the chest as hard as a solid gold brick.
you pick it up and covet the shit and put it in a shrine so the world can see.
They will either realize or not, it matters wholly to you.
You preach sermons about the monkey and will cast out family for not believing with you,
for you.
And you bend to its divine will and suckle at its teat because you are devoted.
Forever you are devoted.

Indifference, like a poem.

we are all

I’m not where you are.

Function & form
Function & Form by Joshua Ian Cowley,   https://www.facebook.com/acacia.k

I have not felt your pain
thus not in a position to comfort or withdraw support.

The world is an oyster, that was left on the rock too long.
The world is dripping out pus and misery, barrel & stock.
flock, stock, stocktake, take the numbers down.
Because that’s what it comes down to.

Lets’ hoard,
we’re all absolutely flawed at the unimaginable terror, that is ongoing and has been ongoing…
since we found greed.
and we build and build upon buildings in rubble and stones.
and we bomb and bomb.
and we bomb and bomb.
so the buildings turn into rubble and stones and our people live out of caves, and we weren’t even the chance to behave.
We had a second to run.
We said no to bullets but they still passed through us.
We had a second to run.
We said no to chemicals but they still burned our skin and asphyxiated our children.
We had a second to run.
I think God wants us to handle a rifle.
We had a second to run.

H, S, K & T

As stomachs rumble over the east,
and eye sockets shrink so eyeballs stare
While the lungs have taken in all the air
and are refusing to breathe out.

As shoulders have forgotten how to twist,
and hands have gotten so large they grip hell
While ice fills the mouths of the forgotten,
turning into water while freezing their teeth.

As lips crackle in the oven and spit,
and cheekbones stick out from the skin
while your legs are stamping out the mess
that they kicked apart in the first place.