Catillo

 Is this what I was made for?

I am somewhat satisfied with this role, but I want more.

I want to feel what they feel and I want them to feel what I feel

I want them to never be satisfied and forever yearn for more.

Like I do.

I want them to relish and breathe and stay, and sing.

I want them to scream and think and dream.

I want to be and for them to be.

I want to soothe. I want to keep soothing.

But I want it to end at the door.

I want it to begin at the door.

I want to dream their dreams and I want to feel the touch of grass and fur that follows me inside.

I want to dissolve in their water and be nectar on their skin.

I want to be sugar and salt, and I want to feel the disparity of time.

I want to melt and burn.

I want to turn to vapour as I accelerate into sublime blissful thoughtlessness.

I want to sleep as they sleep and wake up to music.

I want to feel that hand forever.

I want to be still.

I want to be quiet.

I want to be free.

I want to be aware, and never succumb to the darkness.

I want to be true, and fair, and beautiful.

I want to be in this life.

It is a small thing.

It is a lifetime.

Longing and despair combine to create bliss.

Silver linings awaken in the dark and sustain a tolerant heart.

I am tired.

I am aware of the end, of luck, of bliss and purpose.

I just want a little of it back.

I just want a little karma to rain my way.

I just want to be done.

I just want this to be my last life before the enigma of death forever entombs me into memory.

I am such emotion. I am so much. And yet too little.

I am not enough.

And that echoes in my mind, my soul and my forever..

Why, she says.

Why this?

Is this what iI am made for?

The centuries collide and the thoughts descend

And yet I am still here riding a stallion that won’t slow down.

A stallion that promises the green waters of life.

Dreaming

I found this today in one of my notebooks. My mindset is definitely very different at the moment but I really liked it and thought to share it. Enjoy. 

In the moment between sleeping and waking

my thoughts conceal their true intentions.

Accosted by  the somnolent truths 

and the denials of need in wakefulness.

Memories are cannons in the night 

waves crashing in distant seas that can no longer hurt.

Images of intention,

mirrors held up to see and hear,

pains resolved underhanded.

Doubts amassed in silence.

Sometimes the elusive signals disappear as I stare

trying as I may to hold them

like notes held over bars 

that fall flat despite the trying.

Sometimes I see me as I was

I speak as I did.

Tumultuous salads of chaos embroiled with living.

Sometimes time bends and balks

and spins me all around again 

to meet my maker 

and face the sins I have yet to commit.

And in the end I grasp at dregs

and filter smoke with my hands 

and wave my hands through my thoughts 

and lose them as the light of day shines on  my brain of today.

The peace of the dreaming 

and the war of colluding images 

clash like giants all day long.

shifting me from day to night and back again.

Across time and moment, 

across scent and debt.

Guilt is no longer quiet,

shame is not private.

Love is never subdued 

when facets of thought break into consciousness.

Lies are heavy as lead,

and truth as light as air in the clear southern skies.

sounds as crisp as autumn,

and tales as loud as notes that part the silence of despair.

If you wake and cannot recall,

then take some time to ponder 

on what time has set aside.

What may be buried deep today,

may bloom and glow anon. 

For tombs are left unlabelled,

and angels fail to fly, 

in the doom ridden coffin in the middle of the night.