Becoming Firdausi.

Kingdom

In my search of heaven and hell
I found naught.
But there is you,
And I,
And a realm of pleasure
Perhaps
We can find it there.

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Crisp

Blue lilies on a frosted lake
The crack of dawn
A pierced finger, oozing blood
Cold gravel,
wet feet upon dewy grass
Condensation all around;
heavy light all
around

I wish the moon was still chasing my car.

Déjà vu

But never break

2017-03-31 11.24.20 2-1

I’ll keep drawing, writing, reading.
Clawing after distractions and ravaging for words through the permanent recess of this mind.

Bring me something, somewhere.

And yet I do, again, and again.

I do not want to write about love.
Everyone does. I ought to be different. 
There are other things,
surely.
Death, ambition, poverty…
The dance of dust motes in the sunlight
I could write about my dreams,
morbid as they are;
Of medieval spectacles of electrocuting the poor 
(yes, I really did dream that)
My unconscious mind is a terrible place.
I am heading nowhere,
writing, rambling;
Where can I seek recluse, pray tell
away from these thoughts, these troubles,
your engagement.
My waking life is no better.

Cataclysm

Today I saw,
before my eyes, love so feeble
so weak.
Oh dear God, curse me
if you will,
plague me with the pain of
passion, madness
and desire.
Till my last, I will walk
gladly,
with shards of glass ripping into my soles,
and feel the tear of this
tiny
organ, in every step,
than to not know the ecstatic delirium of
consuming love.