One of those “To Hell with it” moments... (2013 re-write of "Captured")

“In the moment” one welcomes one’s own demise

courts it, taunts and dares it

to consume all in a “devil may care”, extinction level “big bang” explosion of Genesis proportions;

Mortality, identity, intentions, pure or no

All is obliterated with the fallacious certainty of fulfillment,

and the expected absolution of surrender.

Since the first mouthwatering “bite” in the fertile crescent, 

all fruit is knowledge gained on our purgetorial passage back to the garden.

Captured...

“In the moment”

One welcomes one’s own demise

Courts it… taunts and dares it

to consume all in a “big bang” explosion of Genesis proportions;

Mortality, identity...   

All obliterated with the fallacious certainty of fulfillment,

and the expected absolution of surrender.

Spellbound

Spellbound...

I stand
addicted to your scent,
the wind... caressed by your music
the night.. ignited by your fire
a wound... healed by your laughter.

You are nature incarnate
and I
a soul captured by your skillful web
stand prepared to pay
the cost for my willful entrapment
the price...
such torment forever...

I pray.

A Novice's Trust... (2013 re-write)

Relinquish control to expert yet genteel administrations

Embrace the exhilaration of restraint, 

submit and exhale.

Tantalized by the unfamiliar, 

acknowledge the power of submission, 

knowing only the worthy are permitted

to guide you through the unknown.

Find bliss in the release,

respite in the journey…

Relinquish control to expert yet genteel administrations

Embrace the exhilaration of restraint, 

submit and exhale.

Acknowledge the power of submission, 

tantalized by the unfamiliar;

knowing only the worthy are permitted

to guide you through the unknown.

Find respite in the release,

Bliss in the journey…

Disproving Nietzsche...

How does one fight invisible and seemingly impenetrable antagonists,

while stuck and sticky with the sickeningly sweet familiarity of solitude?

No prison is greater than those birthed in our minds

no walls greater to scale;

with each false word, glance, touch, or intention

the way is lost;

for both the seeker and those whom await discovery.

Mirrors show naught but reflections of Despair

Poorly disguised in its “Sunday Best”, ready to face each day

with false enthusiasm;

“This doesn’t hurt” and “Can I have more please sir?”

Reflections of a sentence neither earned nor deserved yet dutifully endured.

Awaiting the next life, in hopes of proving Nietzsche’s position,

that loneliness in this life was but the cost of joy in the next.