Gloria

O great and glorious Goddess of the Guatemalan gardens, Gloria, 
Does she hear my cries? 
I'm of the north, where the cold winds blow, 
The ice sleeps on mountains, the dead are frozen in Arctic graveyards. 
She comes from the south, where tropical storms rise, 
The sand blankets the desert, where life grows to its fullest extent. 
Her eyes burn like fire, igniting my heart with a familiar yearning: 
Despierto, demaciado, divine madness!  
Here we meet, two souls from different ends of the Earth, 
Dancing in shadows and light, 
Beckoning each other to question: 
What happens when the sandstorm and blizzard collide? 

The Long Road

"Long is the way, and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light."  ~John Milton 

 

Milton said it best.  If you want to get out of hell, it starts with realizing you are there in the first place.  Many don't.  They blindly live their lives thinking they're as happy as they'll ever be, yet they couldn't be more wrong.  Heaven is achieved, it doesn't magically arrive at your doorstep.  It's not something you're born with that stays with you your whole life.  Heaven is earned, whether you like it or not. 

Our spirits were clipped after we were born.  Half of it swirls around the whirlwind below, the other half strives to reach the light high above.  It's our duty as the civilized few to retrieve the part of us that's been lost and bring it back home with us.  We the enlightened may not yet have reached the super consciousness we've wished for, but we are still striving, and we will never quit. 

I've spent three years digging myself out of the quicksand, reaching for some angel's hand in the sky that I can't quite see, but know is there.  Call it one of the many extra-sensory perceptions we are capable of having.  Some are born with more of them than others.  Some are blessed with this extra illumination, making it easier to escape the devil's grasp.  Others aren't so fortunate.  They must work extra hard to learn the things they can't quite perceive, only heard from others as incredulous nonsense.  We can't fault them, for they are like fleas biting dogs, not realizing there are a great many other things to eat.  All they have to do is take a leap. 

Tornado Alley

Whirling devils, spawns of windcrash, 
Yawning hapless clones of the atmosphere, 
Purged colossal goblins inchoate, 
Released from fennels stirred by the ire 
Of Gaia's minions working overtime 
Through the blackened clouds above. 
Lightning strikes, thunder crashes, 
The hail pummels the plains, 
Golf balls of ice flood the sea of grain. 
The Earth rages, cutting paths of death 
Through the heartland we hold dear,  
Aiming for us, but missing too often. 
Houses shredded, cars upturned, 
Signs strewn all over the bleached grassland, 
Animals slaughtered before we could, 
Other debris unrecognizable to anyone. 
A battle for survival has started, 
And we are the aggressors, ignorant 
Enough to doubt her existence, 
Humble enough to consider her voice, 
A cold thing that silenced the sky at dusk. 

Slow Dream

Struggling to move, the senses collapse, 
Bruised from the constant stumbling, 
Unable to pick myself back up. 
The walls close in, bouncing me off 
Each other, a pinball butterfly 
Stuck in a morass of parasitic dodder. 
Trying to move, the mind distorts 
What signals this mesh of wire 
Apprehended, shaping me into three, 
Split-ends breached, kidneys throbbing, 
Entered backwards, thoughts twisted 
Into velvet acid crystals, a synthesizer 
Playing angelic ethereal notes, pretty toys 
Bleeding like a virgin, spirit bent, bones torn, 
Eyes recoiling in horror at the 2am graveyard, 
Cybertron geneticists mixing chemicals, 
Stomach dissected, teeth cracked, hair declawed 
Oh what is happening what are they doing to me? 
I can't scream, can't wake, only pray 
In the darkness, for some opening in the dirt 
To wrench my scissored hands free, 
Vaguely remembering how insanely hard 
It was to move as a baby, a little one, 
Desperately grabbing at everything, 
Yet unable to get my hands on anything.