Traveling by flight
Alone in a dream
High above the clouds
Far from the sea

To a field she came to land
As the breath of a breeze
Mist-shrouded forest surrounds
Obscuring the castle keep

Sensing his energy
Vibrating at low frequency
Underestimating his needs
Born of pure wondering

Searching for truth
The whole of his life
Waiting for the answer
And the question is why

His alter of strength
Change flows with the seasons
Born of past experiences
Ancestral history

Swiftly she moves
To capture a glimpse
Toward the tempered glass
Outstretches her hand

An enchanted moment
Etched now in her memory
As he slumbers on worn leather
Wrapped in his loneliness

He could have taken her to the Grande Palace Resort, but chose a seedy hotel on the waterfront, within walking distance of the Pier; for it lent an air of noir to the affair, that mixed well with her fatalistic attitude of their coupling. Though he hated when she spoke in “after the fact” tense, it was one of her curious traits that he found most fascinating; her ability to see the world in ways and realms that most could not; including her knowing how they would end, before they even began.

He was a superficial praise whore to be sure, putting himself at the center of attention if he didn’t happened to automatically fall there; and while those around him found him an overbearing, egocentric ass, she sensed his insecurity and saw something deeper that others did not, and that’s the part she wanted to touch. But their chemistry and attraction was unparalleled and irresistible; taking them straight to that line they should never have crossed; the means to their inevitable demise.

The path by which she led him was laden with mystery and truth; the things they did in room 231 was nothing short of debauched wickedness. Touching on every human compulsion and desire; connected by kismet, each movement determined. She coaxed him deeper than he’d ever gone, then feasted on his philosophy, all the while stroking his ego and soothing his soul.

The scars she was left with are worn as badges of valor, for the end was truly a vicious battle; and while she believed that he’d grown from their time and experience, in the end he retreated right back to that haven of superficiality, convenience and comfort; the one that stifled, restricted and smothered. The one he thanked her, on countless occasions, for releasing him from.

What she hadn’t foreseen was the coward he’d become when the black cloud moved in and ultimatums rained down; choosing to cling to collected possessions that held no meaning, but symbolized his monetary value and social standing; rather than harnessing his soul that had only just begun to soar, and riding the current of freedom wherever it happened to take him.

She understood the cruelty he showered upon her, in the form of his words immediately thereafter; actions displaying the stand he was taking, to appease the one he’d forsaken; malicious words intended to wound; of regrettable mistakes and meaningless missteps, that he would spend the rest of his life repenting. But the blatant disrespect he hurled in her direction, when their paths crossed and they landed face-to-face, was more than she could suffer.

She knew their truth, yet he chose to live his own lie; and she’d walked away peacefully with no looking back. The justification for his hatred was pure ego-driven; reminding and rubbing her nose in the fact, that he stood far above on the ladder of success and achievement, whose rungs she refused to climb; when he knew deep inside that his position and wealth had never meant anything or impressed her in the least. She was the only true spirit he’d ever known; her freedom the very thing he longed for – the one thing he was afraid to embrace.

The depth of his shallowness was revealed to the world, on that cold, rainy November night. The camera crew zoomed in on the crime scene; police tape blocking off the street, a shiny, silver Maserati parked in the alley alongside the Hotel Palamar. Two victims found in the car, both having died from multiple gunshot wounds. President and CEO of prominent architectural firm and an unidentified prostitute, both having met their untimely demise during an apparent act of unfinished fellatio.

She gazed at the image on the television screen, as the camera panned out and revealed the full scene, her eyes were immediately drawn to the window on the second floor; a window she knew too well – the window to room 231, where they’d carried out their affair.

They say some men you just can’t reach, and while she didn’t doubt that for a moment, she also believed that upon reaching that place at the core of one’s soul and touching upon the truth that dwells there, some simply aren’t courageous enough to reach out and embrace it; choosing instead to succumb to their fear and fade into the illusion.

Stay strong.

After the fact I thought about what I had done and wondered if saying nothing at all might have been more appropriate, for exactly what sort of message is “stay strong?”

Everyone deals with personal crisis in their own way, and to tell someone who may be falling to pieces to “stay strong” is just wrong in my opinion. Why must we stay strong? I don’t think we should; if that’s not what our emotions are telling us. We shouldn’t fight to stay strong for the sake of another; we should let our true emotions be seen and heard, otherwise we’re just projecting a lie.

So, have a breakdown if that’s where you feel yourself headed – cry your heart out – allow yourself to wallow in your pain, your anger, your sadness. Whatever you’re feeling, just stay true to you. For only then are we being true to others.

Something to think about…

Wandering thoughts
Leading deeper
Endless hours
Pass by idle

Tears born of
Frustration
Wanting so much
To believe

While truths falsities
Ebb and flow
Raging as the sea

To shed tears of happiness
Heart swollen with joy
From the gift of truth
Another should bestow

But what illusions spring
From a bounty of words
While reading the pages
Of one’s very soul

A beacon in the darkness
Wrapping round the heart
Come to life on a virtual page

Where freedom is found
Chained spirits do soar
And the abyss calls you
By name

I was twenty-three at the time and thankful to be alive…with my leg intact! So, I sucked it up. Until recently when the pain shot from a continuous ten on a one – ten scale, to an excruciating fifty-three. And so began the arduous process, which will reach fruition tomorrow, with a four to six week recovery period. And therein lies the cause of my stress.

I don’t like going to the doctor for any reason, and I especially do not like surgery; PERIOD! This one, I have been told, will take approximately three hours. My pulse just quickened as I typed those words. Seriously!

It’s not the actual surgery that frightens me, but the anesthesia; being in an unconscious state, put there voluntarily by unnatural means, signing the papers giving permission, releasing the anesthesiologist from any and all responsibility. That just doesn’t work for me. Not to mention the fact that I’m prone to all sorts of unusual activity while in a slow wave or deep REM sleep, and so who knows how far one travels under general anesthesia. I know, I know…but I’m just saying…

Jone, this is a good one for you; can involuntary astral projection occur while in an induced unconscious state?

So, my trepidation reached an all time high this morning and my son, sensing it, was especially loving and attentive. The first time he kissed me goodbye was at the bathroom sink while I was brushing my hair; he told me he loved me and would miss me today and then gave me a kiss. I stepped back and looked at him oddly, to which he cocked his head to the side and gave what I can only describe as a knowing smile. For the scent he emitted was that of my late grandmother.

I loved her better than best. I loved everything about her, especially the way she felt in my arms when I hugged her, and that distinguishing scent that belonged only to her. It was a combination of her face powder, her lipstick, her perfume, her breath, her hair and her very essence. There was never another smell in the world that even came close to that comforting scent I knew and loved so well. Two more times he kissed me before he left and each time he smelled exactly like her.

And so this evening I find myself in an extremely calm and relaxed state; having received her message from beyond; sent through the purest and truest form of love; my child. I know that she loves me still, was able to cross the veil that separates this life from the next to tell me so. She was with me this morning and will be right there by my side tomorrow.

Amazing isn’t it, that the power of love knows no boundaries.

Put down and
Purged

The stroke of
Midnight

All Hallows Eve

He always
Believed
Her to be a
Witch

Leaving him damned
And cursed

One thousand and one
Her number on
The list

Nameless
Faceless
Meaningless
Conquests

The exact number
Final word count
At the end of first
Go-round

Everything flowing
Coming with ease
Alignments just right
For slaying the
Dead

My loathing
Wouldn’t run
So
Deep

Too many used to be’s
Faded away with
Time

Not enough now’s
To sustain us
Into tomorrow

Image – Wings of dust

She doesn’t seek his memory, it just comes creeping; and when it does, that’s all there is.

Its nothing to do with fear or inspiration; building a fan base that was there long before he was; or anything at all for matter of fact. For who would dream of seeking such hurt.

Its simply a means of soul survival; an attempt to heal, her wounds on her own. Purging her being in the form of words; bloodletting her system of his poison, his disease. Being caught in the death trap, he sets and springs.

His desperation for reprieve, amounting to nothing; empty words of apology and pleas of forgiveness. He gobbles her words and his ego grows, waiting for Twitter to tell him there’s more.

Echoes swirl
Through hallowed
Halls

Bouncing off doors
Inside my
soul

Meaningless words
Wrapped in
Illusion

A singular voice
Bent on spiritual
Intrusion

Bolt the door
Against his
Dark

Shut my eyes
Seek thy
Light