#30 The Scent of Sargassum

How is it

that you wander

aimlessly to

wherever the winds

compel the tides

only to then become

trapped on the very

shores that you

despised your entire life?

Aren’t you the same

that emerged from

an enigmatic flow

that enabled

you to lure into your

pathways

fluorescent life

that swum carefree

lingering

just below

your golden-brown hue…

that tried its best

but had yet learn to

keep its identity

through

treacherous storms

though each wide ocean

signaled an alarm

to changes that

even they could not

have thought to predict

that left you a victim

in between a unexpected

switch that

banded your leaves

into a meandering creature

obscure and thick

that soon became filled

with left over pieces

of deadened nature

casting deteriorated

shadows over your calm

form

intruding the bays

lightly,

almost suddenly

picturesque

gifting the sulphurous

taste of your tears

to every one

who comes near

to observe, and sweep

away your tainted,

salty fears

openly concentrated

under the sun

 replaying the times you spent

running away from

the predicted events

that whisper your untold stories

gently through the fumes

of your giveaway stench…

My Inspiration: Sargassum Weeds

© KohylahPiper 2015

#27 Absent

courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle

She had found protection

in concealing her true nature

behind leather bindings of

Christie’s, Eyre’s and

Hemingway’s chatter,

for their world

though pained

and mysteriously truthful

was easier than

the surroundings

life forced her to be

committed to.

She loathed being an

unadjusted prototype

of the monotonous mass

of black and white or grey

coloured folks

who were content to pass

by this changing world

indifferent to the lack

of spiritual resources

that had been emptying

faster

than the destruction

wreaking havoc on its

human culture.

It was ironic…

she had often felt,

how her world fed

so hungrily

on its own death;

seemingly unknowing

yet purposefully

creating dearth

wherever it went.

Hate was abundant

whenever love

was buried alive

and lies infiltrated homes

darkening the ideals

of housed souls

where truth

once vivaciously

carried the light

that reduced

many energy bills

to more than twice

their content

wiping away the smut

of dirty carbon footprints

that were left in places of her

own being

though she had tried

to reduce the overloading

of her programmed mind.

But.

Enough.

And she shifted her focus

back to Hemingway's chatter

that had filled the lived in

silences of her loss of laughter

in this empty world

that sacrificed trust and hope

for suspicion and fear

since everyone,

like her

in this nearly absent world

had disappeared.

# SELAHSATURDAYS

My Inspiration:  World News & Photo Prompt by Random_Michelle

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

#26 The Ruler of the Sun's Flames

 

courtesy: Alexander Redmon

He was intertwined in

galaxies of frustration

constantly building

on sections of

lost, wayward rays

reaching for stars

that always seemed to dim

then recede far away

before he could touch them…

but he kept trying,

creating pockets

that carried

his unique breath

through the dense air

floating past rocky bars of

unjustified

meteoric  fears.

Latticed planets of light,

colourfully shaped with

distinctive glows

had kept him

balanced when

insistent black holes

came upon him

to steal the magic

he kept guarded securely

in the depths of his throat.

They arose

with an insatiable hunger to

overthrow all hopes

into vacuums hard pressed with

past and present times bursting

forth into a shower which

streaked across his vision

blissfully

with woes,

none of his own,

but frightfully extended

meaning to magnify

the distance

between his efforts

and where his dreams ended.

He hung from

the last notch on

Orion’s Belt

desperate for the universe

to feel what he felt

thinking maybe if it did

it could catapult

him into the position

he knew he was to fill,

burning the fragrance

of hells he had conquered

into wisps of the heaven

he was meant to live in…

and there and then

without a second or third thought

to consolidate the action

that grew ripe in his heart

he let go;

and swung himself high

determined to create

a path newly formed

above the galaxies below

and when his eyes caught fire

he knew his time had come

to be the ruler

of the flames of the sun.

My inspiration: A Solitary Daddy Long Legs Spider [random, I know :) ]

© KohylahPiper 2015

#24 Pendulum Swinging

                                              courtesy: Daniel Diaz

Suspended

between your still palms

is a silky white thread

made up of situations

shaped by multiple instigated events.

It was once soft…

but became hardened with time

never self-destructing

rather, isolating itself

as it intertwined

with fragility

.bitterness.

and hope’s steady demise

At the end of it

dull and

partially oxidized

is a pendulum

representing

the entirety of the time

you have left to choose,

between your soul’s dignity

and the subtle lies

that can never be

transformed into reality’s truth.

You’ve maintained

your composure

sacrificing your joints

to keep that thread unmovable

at its centre point

and though you are confident

that it won’t ever fray

above your head a clock

silently tick-tocks away.

Your fingers though

perfectly shaped

are stiffened

from the years that

they’ve spent

holding an obsolete position,

protecting your pride

from any revelatory events

that will shatter the

wide seams of the covert tent

 you made

to contain

your repressed conscience’s view

that never changed though

you chose to disregard

its deep sorrow

at the mere observation of you…

In its wisdom

it foretells of a sudden jerk

and shuffling sound

that will shake your still palms

unannounced…

it foretells of fear that will cause

an eruption

of splintered wooden cries to fall

from your mouth.

All meaningless

utterances forgotten.

Twine you never noticed

will slowly appear attached to your arms

cris-crossing over the false

perception of power

that you left unadorned,

then you will look slowly upward

to be finally aware

that you never had control

but was left alone, closeted

by your own private puppeteer

and after being distracted by

shadows that will define

your self-made disaster

you will look down

abruptly remembering

your rusted weight

and the silk thread

you once held captured,

and with arms uplifted

against your own will,

that pendulum

will rise moving

independent of even your own

puppeteers private thrills;

holding the truth

swinging freely

then faster

fiercely revealing…

no one ever did control it

it had always been its own master.

My Inspiration: Grandfather Clocks and Dolls.

 

© KohylahPiper 2015