#66 Released

courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle

Cathartic ends have 

slipped through your skin

rebelling against all that

you had once left unspoken...
unsung
unwritten

for some reason

everything is no longer enough

you can’t ever be same

and only few people 

will understand
the gentle force of your touch,

many others...not as much.

You’ve thrown off boulders

that held the weight of your dreams

and the conundrum is that in doing so

you opened the portals

in which they hid

Silent.

Beneath.

Waiting for your angst to be fulfilled.

Your true essence could 

have never been awakened till

your cup had run over with

the parts of you,

you had long forsaken,

the comfort to which you had fallen prey

had to be rejected,

placed far away

from the places that were aching

and now with all laid bare,

nothing left to hide...

it bristles from the light

of the explosion of you

that grows steadily towards

the outside

in the fight

that rages between

the actuality of who you are now

and who you were created to be

all that you hold dear

and all that you must leave

below the crimson tide,

that lies still.

Such peace.

Your fire rising above it...

your exploding spirit,

released.

# SELAHSATURDAYS

My Inspiration: Beginnings & Photo Prompt by Random_Michelle 

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

#31 Incomplete Works of Art

                                                  

John Ahee

I painted my imperfections

upon the wrath of your tears

and wished each stroke

could dry into

a classic renaissance piece

embedded into the

contemporary ceiling of all

the existential cares

that had left us

bound

to air-locked philosophies

of what made us lost

in each others eyes

instead of found in our own layers.

I guided my own paths

through the fallacies of your thoughts

and left my essence unattended

to undergo restorative

processes

you could not begin to complete

since your own

was all the more cracked and

stripped than we could ever agree

and our own tools too weak

to begin

a transformation

both of us

desperately needed from within.

Yet foolishly

compounding scanty resources

into an inevitable withdrawal

I threw my expectations over

the whitewashed unevenness of your halls

and hoped that its abstractions

could find a home

inside this hollowness

we made...

ever so calm

despite the powdery residue

you left clinging to my aching arms.

Though I changed my brushes

uncountable times

in attempts to capture

our true depth,

these uncountable times

created great costs

unaccounted for

in coveted scenarios

where uncountable secrets

were kept

and thus,

we were

left

as we both began…

half restored

half discovered

half ended

half explored

half mended

unfinished works of art

that could not

be completed

unless they acknowledged

they needed the

expertise of

a skilled painter’s hands.

My Inspiration: Midnight

© 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