~ World on fire

Every blue moon
sees a cloudscape
ablaze with spiritual fire
and divine presence
even while the words
pointing beyond the veil
are sorely missing
never able to convey
such heavenly realms
possible and perchance
to find and discover within
despite the machination
and its common parlance
our path leads us through
and to, but not beyond, within.

One of the gordians of life
The path that deadends within
and what a path beyond means
Could there be a possibility?

 BOOKS:  Gordians of Life, A Slayer's Method

A Mood Uplifter

Yesterday I found myself sending the following graphics to Stephanie, with the exception of the one of her in her wedding dress. But each one represents one of the fundamental centers of being in the Fourth Way. Having created this range in such a way between her and I, while it wasn't something I was consciously thinking about today, has certainly been on my mind at times in the past and suddenly today I find quite a remarkable snap of intent to see it through...

The centers of function here are moving, emotional, intellectual, and sexual.

To Die For

The part of life I have cared the most about,
enjoyed the most, learned the most from,
found the most inspiration as a result of,
came unglued to most with,
spent my nights awake over the most,
ever became ecstatic over,
ever felt my life martyred by,
or felt like martyring my life by,
not to mention just dying for.

Well it died just yesterday now
after revealing itself as a fraud.
Letting go was never so hard
and yet, who can hold on
in the face of a bracing wind
to the tail of a tale about vapor

There will be no wake for the crying
those better left alone to think it over
might just complicate things if they knew
the manner of my lover, lying I could trust her.
Despite her persuasions and sleight of hand
which defied my reason and better judgment
for years, only to suddenly call on my attention
with that old pattern I honestly thought was over

found everything at risk to begin had evaporated.

© 110223 rjduberg

~ Gravity Rose

My pricked and bleeding hand

from a thorny rose afront…

Betray a beautiful but brutal flora

as I smell tears blossom wet.

The fault and pain made mine
must be innocent opposition

to the collapse, a bad recoil that

needs of pride, yet sovereignty denies.

Love, infatuation, ruined innocence

just like water, cures the harmful fire.

Life of the innocent, bliss of ignorance

And the inevitable spiraling romance.

Until then, you and I, dance
the tragic heartbreak tango
ever more at stake and lost

until along steps mi amour.

First - With a graced context

teaching Möbius like a trick

to faux openings for closures,

rented moves that fail in situ.

My sadness grows despite
a tender feeling so kind

no release she falls and is

broken, in words that rattle.

Her articulation on my failure

in years passed, razes future.

Her hope of change betrayed

by prickly shadow's domain.

Grown up and a bigger man,

her words strike scarred rain.

How I live feels so amiss

inside of skeptical and pissed

This live blooming rose path

has been my lucky chagrin

no grave warnings for refrain

but gravity into reddish injury.

 

Of her earlier thorns...
I never understood her plan
She never felt safe with me
Two years later, a broadside?

I cut her off in chat, my bad
she writes, I can’t talk to you
plain and simple boy slam-fest
brat she said ran me thru bad

my anger made a poor discredit
This probe escalated into strike
Laying grounds for a challenge.
Tomorrow, a sober story will tell.

© 5/17/04, RJDuberg

rev 9/2016