Druthers

I’d rather be elsewhere, out of this abyssal dream; for no longer could the woulds of yesterday propel me onward down this path.

To remain asleep would be akin to self-preservation but also equal its death.

I’d rather speak not, as my eyes open; for in this moment I can see more than words could become expressions.

To say that which cannot be described in speech would convolute its very meaning.

I’d rather wonder, rather than know; for knowing would mean no longer imagining.

To cease creative thought would mean to burst the bubble of divine inspiration.

I’d rather be awake rather than not be, would rather see rather than speak and would rather think rather than cease to inspire.

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Self-Managing

You remember that time runs swiftly, but imagine there be no time and suddenly you’ve got infinity;

Infinity at your fingertips, infinity over your eyes and infinity under your skin.

Now you’re staring into a tangled ball of responsibilities and tasks in your hand, but imagine there is no entanglement and each becomes a jigsaw combining to fit the whole;

The whole of it all becomes complete and marks your achievements, the whole is comprised of many.

You start to feel a rush of momentum, an urgency propels you to fit pieces together into larger pieces to make a complete mass;

The complete mass is you, so you start to see just how the pieces fit.

Swift to Sift

Rising anticipation, a bated breath,

hums the thrum of changes collecting

in the well of wishful dreaming.

Ankles twisting and knees bouncing,

toes upright with the hips rolled sideways,

impulse grips the cord of reaching.

More is not less if the arms are full,

empty is full of all that’s lacking.

Be still but not stagnant,

see, every day is a chrysalis

with the change being constant.

Reaping winds brings worry,

combing skies for answers;

rather to bury questions

and tread the growth for revelation

than sift the muck for a marvel.

Guile’s Beguiled Guillotine

Savvy are the wicked,
watching and waiting
for circumstance-

that moment where the atmosphere grows thick
and awareness between breaths intensifies.

In such a fog, only the essence of importance remains,
every hair stands on end-

a deadly blow is what’s to follow.

Enchanted becomes the light that does not pass go.

Stuck in a cloud like a light bulb,
intensity becomes the glory of daemons.

Angels sing the light to life,
guile keeps it tethered
in place for its purpose unveiling.

Keep your lights close and hold them dear,
box them up to keep them safe.

When the sky falls and angels cry,
daemons come to comfort the fallen.

Blades grow thick in fields of fearless anticipation.

If growth could speak, it would divulge
the wisdom of the universe.

In the dark, rocks grow where nobody’s looking.

Even the most lonely of crystals
becomes most cherished.

Lost heads look no more,
light slides on all sides.