A kaleidoscope of doubt

Toxic is the air invading the space between my mouth and nostrils

grown a fool waiting for love to sprout on winged petunia

I’ve clawed my heart to recover crystals that glistens darkness in my eyes

Fear has returned to torment a dusty cobwebbed casket.

A ripple of the river reflects the subtle complexity of existence

An existence separated by colours, seen and unseen. Gold and silver.

Separating further into hues that are too bright and overly sharp.

I fear I have triggered a cascade of events.

Pillars of white ricochet their luminosity, giving the illusion of separate divinity, or separate existence, dividing life and living, body and soul, is there a difference between living and breathing?

I may very well be buried under an oasis of doubt, coughing up sputum and goo, invading the intangible crevices like a broken mannequin underneath a glacier.

And I have survived, I mean I’m still living — and breathing.

The stars shine so bright that they rip a hole in a time-space continuum

and all I wish to do is swim in the penumbra of twilight.

Collect kisses from a thousand crows

As they nest on top the clay that holds the secret to my doubts.

I’ve sworn a vow to do better. I’ll be better. I’ll hold a matchstick close to a furnace and bask in it’s golden glow.

I will light a candle close to my heart and let my tears bounce off it’s flames. I can do it, just you watch.

I can make the sun and moon kiss in cosmic bureaucracy.

The emo in me is like a sand that won’t let you see the delicate ocean circling in my eyes.

You need not look at me, if you wish not to. But I bid you,

Remove the anchor that weighs so heavily on my ankle.

Find me in a kaleidoscope of doubt.

Follow the trail of lost serendipity in my voice.

It’ll get better

The stream refused to stand still.

it chipped at the roots of trees, and the toes of little adventurers.

I find myself choking from lack of air

Pure oxygen won’t do, without hydrogen hysteria is only a matter of time.

In hindsight I’ve forgotten the feel of the earth underneath my foot

like a hamster running in circles, chasing fool’s gold. Bewitched by the sun.

And I know I have to breath, grapple at the element with both nostrils

because it’ll make me better, It’ll feels less nauseating. I’ll survive a while longer.

They say it’ll get better,

but when?

The stream longs to stand still

to hear the working nocturnal beavers

still to the rustling withered leaves

But today, currents are high.

the anxiety will explode from the base of my ribcage

the strictures at the back of my throat won’t disappear

Now I’m at loss for words

my heart is overflowing but my glass is empty

somehow dark emotions pour out of my chakras

Currents are sky rocketing

and sky is painting all shades of crimson

But

I’d like to stand still

to hold back the worries, that’s gnawing and spitting at my ankle

I’d like to hold back the fusty dam from over-flooding.

They say it’ll get better, I’m tired of asking when.

Between an Artist and His Art

You know me

Every coarse line and grit  on me

was borne from your mind

I evolved from squiggles, shades of you

Yet to explore dimensions of all that I am

 

But doubt  hauls into your mind

It trivializes me

Claiming that I, as a reflection of you,

We are not good enough

So you conjure these scowling faces

They befuddle  your judgment

Irrespective of your arduous attempts

We will never be good enough

My value in your heart fades

as you turn your back on me

 

 

 

My heart bleeds,

for I, as a reflection of you,

We are of  good opulence

Surely not for all,

Only for the few crazy enough to discern the mind of a creative.

 

Soon you realize these voices were a hoax

The inebriation of hypocrisy disseminates

Contrition arrests you, so you complete me

And I make you whole

I am attuned to you

For you love me undeniably

You flaunt me so all may see

An ethereal smile blooms each time

You look at me and say;

Behold the beauty I created

Judge not her imperfections

for there is no bond greater

than the one between an artist and his art.

 

This piece is originally about the struggles of an artist, but I was moved to a deeper meaning of it. We ourselves are creations of the omnipotent God, and if we could take so much pride in our poem, photographs, books or paintings, then surely we can acknowledge the depth of his steadfast love for us. God bless us!