Betrayal

Certain admissions bear too much weight to be carried by simple casual conversations; things that we attach the most guilt, spilling out the pain that you contracted from years of negative relationships, the rejections we face as adults. Multiplying as we age...

The frustration, the drama, the negativity that we adapt to throughout our existence. This is just one more thing to define our identity. We are the products of our accomplishments, just as much as we are the result of a flaw or shortcoming.

When most people allow themselves to open up, they are reaching out. It is no more a confession than a plea for help that could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. To expose a part of yourself that is vulnerable, is rarely considered safe in casual waking life. Most people will use your grief against you to balance their own fragile teetering. However, if someone should allow themselves to let their guard down in this respect, with trust. The appropriate response would be to treat it as a stroke of luck, a blessing and display of comfort or friendship. A chance to see someone as they truly are is rare. An offering to be revered and treated with respectful discretion.

To take advantage is betrayal.

Powerless

The feeling is not easily described.

To find yourself in the middle of an insufferable amount of damage caused to your surroundings. Creating an obstacle in the way of necessity and a barrier between what we need and what we take for granted. Your neighbors, your friends, family, co workers. Everyone a part of this chaos. The people that want to help, they do. Others, with the luxury of ignoring the needs of the many. Walk right back to their lives and turn their heads away from the discomfort. Powerless, to a dependence of convenience. A vice that seems to be rewarding in everyday life, however dangerous in situations when the supply is cut off. Trading away self reliance and strength to supporting forces that help destroy sacred principles. The sin of sloth. The unnecessary lack of struggle. This type of thing can make the problem worse.

A gigantic tree went down, not even a block away from my house, during the hurricane. It's roots ran underneath a house it was beside and the drive way. Cracking the cement in to wide angles. The raw mess looked like it had been untangled and then tangled again. Unearthed and ripped open. The earthworms and insects squirming for their lives, homeless. The tree took down a power line that was running in close proximity. I counted three thick wires and four small wires. The thick wires where all drooping down in the middle of the street, making a frown four-houses wide. The tree smashed in the street pinning them down. Two of the smaller wires were severed and dangling in the side walk. I guessed, this was where my power went. For two weeks.




Its good to be home.

untitled (poem)

The streets paved to the way of freedom
becoming the lives it takes in its route
stacked homeless next to deprived families begging
to reinstate forgotten elements - as we open our blind eye

white chalk on the ground tracing the shape of death
red blood stain on the wall with a blue rag wrapped around the head
a neon reflection in black pools of oily iridescent wretch
swarming the shadows in between the filth and garbage

Candy painted rides - brightly colored fish net legs
huge afros' and tight braids - acrylic fingernails
over sized jackets with the fade - bass flooding sidewalks
windows exhaust a haze of tattooed faces - staring blank

Moon shine hinting off gold tipped teeth
Long suits and shiny shoes - children run in the street
slanted porches - gutted lawns - figures still as silhouettes
yellow street light shines on broken 40's and MD 2020 bottles

lives lost at the roll of the dice - place your bets


-

to abandon our own honor is to undo our own purpose

-

we cannot be over burdened with gifts we are allowed to receive

-

untitled

I am no longer sleeping
the wolves woke my heavy head
there was long awaited rapture

when I was entranced by nature

the instinct arose without restraint
I subdued any form of self
to shed the skin of mortality

to blend into the ethereal
become what is unquestionable

I will be
what is
an inner wisdom

The Eye of a Mirage

the desolation of our understanding
a stark nameless longing that fills this burning sky
calloused regrets dissolving into the sun

the way you disappeared into the heat

a distance between two halves
waves lifting off the ground
distorting in the eye of a mirage

the open nerve that blends in so well
an aching that tortures when forgotten
it was her standing there amongst the thorns

thorns that puncture and wound
excreting a poisonous knowledge
infected with transitory reason

disseminating a relentless scrutiny

I waited for the air to turn into wine
to flood my lungs with intoxication
I would gladly hurl myself into the abyss of not knowing

if I could kill my conscience

Exc!amation of Thought

I will spring forth randomly and quench the thirst of this unborn seed.
The fleeting persuasion of consonant meaning.
Bleed the untold speech of the voiceless. Screaming color.
Discreet endoshperic patterns excrete the weakness of heroic scripts
written in the tears of the spirits sorrowfully singing through keys
searching for the true character, timbre.
Vibrating frequencies of sensation
spread across the epidermis
triggering spasms of exstatic sonsory exclamation!
Static waves spell shapes of lost names
given to the unborn babes
raised in purgatory with out graves.
These mistakes pile up each day
into this massive massacre
of tortured sacrificial remains.
Sheep.
So I shall reep.
Until I retreat and percieve the balance of behavior .
The distance between beings.
energy equated to the relationships based evenly.
Without denying personal specifications.
Braveless.
Our hearts are no longer a compass
they are tied weights
the heaviest of anchors.
To be enslaved with the instinctual
innertia of nature.
The order of unrestricted or contained spacial arrangements.
Dictating whether or not we are deserving of mates.
Whether or not we deserve the consideration of fate.
The disposition of restriction.
Unforgiving decisions.
GOD only bears witness.
We are the children. One only knows the wisdom. It is not him.
We are one through this journey of birth.
Beginning with the initiation
of the blossoming flower tempting the culmination
of cosmic creation.
Once we reach the end . The history of everything.
All we know to be true.
The beauty and disease we have etched into our bodies.
We will then turn and fold, collapse our form
into one single moment
a moment
where an entire universe
made love to itself
and imploded perfect satisfaction
as it experienced the birth and death of all life
so spledidly and rigorously.
It reached up and handed itself the apple,
bit and drank the juices deeply.
Stored the information through out.
The one life we have all been living.
So repeatedly.
We are the first we will be the last.
That is the reason why, when we hurt ourselves.

I laugh.

Haiku

-

current flows as muscle

bending the rhythm of form

egos crash like waves




-


- Ben

Sentiment

The realization could spell indifference
when intimate images are no longer hidden
But we will what is our wisdom
As our passion becomes unrestricted

There will be few moments when this sentiment
will be so gracefully given..

I would never take advantage or for granted
the respect we have established
although the glaring distraction
makes romance hard to fathom
with our hearts within our reach
an understanding comes to grasp
I hold on to the feeling
that this experience could heal the past

To learn from the mistakes
To build where we both collapsed..
The ruins of our follies will soon shape our individual paths
I will meet you at the crossroads
Take some weight off your back
You can pay me with a smile and when I make you laugh..

The tears from my eyes will be so sweet
my taste will no longer sour

The bitter kiss that tortures us

Love purely will devour

- Ben

Confrontation

to avoid confrontation.

The idea that neglecting or even pacifying cooperation by avoiding the responsibility of communication. Will somehow better our individual situation by denying connections that could be nourished as healthy interaction.

People claim the will to be virtuous, however lack the strength to tell those near to them what they are not prepared to hear. The responsibility is clear. Be true to the ideas and wisdom developed by your own experience while patiently learning about the perception developed by contrary personalities.

There are lessons to be learned. Through the constant turmoil that every life becomes entangled in. There are solutions being resolved. To problems that might seem difficult to fathom. Every second that we spend in conceptual life. There is an experience that is showing insight to a situation that could be detrimental to our understanding.

Why must we be separated from the ones that need reflection. Give what guidance you know to be true. Be prepared to receive information that can only be decrypted with sympathy and patience. Contrast of opinion can be easily viewed as constructive in its' ability to surface passionate insight.



04/23/08


- Ben

Slumber

As lay there hanging above the most tranquil of slumbers

I let myself fall down slowly
into the dark waters of a dreamless sleep

removing my being from its consistent fluttering

as if I were to shut my eyes
and the universe would turn
as black as the abyss

Awakening

Only to find something so precious cradled in my arms

I pull tighter

the breathe she releases
delivers a sigh of subtle relaxed kindness

somehow removing the woe of my reluctance
and gently lifting the discomforts of conflicting passions

scattering the burden of concern
into a myriad of microscopic details

that hint at the comedy of sadness
and the irony of Compassion


.



- Ben

The Bereavement of Peace

What can you do when you have reached the end? Is there a single moment when the chance to start over presences itself?

It seems as though the experience that we have grown to take for granted has come to show us the folly of our actions.

As we live through our lives pretending that what we have encountered, is temporary and subject to change. Consequently revealing to us the calamity of reality and in turn engaging us to the abrupt realization that our passion for kindness and our commitment to honesty can sometimes be dismantled by the relationships we have built. Upon the essence of charity and the grace of care and understanding, we have deceived our loyalty by vanquishing our abilities and surrendering our compassion to the will of reclusive characters.

Those that do not care. Do not understand.

We as martyrs will nullify the punishment. To soften the epiphany that must be realized.

This can only perpetuate the burden of humanity, bestowed therein the bereavement of peace.



- Ben


(April 6, 2008)

I am not the Foolish One

You should just stop trying.


This inevitable dream land you have conjured is just a soft bed of machine cut flowers cut down before they were allowed to bloom.

The fact is, that you cannot claim to believe in truth and good will, the fortune of honesty, or the majesty of noble cause. Without the stigma of sacrifice or the unflinching conflict of disruption which is, in this case, and all cases.... Fear. But what you fear you are not allowed to emote. The fact is that you are able to conceal your insecurities and disobliged concerns with a masque of inconsiderate rhetoric that you pass off as communication or some sort of botched attempt at personal communion. To sell the idea of understanding or awareness to someone that has no relationship to the grasp of that fact.

No one is what they say. Every one is what they do.

Words only go so far. These words will take you to a alternate fantasy, but lack the roots that can decrypt the enigma of our subconscious being.

This is a problem.


(04 - 2008)

There is no easy way.

The voice echoing across the distance is familiar and promising of comfort. As there seems to be a characteristic of uncertainty. I draw closer..

There is a vast body of fluid disruption flowing between our beings. It keeps us separate and divided. The only thing that draws near is the siren call of that enchanted harmony. The utter of jubilant entrancement rolls of the landscape, momentously cascading the familiar song, filling the air with the melody of those unnamed. We sing together. Although our roots have been planted in conflicting patterns. The soil beneath us contains the ingredients to poison the budding flowers that we have learned to let die. But we envision the majesty as if the garden was always our souls.



Beyond the physical order there is another idea that can be brought to life. As to propose or define the purpose of our race and species. There is no easy way to describe, much less comprehend the realization that our narrow interaction is rudimentary in its practice and juvenile in its attempt to become what we desire. When you look forward the cracks beneath you begin to widen. Your balance can be compromised. The surroundings that you have become accustomed to are unmerciful and without regard to the ideal that you have bestowed. Remember this always in your voyage of shallow terrains. Recite the words of beauty when facing the utmost horrific encounters. Be blinded by light as we are thrust into the darkest of chambers. The idea of creation doesn't stop at the beginning. The fools might try to will it so. Yet, the disturbing formation of the idolized form is overwhelmingly untrue, as we turn to it for guidance nonetheless. The punishment required for enlightenment is far too dangerous to be enticing. So we turn our deaf ears to the choir chanting the indecipherable.






- Ben

Embrace

I remember this place
this feeling I cannot shake

our minds are vessels for the soul
giving life to forces not our own
we shared this passage to other worlds
without our love we are lost

in the night just like stars
in the warmth just like flames

I know
I need this

Divine Embrace

healing me in this
rapturous state


in the warmth just like flames
in the night just like stars



(2007)

"Watch the Fountain Flow" - (poem)

I drank from the fountain just to spit it out and spray it
across the withered faces of elders seldom heard
ill spread the word by quickening their reincarnation

lay a foundation across this baron wasteland of acrid brains
gray-matter faced in dismay with lifeless waveforms
fallen like acorns away from the fruits of salvation

consider your place in this alienated race
as the world turns our souls burn
then we die like stars spiralling through space
all the while blinded by time designed and fine-tuned
to the illusion that we as humans are saints

our fear breeds our hate and
we can only be afraid of staying the same
we can only hate what we cant relate to
we created this ball and chain of anguish and shame
like slaves it remains at our ankles

tortured and tamed to submit
to ancient unexplained languages
strange myths that cant predict or change the path of fate
just fabricates a state of sedation

so take all your brain waves trade it away for some spare change
possession is obsession if its not a tool it's a weapon
we are distracted our reactions are too random and unexpected to fathom

it's so twisted conscious of this existence

the divinity that we seek only present when we sleep
its fleeting and the meaning is hiding behind the scenes
the reason driving these feelings seems to be so deceiving
like treason against the being that created the seasons
we are cheating our own dreams left with nothing to redeem us
the time has come to deeply see what we claim to believe

it's our turn our hearts yearn to converge factual spirituality
how can we enlighten our minds with stories and metaphors
of save-yours dying in tragedy piling up at our feet

we are all lost sheep gathering in herds to the nearest Shepard
whose message is too obscure to reach.

"Speechless" - (Poem)

For

my hand cannot write what I will upon my pen

with tongue in teeth I cannot speak having no remorse to repent

the last incision was my decision to remove this from my heart

mistakes are made cold and bitter

the wounds are calloused and spread apart

take this sharpened blade

guide it down the pulsing vein of words never uttered

flood the streets at children's feet

the tragic songs we sing each other

let those confessions beg and question the limits of our souls

the road you are on dead ends and splits

but it can lead you home

(2007)

"Disapointment" - (Poem)

±

This fleeting feeling

dreaming of comfort in the bliss of stabillity

an internal struggle sometimes bleek that seems to be never ending

looking for answers in others' decisions

the disposition of wisdom is dismissed

while we stay imprisoned

±

Intimacy captures our senses like the innocence of children

displayed in dispair naked

to strangers who seem to bear witness

someone is bound to be the victim

but I wont let them take you..

I will give them my splendor

±

not to perpetuate this endeavor....

±

This is over.

it left the second you expressed your confession

Fate does not wait for medicated second guesses

a repetitive lesson I keep telling myself

communication is precious

to eliminate regre†

or even worse

Regre§ion.

(2007)

An Idea (with questions)

If there is one spirit. There are probably many.

So that is to say that possibly all the spirits are connected in some way, being that they are similar in energy.

What if the energy that exists through these spirits exists through all froms of life and matter as we know it?

Your life is just as significant as the ones who died before you.

Throughout time, Life exists as its own counterpart. Evolving and changing, but substancially retaining the same ingredients.

Humans are the only things (that we know of) that are aware of its singular existence. Thats where the idea of God comes from.

God is you. The fact that you are living { it's } life, creates the possibillity to fathom the concept of { it }.

questions:

If your spirit lived on without the bounds of time. What dimension would it enhabit? What senses would it use? What form would it take?

What would the concept of God be then? Furthermore, How would you even describe the idea of a ghost?

What I saw changed my Life.

I went out there.

With courage and the will to glimpse into the inexplainable. I left this plane.This world. What I saw, I almost couldn't fathom. It seemed like all information was flowing through me at once. The most beautiful colors, every language and symbol. all forms of light and art flowing in a constant stream of intelligence. Organized random sensory symmetry.

It was a vast, complex, intricately calculating vision. It required all of my knowledge and physiological being to be able to approach or comprehend what I was witnessing. I wanted to interact with it, but it seemed so strange. It seemed more intelligent than I, that I didn't dare try to communicate with it.

As I slowly left the vision. I was approached with what at first seemed like an organism whose structure was created by some sort of advanced technology. It looked like a giant sperm cell with tentacles, strange colored lights and screens within its' cell walls. It approached me, and at first I thought it was a spirit or some alien ghost of some sort, but I really didn't know.

I was just watching it, watch me.

I slowly came to the conclusion that this was an imaginary representation of what my spirit is. I had witnessed it and even though it seemed alien at first, it was something in me I had never seen before. My other.

Not even in my wildest dreams...