Rebel Sensation

I think they HEARD us. The careful movements in which our whispers were made known appeared as rocks falling from a cliff.

I think they FELT us -we were consumed in a fire while trying not to burn down the walls which kept us secret.

I think they SMELLED us – We burned down and the ashes of our beings have created a traceable smoke that is absorbed miles afar.

I think they TASTED us – Our lingering aroma seemed to find itself on the tip of their tongue, which gave a reminiscent delight.

I think SEEN us – We tried to escape, but the nakedness of our innocence proved far too exposed than our dress desired to accomplish…

I think we know all of these things sensed rebel inclination

It’s interesting when we examine the senses that ever so closely are realized through the nature of someone’s insight. It’s quite interesting how I came up with this piece, it is a hilarious but yet so very embarrassing story. Need I explain?

I don’ think I’ll explain that! ALL I know is, after it was over, we both seemed to realize what it means to be a rebel.

Nakedness, exposure, and shame are all of these things seem to have a motivation.




The Dance.


Don’t you love it when someone is able to capitalize on the exact emotions that you feel at your heart so closely? Sometimes when the ‘Word’ is sent forth, the composition is lowercased, until THE CAPITAL transcends what is lowercased. I am very familiar with this DANCE. Thank you Sylina for writing such a piece that capitalizes the very notion of where I Stand.

To accompany this piece, I am reminded of something I wrote that is similar entitled ‘Muted Heartbeats’

You scream and tear the shreds; into consequential items of neglectfulness.

These shreds are remnants of what has become of my love.

I’m no longer given to the reasoning of persistent battle; my heart is restless.

The urgency which once compelled me to create action has lost its fervor.

You are holding on to the example of the championship, I once delivered to you, but I have put down my sword.

I engage in the activity of complexity, by allowing our interests to dance within miles.

As I walk daily to the deserts of sweat; my efforts are begged for thirst.

I express to myself the wonder which vehemently places discord between us.

This muted threat is louder than all of the greatness combined.

Its ‘lack’ is the weight of overload and sickness.

In the elements of goodness; I am sharply reminded of these knives.

It is actually in the laughter in which your spirit decides; that kindles my fractured soul.

These testimonies of agony; brings me to regret as I shape them each rising day.

These muted heartbeats remain in my body; to speak of your boisterous heartbeat.

But are we to mute the sounds of life because we wish to forget the beat of our heavy hearts?


Sacred ICE (Variation Meets Perception)


I want you to really think about this picture for a second?!

As much as we value and appreciate our Smartphone’ they aren’t quite special are they? They do, however, arouse a provoking response when we see the twin; of our reflections!

“I remember when it was cool to have a sidekick phone! Am I the only one?!


I was so obsessed with those phones! It wasn’t necessarily the coolest thing ‘IN COMPARISON’ but there was a time when phones seemed to all be so different.’Comparison’ was a positive thing which showcased the flamboyant variation in the market.

But can we really say the same now? Companies desire to market everything, according to the capital of what was established before us. Now we are all apparently following the line of entropy and nothing begins to call out a primitive belonging. Our Ice is melting and what was considered sacred is beginning to become overlooked. While this topic is not totally addressed to one particular spectrum, I find it interesting how so much of what we perceive through life; is with an altered lens. You can very well take from this as you desire, it’s late at night and thoughts of connections just seem to dance in my head! Haha. Ice and the sacred, it’s something to ponder on when the heat of what is out there begins the melt away the ice.


For some reason, I have been studying the notion of ‘Home.’ One of the reasons the ‘Roman Empire’ fell down, according to Edward Gibbon (1787). “The rapid increase of divorce; the undermining of the dignity and sanctity of the home, which is the basis of human society.”

Home is one of the most sacred and important family dominions that we have. If the home is destroyed, there is not much more to keep the family going.  Home is more than four walls and a place to keep our feet at bay. Home is where we understand life and unconditional love by the eternal bay of where we are.  Bria Valente sung this song quite well on ‘Elixer’. Surely, she was likely speaking of a sugary coating, and more of a metaphorical depth. 😀

Bria Valente sang this song quite well on ‘Elixer’. Surely, she was likely speaking more of a sugary coating. 😀

I came down 2 find U here

Celibate & all alone
Travelin’ N a caravan of Isis tears
I’ve come 2 claim U 4 my own

Of course U’re scared the first time I appear
Because many seek ur throne
There’s no need to worry, no need 2 fear
U should just feel at home

Home, home, home, at home
Home, home, home, at home, home

And I keep it down, U were up in arms
A house full of thieves and liars
A restless heart so easily charmed
Could end up in a bed of fire

Of course U’re scared first time I say
Let me help U tap on that dome
There’s no need 2 run from ur one and only desire
I’ve come 2 bring peace 2 ur home

Home, home, home, Ur home
Home, home, home, Ur home

I came down 2 hear U say
At last, U’re finally satisfied
There was never any other who could ever be Ur lover
And never truly get inside U

Touch the core of what we all live 4
Everlastin’ paradise
But U see that in Ur life there R many houses
But now U’ve finally got a home

Home, home, home, a home
Home, home, home, a home

I only wanna cleanse Ur feet with Isis tears
And make U feel at home
I only wanna cleanse Ur feet with Isis tears
And make you feel at home

Home, home, home, home, home, home
Home, home, home, welcome home
Home, home

The Creatures OF Backward Metamorphosis

It’s not often I wake up with the anticipation to have your arrival AT the front of my window. Being hesitant to interrupt the meeting of intended vibrations, I was very reluctant to even give into the fervent pot of its taste. We all know how it is, to perform ‘manners’ when within a business. We can’t eat without a sense common courtesy in waiting for the other guest. It seems as if the utensils were slowly picked up. My digest reads at the enlargement of your entree.

When the waiter came by my table, she delivered a coy smile, which literally made the butterflies seem to arrange metamorphosis backward. Those caterpillars in my belly stung out the very taste for my food. NOW, that the proposal is laid out on the table, I find myself in joy; as I actually entertain the thoughts of perplexed passion, in an exotic abyss. I’ve been awarded a trophy, but I have never even run the race for a prize. I simply ran because I convinced myself; a monster of annihilation beckoned, my very existence. I’ve never been one to go into the closets of life; I rather become threatened by the horror of those who have the power to conclude my every direction.

I’m simply aware of the coming days of summer, which can linger in the memories of the stories of THOSE OF YOUNG and old. I’m about ready; to scatter those seeds of the matrix on the cracked floors I stand on. NOW, when the door becomes of reach, I am able to turn the knob a little closer to my own codes. I am the only one, who understands the initiation of my beginning and end. Those lines are extremely easy to find out, but when the letter is being written for you, BY SOMEONE else, you begin to wonder why do we write out a plan? Maybe the plan is that a squeal will appear as the premier.


The nature of my flow has now reacquainted; the once shy friend of mine. Friendship has sharpened the sword of revenge. Now, the rain is going to come down. We know, that the very sound of thunder; is not to scare us or intimate us. rather remind us, we were ENLIGHTENED before the sound.

This light never sleeps, it only reveals itself when it’s simply ready to inform you of what is felt. I’ve gained knowledge by the advice of my past, and don’t we all know, those scars and bulges somehow indicate the injury that has been healed? SO, as I ponder through the images of laughter of ecstasy, the sun rises upon the number of clouds which have vanished back into the sea.


Version Of Betrayal

Like a fast moving train, it hits you.
You sit dumbfounded not quite knowing what to do.
And then the daggers pierce your chest,
And the pain of it all causes you to cry out.
You seek relief but it never comes because your being has suffered from nothing but defeat.
It hurts even worse, because it is by your own hands.
The pain is unbearable,
And you cannot understand,
how something that you once believed to be a universal truth,
Could turn out to be
A wolf in the clothing of a sheep.
It is the ultimate betrayal.

The world thinks that nothing could be worse.
However you alone know the truth.
How sad it is,
That the betrayal was caused by you.
You are the being who wields the dagger.
And you are the one to get stabbed.

– Sylina Denise

The stabbing and a loneliness which surrounds your room; due to tainted memories and pale spotlight. What is believed by the universal thought, turned out to be a lie?

What is believed by the universal thought, turned out to be a lie?

Sylina Denise; wrote this piece to really accompany, with my thoughts at the time. This very well accomplished my central emotions. It’s amazing to know how other writings, can speak to you so clearly. She’s one of the best writers, and I thank her!

I wielded the dagger but now my armor has seized the fault of suicidal ambition. 


Accidental Racists (Languid Depravity)

This ‘America’ WE have come to accept; IS created PRIMARILY by immigrant culture. BE it, the English, who fled the KING, the Chinese who built the railroads, the Africans who created the White House, and created the first almanac, or Latin America who has landscaped and constructed our buildings. Besides; not even acknowledging, the genocide of the masses of indigenous people. To imply America is a ‘WHITE NATION’ implies, those white people, single handily BUILT this nation, and that, the same laws, which primarily benefited Whites in the past, still apply. NONSENSE, if people defend this theory, it throbs racism! We should NEVER FORGET THE PAST BUT NEVER DWELL ON IT EITHER. SO ALL, I am ranting on to say is that WE HAVE ALL DONE SOMETHING to make this ‘America’ of ours.

I speak on this as well, as this situation is very languid.

Languid Depravity

While my mind sprinkles desire; it begs for the oceans to silently roam its four corners.
While pleading its sincerity; it is soon given a sinister response.
The health of my consciousness is driven by images of honest realities.
As they present themselves to me; I hear the wonder of fulfillment as it meets the eyes of ability.
While looking at the framework of how life is positioned; a glimpse at my own value is considered.
How depraved I really am; if not by the renewal of study I am given to.
Once the seeds are planted; their propensity to grow is built on the unification of all the elements working to complete a yielding and accomplishment.
But are we to assume once the variable is reached; that its focus will deteriorate due to its handicapped nature?
Or are we the ones losing our identity because our building will be far more complicated than usual?
The depravity of our hearts has manifested on the approach of predetermined research given an answer to such dilemmas.
Seeking to undermine the potential and the resolute pronunciations of skill by the guesses of our injected theories.
How many accidents, does it take for it to appear as intentional?

Wrestling Silhouettes

For some reason, I’ve had to wrestle with the idea of blogging again. It’s as if my shadow has become in a fight with the notion of writing. BUT writing is the very expression to make known the emotions we all feel in our hearts. I remember once trying to measure and calculate how often I would blog online. It’s safe to say, I lost that battle a long time ago!

I also read very poignant blog posts, ENCOURAGING bloggers like myself; to continue to blog at least 3 times a week. AND this is achievable, it’s really about the desire to follow suit in encouraging others. IF I could reach one person, who feels the emotion at my fingers as I write this, it is worth it!

3 is a great start at the bare minimum to release the thoughts which dance around my head. Whether it is a quote, a message, or a simple response to what I have seen. Because truly, many thoughts dance around my head, and I truly do love to write.

This year has already been overwhelming, I have witnessed so much already, and I lay down on the floor prostrate, in gratitude. Never has there been such a wave and NEWly found guidance in my life. I long to share the very blessing that we all may see or may not see.

More importantly, I love to read other poems and writings from people who write who echo their passions. EVEN IF, That’s YOU!  I love the comfort of writing, and the incredible release and exercise it is.

So, no longer will I wrestle with the framework of the light!

It’s very easy to wrestle with what has thrown its light upon us; but why would we scoff at the light that has been given to us? We are changed through the visions of undressed creation! I want you all to be inspired as the light shines on you, to see the great aspect of love it shows us.

Given the tears flowing down your face; it’s safe to say; you’ve fallen from grace

In what you heard; the applause is diminished; while your soul now seeks for a precious gift to replenish

A gift that brings triumph, one of honor and glory; you have heard these gifts, passed down story after story

Told by those of old and young; exchanging details of goodness where love first was begun

Now you walk in the allies of the night; wishing for the story to reveal its light

Approaching a sensation of revelation; your body is then covered with undressed creation

As your silhouette wrestles the light that shines its passion – in its defeat, you scoff at the heavenly fashion

NOT ANYMORE, No more scoffing!