A Thoughtful Gift

A thoughtful gift death proves to be;
one escapes a world of fear and hate.
A loving curse lets no one flee.
From strife and time to war and fate
and sickness abundant, it's hunger we sate.

No don't resist, don't fight, embrace!
Its a cold warm feeling this blissful state.
The stricken already wear it on their face,
the soon to be acquiesce to fate.
No man, angel or being may remove this plate.

To eternally dream is our aspiration.
Behind this veil from God we hide,
but not from fear, we're an abomination.
Nothing we do can turn this tide,
all we can do is bide our time.

Death, fate, inevitable time.
They are the same in meaning and rhyme.

A Sense of Space

Behold the sky and it's infinite grace!
A clear night blessed by a window to space,
revealing the heavens and the moon's gazing face,
millions of stars and asteroids in race.

Looking upon you and feeling so small
among planets and galaxies and networks of stars
below all of the lights, illuminating the halls
of our imagination from stars of valhall

No telling which star yet still remains
for their light still reflects and seen without strain
their distance so great but their light all array
for even past death, the light shines without feign

To think we are of unique intelligence
yet forced to acknowledge our own ignorance,
though we endeavor to understand the physical sense
with physics and chemistry, mathematics and science

A universe so great, a road without stops
its massiveness eternal, infinite yet locked
a constituent of a complex system and ops
a member of greatness and all of it's pomps

C.R.

Passion

She smelled of a musky arridness complimented by a sweet aroma of pomegranate infused into the threads of her clothes due to the prolonged years of dousing herself  with the same cheap perfume. The scent stung the nostrils in the most stimulating way, clinging to the hairs so that even days after one would continue to be haunted by her powerful fragrance. Her makeup, sloppily applied would layer the skin so that her synthetic white face rested upon her lightly tanned body, a bit of comedy to the look that she so vainly presented as elegant. Despite her imperfections her beauty was undeniable, though her aesthetic superficiality was not what had enthralled me. What encapsulated my passion was the overwhelming feeling that overtook me when her body was pressed against mine. With each kiss she would push herself in further, her clutching only similar to that of a cliffhanger. My hands would run though her silk red hair and retreat to the small of her back, taking in the warmth she so carelessly emitted. After an especially passionate kiss she would gaze straight into my soul with her blue crystalline eyes, melting my insides with a smirk that would draw the envy from even the most lustful gods.  Slowly leaning in to where our lips barely met, eye contact was made and an understanding established as if she knew what was running through my mind; her smile evolved into an ephemeral beam that quickly faced elimination as my puckered lips signaled for her return.

Never have I felt so comfortable, so warm and at such peace than with her body pressed against me. Our arms held each other, a lock that no act of nature short of God could remove. She held a certain glimmer in her eye that sparkled within the light of the moon. Deep within she was feeling something special, something new. I knew she did, one could feel it within the pulsing of her heart. But what was it? Does my heart allow myself to comprehend the overpowering feelings that emptied into me from it's bottomless ewer? Is it even possible to sum up those fantastic feelings with one un-cliched word? Alas I shall not even attempt such an endeavor! To undertake the burden of such feelings at times seems like a farcical full-hearted kind of sojourn that could only lead to disappointment. Is it fear that causes the confusion, or simply the intimidation that I am not accustomed to feeling such powerful emotions?

Her whole aura resembled a gravitational field, I could not find the strength to separate myself from her. As long as she was near life seemed so warm, so full of color; without her life was meaningless and unbearable. Her body felt perfect against mine; her breasts against my chest, the curve of her hips outlining the arch of her back as she pressed herself into me even further. It was as if she was attempting to fuse with me, our souls coexisting as one perfect passionate being, our heart beating simultaneously in sync, never missing a beat. Father time died that night, clocks stopped ticking, the sand ceased to fall and the shadow on the dial remained still; time itself stopped for us and us alone. Her lips brushed against my neck, sending a chill from my back to my legs, throwing my balance off. The sensation of her lips upon my skin was an unparalleled pleasure only equaled to orgasmic epiphanies.

I continued to question the legitimacy of my reality. How could any of it be real? Those emotions so full of truth and purity, encumbering ones soul with the unmistakable weight of unriddable affection, planted a seed within me. I'm sure God exists, and he was blessing me with every flick of his hand. As if golden flakes were falling from the sky above I stood open armed, ready to accept her love with each and every gilded drop. Such happiness! such joy! what ecstasy! I was amazed that with each passing day my affection only grew stronger.

C.R.

Monday's Desperation

I am Monday, a day of the week, and I am desperate for society's love. All those expectant of my arrival curse my very existence. What have I done to deserve such a fate? I do nothing other than exist, and apparently existing is all that is needed to earn the distaste of so many. What is it about me that propagates laziness or an urge to do the bare minimum? Like clockwork even the most reliable worker at least contemplates an excuse to avoid my presence. Shame on the liars who deceive their employers so that I simply become an extension of the weekend and further their own self destruction. Does no one love me? Does no one see my appearance as a point of celebration? Without question the same praise I so lack is attributed to Friday, undeniably the king of days and lord of the week. It takes only moments post his departure before the countdown is once again set for his next arrival. Bah! Friday! How envious of you I am!"

Every day of the week serves their own purpose. What is mine? Obviously the reputation for Friday is earned by the presence of parties and fantastic social events including pretty girls. Friday serves as the transition to the weekend, and thus by default Saturday takes the silver. Sunday, the ultimate day of relaxation and maxed procrastination takes an easy bronze. Wednesday marks the hump, midway through the week and two days before Friday. Tuesday is alright, him and I are cool. We are of the same fate, being of no real importance though I take all of the abuse. Somebody, somewhere, decided to screw me over when making the start of the standard work week. What kind of logic is that? Begin the first day of work on the second day of the week? Were they drunk? What did I do to deserve that? 

Perhaps I should just leave? Is that even possible? Who needs seven days anyways, six is more than enough. I mean it's not like anyone would miss me. Maybe a change of name would do like Funday or happy-go-play-day or something. Anything else! My name has become too affiliated with pain and suffering through tormenting hangovers and a feeling of prolonged loss for laziness. All I have ever wanted was to be loved like Friday or even Saturday! Even the most minimal admiration that Wednesday receives would be better than the treatment given to me by society. I just want to be enjoyed , not treated like some prison where all inhabitants await the second their time is up. 

I was once given a book on how to be happy...seriously? Give a physical book with words to an illiterate abstract concept? How am I expected to absorb the information when I lack the ability to form even the most base intellectual thought? All I have the ability to do is to feel, and all i feel is the brunt of society's disgust. Was there ever a time i was without pain? I have no idea, it has been too long and any kindness convoluted by negative affirmations. If not for this mad writer none would hear my cries and my plight. For him I am grateful, though he too has made it clear that no love is held for me. I cannot escape my fate and I suppose my place is to be hated so that others may be loved. Still, love would be nice...

I am Monday, a day of the week and I would love nothing more than the least bit of love from society.

C.R.

Dynamics Between Him and Her

"How was your day?" Eleanoria positioned herself next to Caleb and prepared for a lengthy conversation.
   
"It was good." Caleb felt satisfied concerning his response, but Eleanoria stared at him expectantly.

"What did you do at work?"

"The usual." In a sense his response was true, but what he kept secret were the small triumphs that Caleb had no idea how to explain with proper levity. Overall the sense of his day was alright, and responding with an affirmative evaluation seemed appropriate. How could she possibly be interested in his development of a cleaning rotation, or the stains that he had finally removed after so long being defeated by their persistence? Existing in these moments were subtle building blocks towards Caleb's future and he had recognized early on the importance of these ephemeral moments, but to the eyes of an outsider they were meaningless and unimportant.

"So nothing at all interesting happened?" Eleanoria continued to further Caleb in his explanation. Unbeknownst to himself, Eleanoria truly did wish to hear of the small victories that built his character, but his defiance was a wall and shut her out.
   
"No, not really. I was mostly looking forward to seeing you." Eleanoria blushed.
   
"Well that's sweet." She enjoyed his flirtations, but hated how he would use them as a diversion for conversation.  "You know i really do want to know how your day went." She was relentless on getting a proper response.
     
"I did, I told you it was good." Again, Caleb felt the observation was more than adequate to summarize his day. After all, nothing really mattered throughout the day other than seeing her. No small victory could beat the warmth that came with her smile and as far as he was concerned the week only comprised of their time together and everything in between. Unfortunately Caleb failed at communicating this truth and as a result Eleanoria was led to believe that Caleb wished to shut her out.
   
"You never open up to me." Eleanoria crossed her arms and pouted but still retaining her cuteness. Caleb smirked at her comment, how many times had he heard this complaint? "I'm serious," Eleanoria responded to his reaction, "you just hide away and bottle it all up. I don't think it's healthy." How many times had they had this conversation?
   
"Eleanoria, I assure you however i deal with my emotions  is perfectly healthy. Trust me." Caleb rested his hand upon hers both as an excuse to make contact with her and to reassure her of her doubt, but mostly the former.
   
"But that's just it," Eleanoria retracted her hand both to illustrate her frustration and to tease, but mostly the latter, "you never talk to me."
   
Caleb enjoyed their game and responded by draping his arm around her. "My sweet Eleanoria, we talk all the time. I'm here almost every day."
   
"Ya we talk, but we don't talk." Caleb seemed confused. "We never talk about how you feel."
   
Caleb felt a strong distaste for her comment. It must be just that women only want to talk about emotions and feelings Caleb thought. It must be just that men never want to talk about how they feel Eleanoria thought to herself.

C.R.

Can A Star Be Forgotten?

Can a star be forgotten?
Admired, loved, and desired
then ripped from the soul like a toxin?
A memory blazing like a glorious fire,
beset by the gods and their desire
to watch the star burn.

Deep within we all contain
a physical phenomena,
particles of stars in molecular train
fallen from strata
and formed from chemical reaction
to create something human.

To forget it's undeniable presence
is to willingly deny it's effect
on what is essentially humanly essence.
So how can one forget,
a star's glorious effect
and it's light cast with pride?

Though your light does not shine
no more upon me and my life,
I once held in kind
a love sharper than any knife
but broken by strife
and left to stand in shadow.

A night enlightened by light
but for someone else's sky.
How envious am I of the sight
of another dancing within your eye.
And no matter how hard i try
I cannot control your light.

How can I let go
when you continue to shine bright
emitting an ephemeral glow
conquering darkness with sight
yet leaving me without light
but still within your shine?

So how can i forget
the light once so blessed
the warmth once set
and a love so obsessed
for a star without duress?
No, i shall never forget.

C.R.

Im Here

You say that life is hard to bear,

and yes the world will wear and tear.

There is no order, reason or rhyme,

for life is filled with long lost time.

You fight to win, but the fights a toss

and again you've been a victim to loss

and any sense taunts you,

 your bandages and gauze.

This perpetual failure

has become your noose.

It breaks your neck,

your will and truth. 

And there is no sense, 

no color, no hue!

The sky screams 

a deathly ill blue

and you realize that 

there's nothing at all that you can do!

"Why?!" You scream

into the forever broken sky

"Why?!" You scream

into the deaf ears of life.

"Am i alone? Forever in fear?

When will your God 

come and steal me from here?

Somebody speak! 

Somebody jeer!

I'm tired of these walls

my only lending ear.

Please i beg! Death come near!

This world is crushing

life has become fear!"

NO!

Alas your not alone,

I too am not prone.

Give me your hand

and ill pull you to land!

Your drowning,

but in your own tears.

I'm here!

No don't give up,

don't lose your strut.

Don't let life

your love obstruct,

I'm here!

C.R.