My Smile

Innocent youth mixed with a rush
of excitement, darkness, and a crush;
soft skin
(my smile)
to 
the touch.


A moment that is realized,

when pride has been improvised.

"What just happened!?":

(my smile)

Par-

alyzed!

A lap substitutes a chair.

Oxygen replaced with air:
literal sweetness!
(my smile)
Of
your hair.


A heavy head not knowing it's lent

it's mind to cause; tired; spent:

lie back, close eyes: 

(my smile)

that

moment.

A smile directed like an attack

on a heart that's hurt, with love in lack:
Caught by surprise.
My smile
sent 
right back.


Things I like to think I have thought
upon, as some things are never taught:
The life you lead was a battle fought,
not merely something ancestry bought.
Like the sound of an apple being caught,
please,
Learn to seek that which should be sought!

*I wrote thinking about things that happen/have happened and the moments in which smiles aren't necessarily shown, but felt, and how easy it is to not remember/appreciate those times.

**More than seriously though: go get an apple, throw it up in the air and catch in one hand. Listen to the sound it makes! Everything written above stemmed from an apple. Pun intended.

The Departure of Dreams

The trophy glistened as if it were divine. Raising eyes and expanding chest in triumph before the masses, he offered it slowly to the sky. The expectation was there.


The deep grey clouds gracefully parted like curtains at a theater, making way for their amber glowing counterparts. There, obscured by it's brightness, beamed an awesomeness with fingers of warmth, dancing their way to the call of it's existence. The moment was there.


Palms of energy enclosed about the goblet... 

... The sustained unbroken commitment was deluded!

A fierce breeze ripped through the space, tearing apart elation with aggression not unlike the sight and surprise of two hounds brawling, leaving the collective with mixed thoughts of confusion and silent cries of alarm. The glow, with reluctance and disappointment, receded into it's dark cave of nostalgia. 


Sharp pains above the temples were felt as hopelessness spiraled through abandoned hearts in waves. The distance of sight was held, though all stares were lowered. 


His cup was void.


The flare's retreat is ever happening, recoiling to a distance unfathomable, yet still experiential --A spark. A shimmer. A twinkle.-- Forever seen. Eternally out of reach.

"Panic in the shape of the wounded"

Dread in the frame of the crowd

Bliss in the chest of the self-endowed

Fondness in the make of the riff

Gloom in the fall of the just slipped

Shock in the wake of the swift

Fury in the stamp of the disallowed

They say it aloud!

(Say it's allowed...)

fear joy love sadness surprise anger

What We Leave Behind: The Ones of Hide and Pelt

Preparation.

He had inquired.

Preparation

He fears.

Ignition

He had had his understanding of all that was, and the knowledge had steadied and

comforted him into acceptance of the possibly unknown.

Ignition

His amble is slouched yet hurried, as every foot forward pulls against the coat around his

 shoulders. It stretches into the dark depths of the mountain, it's end alight like a wick.

The tip is an ever present reminder of his future in which he has never come to terms.

A goat presents itself to his arrow. He hurriedly sews it's pelt into his collar. His process

 continues for years, as he climbs and sews from the ever present flame. His coat spirals

 around the huge body of earth. He treads step on the pinnacle of the mountain; all life in
his world exhausted.

Engulfment

The last of the small yet life-giving coat had been burning as the old lay near. An old hand 

gently reached out as a young hand had been lent. Old and young eyes had spoken and 

listened, as faint messages of meaning were exchanged. Seconds had passed, until old and

young eyes had closed and cried, as the last of the flames were extinguished.

The dawning sun had suggested an orange tinge to the short windswept grass upon the 

mountain. The breeze had displaced the ashes, charging them with the role of becoming a

part of the mountain. A small length of hide and a usable piece of pelt had been revealed. 

Young eyes smiled.

Engulfment

Old hands grasp, 

no hands extend. 

Old eyes plead, 

no eyes listen. 

Old eyes close, 

no eyes cry.

My Mirror

I wrote this down with intentions of expanding on it. When revisited, it felt right the way it had been drafted.

-
I caught a falling leaf today.
I took it to another place far from where it should have landed. 
Was it hoping for me to catch it?
I left it next to an intersection.
-


On an uncharacteristically wet and overcast afternoon, I was driving down a winding Balinese road lined with orchid farms. A leaf had started floating from the overhanging tunnel of foliage. It wrapped itself around my bike mirror, forcing its existence known. It stayed there, flailing as my bike charged through the lazy air.


In retrospect, I feel sorry for the leaf.


At the time, I had the feeling that I was taking it on an adventure. I felt that without my intervention, the leaf would have suffered the same fate as the rest of it's branch. Of all the others, It had chosen me, and I had chosen it, to take it as far away as I could. It wanted something different. 


My power over it's destiny made me feel that what I was doing, was what was best.


I didn't ask the leaf though.

I have some questions

Every option yours and everyone else's 'self' has ever decided upon, and all events all  have experienced through 'fortune' -from a moment ago, to birth, to millennia prior, and further- have led you to become who and where you are at this very moment... And it has brought you to the point in which you are taking the time to read this! What an unbelievable chain of events.

Will what is written here affect your future (decisions)? Will it affect others'? Has your sub-conscious treated itself to something written here without your knowing, contributing to your new, ever changing self? 

Will what is written be thatched over to the point of 'non-existence'? Will it become a flicker in your future recognition?

This next question is not keyed in an epistemological context. When you experience anything, do you really experience it? Is appreciation present? Will it be in the future?

Is it fate that has you written reading this post? Or is it solely coincidence you chancing to stumble across this?

... Will you read this again to try and get a better understanding?

What will your next action be? Is it already decided? Or, is it going to affect this unimaginable link of happenings further? 

Does logic give us no hope of a choice?  Or, will taking your next breath change the universe?

I can't hear you!

Wondering on the reasons, I begin the tales of Mud with unnecessary reluctance.
-

A poem.

My name provokes rest and restlessness,
but I am heard by none.
My scream is said to be deafeningly peaceful,
but I am heard by none.
My name is feared yet craved,
but I am unknown.
My name does no justice to my being.
I am not.

One of my greatest fears was being trapped, and alone. I tried to imagine what it would be like completely alone in a pitch black room. What I would see. What I would hear. What I would feel. 

What I would see excited me! Anything that excited my visual sense has always been appreciated. As for hearing, I immediately thought of the sound of silence. Contemplating the word's meaning, I realized that our concept of silence 'does no justice' to it's literal meaning.

On this thought, I realized that I was still not alone. The sound would accompany me even if the place I was trapped in had a one hundred thousand kilometer radius. No matter where I was located, the screaming sound would be there. Is this what sparked the fear in my chest?  Was my own understanding of what I was afraid of clouded by a misunderstanding of a word? Was I more scared of being trapped with something, than being trapped alone?

I think on the basic impossibility that no human will ever know silence, ever. After this realization, I am enticed by the experience of true silence. To not hear the sound of those high pitched rings would please me; like music to my ears.

But how to experience this?