Recently in words Category

"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen"
-Leonardo da Vinci

There is no character flaw more lamentable that a man could posses, than that of lacking substance.

Quand Mots et Action Nous Faillir

-Et pourtant,

Je n'ai jamais compris,
Et rarement j'ai su de quoi
Pourquoi la orgueil tu impie a bon visage

Mais, les mots et les actions nous ont failli

Franchi toute douleur, toute memoire ,
Raisons et envie ont disparu.

Je n'ai reçu la raison

Pourquoi toi , mon voix, m'opposais de temps en temps,
Et rarement j'ai su de quoi
J'ose m' avancer pour te render homage

Mais, les mots et les actions nous ont failli

Au fond de notre cœur
Les mots ètaient doucement prononcès
Exprimer la nature muette
D' energie capricieuse

-Et pourtant,

Franchi toute douleur, toute memoire,
Raisons et envie commencer à disparu.

Et, les mots et les actions me faillir

-Yusef '09

It was 11:59pm last night a second prior to fallen Cupid’s raising. I clearly remember the fullness of lips, filled with words, which so often prove meaningless, in a world where integrity is often as temperamental as the weather. The seconds passed and the clock hit midnight. I locked eyes with eyes whose color are forgotten, not yet sure if such a stare would ever be relived. Except perhaps, in mind, in self confidence where all things are possible, safer, less shameful, and notions of intangible states are ever present. I licked my lips to ease their dryness in search of lingering flavors no longer present. I rested my head on the pillow, buried my face amidst its scents, until I found that spot which transcends beyond the here, to the unclear there. Shaken, cold, and unsure why, I lost myself to a dreamless sleep and woke up where I left behind, still dreaming, lost in scents, flavors and the dryness of lips, at a lost to the softness of another’s. My day was marked by fantasy, desire, and the relived senses of my making, still lost in colorless eyes with irisis reflecting past me and pupils that see right through me, stripping me of garbs and shields and perhaps, if only for a moment, connecting. Nothing could however shake my feeling of disconnection in my apathetic guise of worry-not. At times I can not help but think that what is done is done, at times for much too long, as I have done today. This is how the hours passed as Apollo’s act came to an end; the close of day brought a nearer tomorrow and the sun set beyond the eye of a beholder, who remained unsettled.

Fragmented, the mind explodes in a hundred directions. The unconscious identity takes over and you lose sight of who you are, or rather what you think you were. Suddenly your life becomes a prism. You capture light from all directions and reflect id from inner ego. You become lost in the entanglement of life and illusion and see past the smoke and mirrors. Refracted, enlightened, unfolded and imploded the light becomes blindness, and then darkness as sleep settles in. For at last you have awakened, risen, and bared witness to the warmth of the fading sun.

The Stalking Angel

Above the cathedral, here I sit
Midnight again, sound of the bell
Below the prayer candles lit
A scent of Blood, Again the spell
Who am I to choose their destiny?
On how many innocents have I fed?
Never a name, just the ecstasy
The only reminder, a stain of red
Ignorant beings, how they stare
Mesmerized by my sun shun skin
The ageless face, fangs and hair
A creature of beauty, a soul of sin
Amongst the beauty, life I stalk
Among the roses the deadly vine
And so the “savage garden” I walk
A mockery of an angel, trapped by time
Cursed to live endless years
Not a god, just a modest beast
I answer no prayers and ignore the tears
For among the living I must feast.

-Yusef 10/31/05 ©

Happy Halloween Everyone!

I am lost in an image,
So deep is this vision.
It quickens my heart,
It deeply sedates me.
A vision of love,
So deep this devotion,
Which quickens my heart
And deeply sedates me.

-Yusef
©2005

I tease the superficial surface of your shallow pool of expectations, contemplating the refracted likeness that you rendered and see beyond the subjectified illusions you've created. I look past you and beyond the blackness of reflected eyes and see a place you never witnessed.

There stands a temple, weak and frail from the mishap limitations of the carnal, long overlooked by blinded eyes alight with wanton wants and unsupportive shaky-foot foundations. I brace the walls which shelter fragile mirrors of conviction and altars built to self-exalted crucifixions.

Perfect in their right yet distant from the light, souls tread past and ask if it’s alright to lend a hand. They caress the walls and leave behind unfinished quick-fix mends. Those walls, an outer shell of past and present stones, with each passing bare the brunt of new found weight, soon collapse, and rise again from fall of grace.

The falling of a cornice, a tear, a splintered shield, a spear of indignation, disrupts illusions set adrift your murky indiscretions. Allow the assumptions, judgments, and fears to settle. Reflect and try again. You just might see your own reflection and past the shortcomings of your objectified indulgence.