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Hands Up

I used to pray for my older days

Now, I’m older praying for my better days

The skies tell my future

Stars and planets

One speck dancing on the moon

Body moving, swimming in my memories

Cold nights, iced heart

Hold on, hold me

I used to say

Love submerged

Deep in the tangle

Belief sinking away

Writing, my only power

I fall,

My words raise me back up

I used to pray for my older days

Now, I’m older praying what is to come

In The Flesh

Angels sing to me

The devil, sweetest tone

Doves fly overhead

Thorns sit on my head

One day I curse out

Other times I speak peace

Led by the days that come

My place in the world

bigger than me

The skies hold me

Visions of tomorrow I dream

The present bringing questions

Dark rivers run over

Swimming in red waters

Body heavy, toil taken

Spirits of my ancestors bring me up

Out onto the laid path

Reflections I see

The beauty in the madness

Poe Kid Dreams

As I child, my heart free

Letters, all I saw

Afraid, never too scared

My eyes looped

observing

Mango trees, banana peels

The above, without depth

Bicycle rides, leg walking

All around Barnawa

Heat sinking on skin

Black baked

God created

Circles rotated

Dirty hands

Wash anew

Sounds, birds

Night rain

Dust settled

Street shinning

All in me

Beat by beat

Cardiac release

Moral never snatched

Action ignited by curiosity

Bare feet, no hugs

Words, my only sibling

As I kid,

dreams and moons

Was all I ever had

Black Maybe

Settled on Texas heat

Smothered with white lies

Like a baby returned

Eyes wide open, bleeding

Punctured by adopted religion

Then the tears flow

Blood and stomach twisting

Hunger to seek more

Water the only quench

Pulsating rotation

My heart beating to the silence

Traveled far away

Only to be reminded of my skin

Reality the better teacher

Experience my only shield

To learn was to fall

Dirt driving

Night collisions

False relief

Sun bathed

Sin drunk

How many moons roamed?

Vultures circling

Waiting for the end

An end, my beginning

Peace of Mind

Searching, roaming

Questions, only God can answer

Happiness, more burden

Arrival into fear

Walls, all four squares

I sit holding my knees

Inhaling in the green trees

Exhaling from the root: doubt

Tears then sleep

Searching, roaming

Off the grid

I am moving, stumbling

The heaviness takes all

Blood streaming with grief

Questions, God may never answer

Laughter caught short

Destination into paranoia

Walking, back into my Eden

Breathe, convoluted quarrels

Out goes any semblance of sanity

Flowing, eyes clouded

I, scrutiny

When I start with I

I know separation

The urge to point

To preach rather than teach

Fingers forward

Yet

I, myself lacking reflection

My soul outside

Holding onto survival

Cornered beast

The balance remains without I

Resurfaces when my thirst sits with content

When I start with I

I know the removal of self

The need to decipher

To hold others to the cross

My eyes judging

Yet

I,myself lacking redemption

My soul exposed

Holding onto knowledge for dear life

Trapped butterfly

The center clearer when I sit with both

Revival when I accept the rivers of time

Simple World: Magic

The world has shifted and so has magic. The magic we once knew is still the same but expressed through a different lens. The old and the new magic both exist but the language may have adapted to accommodate our new reality. Simple, the stars have fallen down into our hands. We no longer look into the stars, we look down into our phones. Like a bowl of water, we watch, predict, fail, lie, smile, laugh, join, expose all of which we have into this bowl of stars.

Magic has always worked with the sky, either through oral telling, invoking, incantation, photosynthesis. Magic always is, regardless which ever medium exist. Its all about perspective. The old magic appears far and far more like a fairy tale to the new audience: we the people. Our new magic system is not so fantasy like, it is our reality, we call on the system day to day. When we wake up, we engage into the blue light, register our faces, and then past present and future time is revealed in an instant. We are accessors or capturers of time. When you exist in your own medium, magic should always feel less fantasy, more in the line of rare or hard to find but it exist. Take any piece of technology we have now back to anyone from the 300 years ago, and you may just find yourself tied to a stake.