I can’t be bright, I can’t be calm, I want to write darkness into their arms, the lovers’ capacity are shadowed in depth, their fates, true strengths will be met. In the witching hour their magic’s so bright, Moon sprays light into their night and the raven caws deep rumble, sharp, hard, one would never know if the moon threw or broke the bewitching stars.
The lovers entwine in depths of night now, needing solace in their minds filled with sadness and sorrow, are they caressing the wrong one, tales wrought, takes to be undone, and powerful are whispers under breath, grails to be found or hopefully won.
(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
Can Redeemable I be, thy irreverent clause? A chink in the armour, karmic retribution calls? Truth tells, forever yours? I’ll be loyal, less judgemental and kind, But boy how I will need to bite my tongue at perceived thieves who wish to reach and ride alongside.
I will smile and be lovely, teach the students about my condition daily, But did I feel comfortable enough to allow them to see? No, this bristling anger, this aggravation felt within me.
Within this soul is the devils clasp, gripping me surely tightly forever it seems he will outlast I do not know how to cause the grievances and illegitimate littering around a litter of short tongued beings biting at the bit for a ride of sorts, a trot, a canter, should we gallop, dare I beg to ask?
Because what calms me is him, the big M, the man himself, from a far off land he hails, Mozart cures, he develops, him to me he brightens with joy and overwhelms.
I love this source, the Source, of very life itself m, magnificent it would be to touch this master’s pages, originals, my heart, I would gasp.
So how now is my mental health, you might ask? The term there dancing on everybody’s hearts. Well well well, I am getting there, I am improving, I am becoming better, a gentle rewording, a subtler knowing. Pages of cadenzas on the paper singing songs Melodies for one another Mozart, won’t he pen another melody, His giggling curio so lovely to see feel, whilst he be?
I scatter the ashes from dawn to dusk, breathe the fire raging within, overtaking much of my ire, and I glance all around, gather myself as I rooooaaaar that sound; I am calling, calling for something – I wait for an approach, ears pricked delicately for any tiny sounds. Then, bouncing and bounding are some terrible two, a pair of angry feline-like beings whom will not cease their stares, their venomous fangs they gnash and gnash my way… punishment? Although what ills have I performed? That’s not for me to say. I fend off the creatures, with their wild, wild stares and ferocious, swiping claws until they realise, I can well-word myself out of any situation, at least the concept is correct – with a peeling away, they retract with their intent so flawed.
In fact, I am as innocent as some wet leaf drifting down to Earth: heavy, soggy, but with a tiny bit of mirth expressed from I as I observe the less-than-buoyant thing, like him, my heart is heavy, but unlike him, I will make it, there is that certain journey. This leaf and I have something additional in common: we carry a heaviness and knowing that there once was no chance for ascension – or so it felt – because I gave into predilections, and that pathway I took, its consequences mattered not, for I was having fun, I would claim with bold insistence.
The rule books, out the window, there was no decorum to see, no adherence, no willingness to be righteous, less private, my business available to feel, view, breathe, until now I guuuust myself in the buoyancy of available air… Soggy, heavy? No! Nein, nein, nein, I will not recommence that fate, save that eventuation for someone else more worthy for Destiny’s cruel fate.
I feel the river of consciousness flowing, the flow of ethereal joy growing, and the prism of light shine and increase within me, a quiet sense of knowing. Knowledge that life will continue to improve, it is with focus and intent that I’m aware I’ll keep this view, with positivity, an ample amount, enough to dampen any sense of fear or doubt, in myself I have trust and the knowledge that to myself and close others, I will be able to remain devout. There can be occasions when I wonder, have I strayed from the righteous path, was there something awry I performed, or have I mistrusted, an inability to inadequately and naively discern, when really I should have upped and away without a goodbye, from past experiences, perhaps still never having learnt. And the truth of the matter is that often there are circumstances which call for the separation of one from another, without occasion, without proper rhyme or explained reason, for the state of the spirit, it is required to be done, to be gone away from them, without a single word. Their hearts, once appearing warm, have turned cruel and unkind, perhaps self-serving, in a short time. Others, certain types, will be afforded soft explanations, but these may be few and far in between, sometimes nothing is warranted but a deft ascension. A momentous breaking, of a declared separation, of something that turned out to be a farcical and unwarranted, something only aiding a certain type of them. And now, as I listen to quiet flow, of gentle meditations, I know that everything will be fine, for I am allowing this to be so, in subtle time. The tick-ticking of the two room clocks no longer perturbs, but sets a gentle precedence for one another, incorrect in a way, but right in a type of odd style. As though falling into each other, meant to be there for every second for one another, endless, ongoing, with stoic fervour. Isn’t it nice when we are here for one another? A calming click-click, as the seconds tick unevenly with the softened music within my ears makes me calm, flow with the river as I speak from my spirit within, rolling out with words to speak, not with anger, not with a din, with a wave upon wave of undulating rings.
I pray for our future, I pray for the rain, the scent upon our once-dry shoulders smouldering us, yet from angry cloud formations we edge away in vain, but because we are prone, prone to the stares of youth, we smile, and we grin to ourselves for we know the whole truth.
The motley group stands and witnesses as we dance ourselves silly in the pelting rain and howling breeze, no longer encumbered by past holdings of circumstance and desire to cower, wind whistles between gapped thighs and knees, this is our rain dance, feel the shower.
Our power lies within our ability to receive, from God’s land we will cherish what has been given to us, indeed we will accumulate the raindrops, water stores they drench us, replenish us, we grin and cackle together, so much joy, so much, galore, so much more in store.
The youth stand and stare; they do not understand, how we, as old souls are apparently going mad, but we are embracing all that is being given to us, Nature in her surety is paddling her wings among the skyward lake for us, you see.
So, darlings, my youthful obstructions, you wonderful beings who cannot understand our appreciative actions, wonder not at our ability to shine, amid the turbulent wind pattern and rain, but rather watch us embrace all that Mother Nature is willing to give, she provides to us, she cleanses us, cleanses me, we are amazed.
This feeling is one in which I love to revel in, we shall continue appreciating for many forthcoming days.
Words unfold upon my screen, toppling, clamouring over themselves, fighting to be seen. I’m important, no, my message is of the utmost importance, let me be heard, while the most relevant one relaxes away, folded arms.
Its words are the most likely to go unnoticed; its is the voice of reason, the truth you don’t want to see, but it lingers, to the side, presence important, but not impinging. Just there, whiling away time, until you become most aware.
It is the truth that, once realised, you wish to deny, for accepting it, and following through with action will only lead to temporary suffering, and really, who wants this now? Who needs pain, even if it only lasts for a version of ‘now’? But what I must come to terms with, is that the behaviours I’m experiencing, being exposed to, are exceedingly on repeat, with only mere weeks of interlude. The same insistent melody cranking in strange intonations that ultimately are the same cacophony. And can I live with this pattern my entire life, should I endure the same tired push?
The Message smirks at me from the side, its curled upper lip making me uncomfortable, wanting to run and hide, for if I squirm away now, I can ignore the obvious path ahead, and I won’t need to encounter it. I can deal with excuses, revelations away from the Message’s thread. Then I won’t need to lie in bed pondering how the future will be, if I take this step, make this step, because I haven’t been able to cease that cacophony. The melody, discordant though relevant, which made me feel good, but in the end, was only for another end to be achieved.
And I know this, knew this, always can see, but receive with casual measures, never openly giving in return because, I don’t play games of affection, with insistent interjection, impinging on one’s direction, I need to cease the received indelicate actions. Is it time to finally learn? That there is no improvement, no learning from my words. There is no ceasing of expectation, lingering there, the Message needs to be heard. I pull my socks high, place my feet into my boots, stridently meet the Message, face its obvious truths. I lean in to one side, allow it to whisper its keen observations. With pride, it straightens its back, chest thrown forward, it has been heard, has been acknowledged, that is a fact. My expression, stunned, I have been made aware of what to do. Whether I choose to use its knowledge or not, is up to me to choose…
It is a part of me, my choice of which to give, openly or freely, absolutely willingly, the freedom of positivity, the decision to make amends, correct that abstract thought pattern, that negative plane doesn’t befit my type of Earth,
but instead
I will reach within, grasp, grapple, with whatever there is to see, a part of me is becoming courageous, and knowing, and I love to be encouraging, and I will speak with kindness not only to others, but also to myself, inside, outside, directness, shooting internally, the truths, the prisms of light my heart has been seeking,
that quiet knowing, understanding, softness, whispering, the gentleness of caressing, those plaintive words that say I am amazing without being embarrassed or thinking I’m immodest, but knowing and appreciating myself for me,
Can you truly do the same for yourself? looking deep inside, my words, my trust in you, can you believe? Can you see?
The amazing person that you’ve grown to be, the wondrous specimen of humanity that is becoming more, each breath you grow, enormously in your soul, your spirit, if you choose the growth pattern to be,
and now I’ll tell you, you’re on the right path, keep searching, like I keep seeking, to know myself, know yourself, finally, truly, at last.
Ask yourself, are you ready to manifest, are you prepared to succeed? Feel relief in knowing I believe in you, just as I believe in the beauty of the whistling wind weaving through the trees, the setting sun with his beautiful dance on the horizon –
imagine now what it feels like to be engulfed by the senses, overwhelmed and feeling everything wondrous, and realise, you’re already travelling this long and winding road, if you’re with me, take my hand, and we’ll travel together, becoming wiser as we learn and know.
Soul paths and kindred spirits, truth unwinds, heavenly beings watch as we grow, wisdom and experiences intertwine.
Sleep. How it escapes, evades my very fingertips. When I reach out, fingernails scrabbling, hoping for a hint of rest, my aching heavy lids are calling. I am in a state of unrest, my mind is anything but heightened, I need the numbness to wash over me, repair the intensity from the day prior. I need to rest, but, I cannot, I cannot will myself into a state of slumber. Sometimes I am stubborn and don’t wish for the darkened cover, for haven in darkness, dangling from consciousness’ precipice until the web is severed, and I’m beneath, in the lake of swimming nightmares with the rest of them.
I do not need sleep, or does sleep need me? Preposterous, this claim, it does seem. The very fabric of my mind is wearing ragged and thin, existing in a state of stunned surprise when I force my eyes wide and brighten them to take my surroundings in. Taking in their fill. But unappreciative, as a slight, because I was told sight was not urgent, improvements were required but not yet, and so, I exist on a diet of blurred visions and occasionally barked words.
But Sleep, my antisocial friend, who only wants to attend for four hours or five, then sweep himself away, without a word to say, leaving me groggy, thirsty, and ill at ease in the dead of night, wishing for even an extra hour that he had stayed. Quality sleep never comes, in fact, so rarely does he attend that some cruel puppet master might as will be silently phasing out the timbre. Yellow, yellow, what a beautiful colour. Yellow conjures up such a cheery disposition, a shining timbre.
Oh, how I need sleep, before I launch into emotions, feelings, about colour association, so replete!
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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