Message in a Bottle

I love hope, with its mercurial-Janus cruelty. Tantalus' hunger, a Sisyphean trial, Danaides filling of urns without bottoms - hope is constantly in the sway, a pendulum of the soul, between incredulity and faith. But I always believed, ever persevered, and without doubt there is no rest before the breaking, burning, bleeding burden carried by a heart - by such a heart. 

It was impossible; it's always impossible. Intractable love only makes miracles of divine sacrifice the greater. And how can one submit to half-love, when one has seen the perfect?

Message in a bottle, tied on balloon strings

hope is your wings, take flight 
soar high above, pass over 
everything, my letter-lamb

and land where a heart makes room.

lead the road back home;
remember

if the message is an ocean 

(of hope or love)

where can you put the bottle?

only heaven knows

Meteor Shower?

Vulcanus burns in my gut, Mercury wings through my veins, Minerva crafts in my mind, Morpheus, control thy my dreams? The mountain's heart boils and beats, smoke rising in balloon plumes. Sandy crags melt into obsidian glass. The earth's gorge rises. Tempt me, tell me - drawing lines into circles without beginnings, endings, or only beginnings, endings? Inquiries without satisfaction: was the wind brisk enough today? Were the clouds sufficiently grey? Do turtles even enjoy child's play? Madness, elucidating smells only in colors, sculpting poetry of a headache, convincing whales they might fly, if God draws that square circle.
It is not, it is not what it is.

This night is a mad night, a sleepless night. Words tumble past mythologies past vagaries, sweeping into dust devils of thought, mirages. I imagine the northern lights, metallic, plasma dance in fickle pastels and galvanic, impatient, shimmering curtains, as thoughts, leaping across my mind like these meteors, streaking as searing lines across this night. But gone! gone! Clouds cover my conscious, and ideas are skipping stones bouncing into sand, never sinking into those silver patined clouds of architect. I suppose I'll watch the shooting stars instead, and wish just one more time.

Kerberos

A cave of charred shadows and smoldering half-shapes writhing on the walls. Its lofty ceiling stretches beyond the heights of imagination and the darkness swallows it, and though the room is large, an overwhelming claustrophobic sensation passes through me in waves. The ground beneath my knees, where I kneel like he who scoops water in his hands, is a harsh, grey granite, unyielding and gravelly, biting into my legs wherever they meet. And though I would stand - oh, gods, I would do anything to stand - it is beyond my power.
Before me sits a monstrous creature, full of the monstrous hate of primal wolves, and the puissance of the gods. With three heads and imposing wolfish form, it blocks the exit, the bridge into hope, and snarls, growls, bares its teeth.

Dismal den of cerberus
Plaintive I beseech thee thus
Permit me pray to leave disgrace
To hopes past pains and fire's place

Ah, then riddle one must answer thee
To loose thee from Persephone
One snapped, one grins, one speaks plainly
Three the heads of Cerb'rus be

I accept, great and gracious one
Puzzle me quick and let's be done

Then cleared their throats now did the three
And spoke in chorus bass deeply

I journey only east to west
Always seeming to travel east
I come and go and without he
who flees when I at once arrive
You might never know to see me
Wherever my journeys take me
I'll always return full circle

....
Tiny houses you keep not clean
Without windows, rooms, kitchens, floors
No place for friends, family, pets
Only rest, without blankets, beds
......

Committing yourself to a schematic or verse inhibits change. Once you divert from the course you set in motion, the reader can feel jarred, like sleeping in the back of a pleasant car ride, and suddenly you are off-roading, and their lack of seatbelt jostles them all across the back seat. They are not going to be pleased. I'm leaving behind a slew of unfinished entries, and sometime I hope to return and finish them. I'm finding less time for full-scale blogging, and refuse to relinquish journaling time in lieu of online writings. Plus, life has been bipolar busy, and then not busy, and then busy again, in a roller coaster adventure that leaves me running around frantically, resting, then leaping into action once more.
It's a good life, but a hectic one, at times. I realize that sometimes my blogs experience their own little roller coasters of emotion. It's strange that sometimes when I'm happiest, I write sad blogs, and sometimes when I'm saddest, I write happy ones. I don't experience a great depth of sadness in much of my life. I tend to be relatively easy going, and simple peace and living and friends keep me joyful. I think sometimes that I understand sadness more fully on the outside, and happiness more completely when staring at it from the depths of the well. It is this external evaluation that permits me melancholy poetry in times of incredible joy, and a diligence to produce joyful poetry when the world turns upside-down and it seems everything leaves me behind, unnoticed. What a strange phenomenon, but it holds quite true in my writings, even in my more personal journal writings. I'm ever striving for joy, though I still wish to portray the entirety of emotional strata in my human experience. Sometimes, I can only do so when sitting on the other side of the valley. The grass isn't always greener on the other side, but sometimes you only notice it when you've moved past it.
Right now, I'm not moving anywhere. Kerberos is in my way, and my Daedelus wings will not save me now.

Icarus

This is your fault. Can you expect me to pine after you when we never met? No, foolish... You've stirred the waters, and I no longer see my reflection. But when the mud settles, again I'll see this face, again I'll ask all the painful questions. Did you save me. hurt me, ask me bitter questions, salt my open wounds? I'm invincible, invincible in my isolation. Not your fault, not mine. But I've realized the rivers eternal only slide though and past me, and I cannot alter the course.

So, goodbye, goodbye, fly free, in the chrysalis I built for me.
And when your butterflying high, I'll watch my love soar free and die.
Icarus, your sin is mine.
I flew in pride too high, too high, and the sun I loved set my wings afire,
chastised do I fall.