The Paradox

The need to write wakes me up in the night
Thoughts ricochet off of dreams, memories
Lucidity. Superego runs wild
Translucent clarity breeds vivacity.

Sharp focus without bifocal lenses
Breath trembles on cotton pillowcases
Merging the conscious with the imagined
Unconscious comprehension.

Past tears and traumas dominate this realm
Phallic fantasies frolic in my mind
Freeing pain but concealing its power
Reminiscing during REM Cycles.

What is Love? PT II

Is it meant to heal?
Releasing catharsis through veins like gravel poured over the roses in the concrete.
Layers of comfort and complacency piled on top of each other – sedimentary rock
Numb. Ash.
A natural disconnect forms an ecosystem of comfort, care, pressure, love.

A metamorphosis.
Transformation so great, it’s almost metapoetry.
Fear metastasized into strength in the soul of a new being
Bonded together with pressure, incubated in an atmosphere of trust
Love is what we breathe.

It can be heard in the song of the wind
Or seen in the dance of the raindrops
free-falling from the safety of the cloud to the callous rock
Yet landing on the tender web of a spider
Spun delicately, deliberately and at the perfect time.
Dampening our fortress –
Without sacrificing the safety of its home.