On the biology of weeping and tears.

We do not know the answers
truly and in full
to the question:
what and why are tears?

Some mysteries can never be truly unraveled.

Animals are not really 'just' animals, 
and even more so neither are we. 
Weeping is a spiritual act. 
A form of prayer. 
It moves the stars and stirs the breeze. 
At the heart of humans is a power that is awesome 
and tragic 
and there are times when our reach is infinite
and  it touches every other thing in all of creation. 
 True wretched weeping is one of those times. 
We can be so completely lost and yet 
all of reality is cradling us and whispering
the secrets of everything into the darkness of our soul.

We are bundles of spiritual fire 
and tears are the distillation of pure emotion 
by the natural alchemist of our own flesh. 
They are an ingredient for magic. 
They bless the earth and sanctify the passing of time. 
To weep is a blessing. 
It is the badge of a compassionate soul.

 

The endless factory of love.

I know not what stars may know
the fiery furnace of how they glow
the factory of each and every thing
shot forth into the solar ring.

But I suppose it's just as well
to believe in strange and magic spells
and feel the vast and powerful space
is just the background for your face.

That each and every star that shines
where may live, in other climes,
on worlds too distant to ever see
some other race of humanity,

and all the chance
that is their world
has no meaning but for words
these shinning stars that fill the sky
a simile then, for your eyes.

We are brave to risk creation's shores;
the grinding rock and metal walls,
the hopes that ride the risks of chance
in hopes of what?
but love's sweet dance.

pvzm, 2013 

September Skies

Saint Louis has September skies
which brilliant thrilling hypnotize
the sunset colors caramelize
and intimate the feeling in god's eyes
a feeling I can not describe.

It isn't every day, perhaps,
that one is present for the show-
the lights amazing color glow
the skies ingenious patterned clouds
these rainbow, light show, evening shrouds,
that drape the ending of the day.
no, often we are trapped indoors
and working or some other chores
and the drama that proceeds the night
unfolds its beauty out of sight.

But there are those days
when evening comes
we our right there as
the horizon strums
its sad sweet notes
and then succumbs
to the darkness of the night -
this plum, this nectar -
Ad infinitum.

wistful.
a fist full of memories
that don't run away like sand
and these legs of jello
that try to take a stand
i wiggle and I jiggle and i quake
and i am certain only of my past mistakes
this heart full of passions
and these arms full of need
and each day unfurls like flags of glory
to someone else's deeds
and folds again like ceremonies
from the coffin of this day
as night rises up like walls of earth
the day sinks into the soil
the spirit of the night comes on
to wail its song of sorrow.

give us this day our daily bread
but really
give us what we truly need
and help us to find joy
and strength.

her soft sweet voice

will any other one
ever bring me joy?

oh calamity.

Harry Nilsson's version of without you.

time and time again
i am thrown back into these black whirlpools of despair
that longs only for you
and about all else
does not really care

but there is also
this other sentimental sadness
that is harder to explain

but it is the reason
that Harry Nilsson's version of the song 'Without You'
is the one that really matters
and it is that crown
yet even that jewel in the crown
of all realities
and the benevolent
feature
of the heart
wants to find encouraging words
for every wayward wandering soul
but always at the heart of things
is that energy and that shape
which is the face and name of beauty
and the movement and the sound of truth

and goodness knows that the two are rarely in the same place at once

but there it is
the seeker after
this rare delight

lost
again
in thought.

the hollow lump

there is a solid rock of poison death
as black and foul as Satan's breath
as hard and sharp as knives of steel
as painful as all that is real
and now
it sits within my stomach
and drags upon my breathing
and it weighs within my spirit
and burns dark and rank and seething
it is the spell of reality
and it insists
that i must digest its every morsel
and that i can not resist.

prone

It feels like the world doesn't really need me
I feel so weak and frail.

something may just come along and distract me for a good long while
you would never know it on the street
the way i smile and smile.

There's just one thing I really need
the way it feels
the way it tastes

there are just two words
that i want to be said
about me every day
by just the one
for whom it matters