Humbled Tattooed Inspiration Among Ashes
By Stuart Vance
The grim bellows of my mind’s eye see a well fed fiery storm throwing my sanity astray with the clashing of anxieties ennobled thunder, As depression grasp hold around me trying to but alas clamp onto its devastating forms
Unapologetically negative thoughts pour forth much like water.
But not to be at all like the living source,
one like she is.
who’s kind words come to thine ears while the fires burn yet but she heals & more so
mends.
Yes !
My uniquely right now unallowed friend?
This is something I battle forth formally hidden,
mostly triumphantly,
yet tirelessly the same to what it seems is never even more to an
end.
These silent fires & wars burning in my mind can be brutal yet I deal with them passionately winning Often enough from just the mere thought of your inspiring tattooed words of kindness which as we work together & I battle flames afar your acknowledged passion for even my life
One such as me
Lays on my heartstrings with
Pride.
So yes Its ones like You who’s beautifully endured scars so well hidden to so many others yet often enough the
Flittering glimpse
Is humbly abased behind that smile I adore as only in ways I’m allowed for now to say as I rise again from my ashed stances upon the ground floors
For its way down here a man like me lives anyway with others
Lifting
Gasping
Then
Breathing in from a distance
our way up past the burnt embers to live again with hopes you’ll understand I’ll never quit this or you
Till I die.
Another Moment
By Stuart Vance
In with being the dark of
Our Mind
I cannot alas find the way back even by the most gentlest of Stars.
These depths so harassing in reaching them even among the outs of imponderable Hues.
That even with our outmost melodious needs over and
Over
Being met yet not by Far.
Then with concurring thoughts so much more clear and so near,
Our Mind
Focuses but not into such a romantically brilliance of Views.
Its then !
Like the deepest sweet cold of winters night from a window of despair left to us tonight Ajard.
When we reach for the warmth of olds blankets to take
Us
Back to a gentle dream where we can begin again encompassing each others You.
Well now what is this?!
The foreign fog lifts of
Our Minds Many Eyes ,
And I realize in but a fleeting moment to be chased another drafting time that I’m not lost at all,
I’m just me,
Human like You
Just another being with a few mental meddlings some moments of notes and a Scar.
The Perfection of Fear
By Stuart Vance
Arguably even when racing my breath is perfected to adjust by my body’s natural guidance made supposing to in the image of God.
However lil by little even when I’m no longer scared of him that one who haunts my dreams yet often also robs the daylight no matter how bright stopping my breath with a dark gasping Fear.
Its then I see the contagious anxieties of that one moment in time simply takes the perfect breath away with that Fear of the settings attack replayed over and over no matter where or there becomes safe from not a man but an animal with cruel desires like some rabid Dog .
But Alas,
Lil by little
Then
More and MORE
My in tuned body now perfected in mindfulness of its own Grasp hold of the breaths and my situation, blocks out the intrusive thoughts slowing my breath back to the present moment where only one survivors beating heart I Hear.
Grateful for Her Flowering Bees
By Stuart Vance
Blessed be thy Heartstrings which be fresh young & naive
So often during life’s encounters, cravings, mockingly argued seasons we find ourselves abased to the wrong memories, Not of the past lips or the intimacy of dreamed fingertips not yet embracing during silent moments among these cinders
We all crave strong deep – rooted things so often misunderstood in life we only grasp tight to the pure beauty of the petals of the rose or of the blankets of asylum & what’s represented among the passionate growing plants
For they lack no joy,
Or seem to be attached to any grief by pains sharp edge no matter how stiff, sore or from lack of water even as they lie dangerously close to the chocking vines of another
Suppose now our Heartstrings were never learned or bruised , cut over with scars like our past(s) or even wept upon even with tattooed inspiration for this heart as I cry out for fifteen hundred others including that One there upon my own Heartstrings who’s own living water fuels my soul.
But instead, perhaps untogether like often enough those delicately resilient strings heal together while afar just like life’s tattooed roots deeply instilled of new caring love that never ceases to strengthen those simple strings of which all have into those beautifully crafted solutions of flowering buds that branch out new completing life with each gardens carelessly patterned joyfully Bees.
No Comments