There is a line becoming blurred with time
transforming in delusions
with anything I had and everything I have
but can’t declare mine
and will have to let go.
A life passé not good or bad
just the life I had
and the life I know.
There is a blurred line in my insanity
between wishes and dreams
hiding in a niche of comfort as it seems
and it fits well but it’s not mine,
a mask painted with reality
playing life that won’t last
a fool to the sands of time
a life of je ne sais quoi
but a life at that,
a blurred line just fading fast.
H.O. July 27, 2014
My roots go deep but unknown
liquefied past with gray shadows
remains of a story never told
insignificant for others to hold
in a life condemned to gallows
awaiting my sentence alone.
But to hide in my banality
deaf to the voices screaming inside
a wish to reboot and reclaim
a shred of pieces that remains
of one that was, as dreams collide
hands tying the noose on my reality.
H.O. July 9, 2014
I often wonder about my skin
experiences held captive in ridges and folds
meant for salt, brightness and sun
and how across oceans It has been
surrounded by strangeness that holds
my roots close to my heart when done.
Skin enduring divergence in the blue
or the green with paleness contrasting
and screaming of differences I find
on the canvas that nature one day drew,
with one color to which we are so blind
as it’s red the color of blood everlasting.
H.O. July 3, 2014