Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Tag: literature

Sacred Heart

She Loves Like An Elf

— Feb. 2021, Heres Pang.

 

A walk and a song, before dawn

Every so often, you may find that
The humans, in their various manifestations
Of desires, vulnerabilities, shortcomings, and even
Hopefulness and Beauty ---

Are simply far
Too Heavy ---

You immerse in it, daily,
Like wading, knee-high, in an air
Filled by Molasses.

But every so rarely, you may discover
Creature companions of sorts, 
Whose dimensions only spare them
Very plain needs:

To eat, to drink, and if ever so lucky,
To wander and play, 
Mindlessly ---
Free from Love and Grief,
Free, in the absence of time,
Nowhere, and Everywhere.
 

Sound Check

Another Year and Half on Hiatus,
When will your Songs be Heard?
When you've been put Under?

Break your Eggs, my Friend---
You are every bit as Consequential
As the Stars and the Moon!

It'd be a Sin
To hide your Essence
And mute your Lustre.

Eye of The Storm

Faint
But not so
Distant

Echoes
Of Sweet Melodies,

Sang by the Innocence
Of Our Children.

The Sun’ll Shine
Once again,

As their Precious Tune
Draw nearer,
and Nearer —

Let it be,
That This Time,
The Better Angels
Of Our Nature

Will Never Again
Allow the Beauty of Innocence
To fade and wilt into
Grotesque and Unseen
Absence…!

Never again,
Shall We turn a Blind Eye, and
For millennia,

Tolerate the hidden,
Unseen, unheard, but
Grossly Rampant Lacerations
That took place
Night after Night,

Six-feet Under.

Yes,
The Sun Will Shine
This Time —

This Time…
Broken Hearts
Are Not Forgotten.

getting even with madness

shadows crawling, sins go on repeating
as you scantily prop your back,
fighting cross-generational
demons.

years without Transcendence
or pure self destruction,
cut out from the fast and easy
perishing---

do you find yourself now
so needlessly harsh,
morbidly crass;
so stubbornly brash?

would opening your skull,
and peeking in to
snap these tense cords
bring you final release?

mute screams, muffled
between inner ears
reverberate and
seep---

until we are nothing
but knots over knots:

finding ourselves
in a messy string.

But hey now---
hey now, hey now:

If we are so Lucky
as to
Carry On Living...

Remember,
Grit your teeth!
trace the harder
route to Release---

Follow the timeless Patrons
of Form and Patience,

And all the while,
.
.
.

Rage.

Plan with fervor;
Desist; Trample if you must---

but Do---
not try but do,

Toss
until chaos
becomes Peace.

Beauty Remains

Chestnut eyes
Glistening like rich amber,
Kissed by the Sun.

Scintillating a luster
so provocative
yet Ancient,

Irresistible is one
to be Entirely pulled
down the Timeless Stream
of Ancestral tales,

Now
All Condensed into
A Pair of Irises,
Shining translucently
In bottomless
Mink—

Such is
Their deeply settled and
Undiluted shade,
That in its Resolve,

Rose a Piercing
Sheen, prudently gazing
Upon the Millennia
In thousands Hitherto,
Or ever after.

Is This
The only Beauty
Tragedy is ill-fitted
to bury
Six-feet-under?

 

Facing A Twilight Sky

Who placed this horrific Thorn
In my Bone and Flesh?!

Was it a Tough Teacher,
Who, through all harsh disciplining,
Still intends to Nourish—

Or, was it merely
An ill-wishing
Witch?
.
.
.

Wise Shamans kindly remind Us
To not think only in what Lacks,

But We mortals remain too Hungry
For our own Sakes—

Wisdom passed on,
Yet scantily We digest.

Oh the Irony, baby.
Are we Rocks
In this Fountain of Life,

Wet, but never to have
Drunken a true Share?
.
.
.

If it is too hard
To stay Awake,
May I at last humbly ask
Of thee—

My Love, my Kin,
my Eternal Mate, whomever
I think You are—

Could You please contemplate,
Inconveniently, this corny and overused Notion,

“Have you ever seen the Rain?” 

Well, Have You?
Have you heard its Forthcoming,
And allowed its Simple Rumor

To have Stirred you
Deep,
Deep inside?
.
.
.

Now,
Shall We Sit
Side by side, and Once More
Try to taste the Ocean
In this Raining Sky?

An Addict’s Contemplation

What is it like,
to Be
Tonically Alive—

While the Flowers
Remain abloom,

We find
Fleeting affirmations of

Our routinely
Maintained
Lies.

Take It to The Heart, Please

These days
Are of endless novelty,
Absurdly modern:
High profits for the ones
Who trick passion with
Morsels of jittery confections—
Fast melting, quickly expiring.
Highly. Profiting.

Age of sensational Spasm,
Locked behind which, a long dusty
Book of delayed shame,
Regretfully nostalgic.
We cannot perceive the reality
of how we arrived upon
This existential wilderness,

Whilst being too busy
Occupying our conscious,
Shunning The Truth;

Rather to take it all
Up the Ass—
Than to bite real Peaches,
Causing them to Gush,
To Spew and Bleed—

The Sticky Juice
of Act and Consequence,
Pleasure and Pain,
Dispute and Acceptance:

Will We Ever
Relearn to open up
that rusty chamber,
Neglectfully sealed in our Hearts,
and refill its long-emptied
Reservoir to the Brim
with True Essence and Blood?