Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Written for Spoken #2: See You In Heaven by Raandjua

"Like a rose in full bloom, life's thorns and flowers prickle and pierce the veins to my heart

My tear glands have dried up like a once delicate flower in the Namib Dessert on a cold cold winter night

Mya's white pearls intertwined between my fingers remind me of our time together and how we used to make each other smile

Summer rain-red robots-screeching tires...the ear-piercing sound of ambulance sirens in the dark of the night, came as if, from the mouth of the angel of death

Summer rain-red robots-screeching tires…and just like that, the love of my life was gone

Fallen autumn pebbles on the sidewalk awaken visions of blood-drenched leaves

Memories of song and dance are ever-present realities, in a reality, devoid of life

Those mourning lost loved ones and lost love are the subjects of my envy
Tears run down their cheeks and I reach over to wipe them away, as I pray, that their tears, never run away

For once they do, then they too will one day be standing here, before you, enveloped by regret and anguish at the words that remain unsaid

Three little words are all it takes.

Each word on its own is an empty vessel, but as a trio they have the power to un-break and heal the most broken of hearts and move mountains twice the size of Kilimanjaro.

Here I Am.

Unmoving, unmoved, the vowels begin to form on my lips, I welcome the sight of the onrushing bus…as I slowly mouth the words: "I love you"

Like the petals upon a dying rose I know the end is near

She may have never received an invite, but she can never accuse me of not having been a gracious host

My soul is your home. Your home is my soul.

The act of being alive is but a continuation of breaths

That which intercepts the breaths is living

I do not remember when last a meaningful event intercepted these breaths-DO YOU?

Few ever consider it, even less follow through

Most look down upon those who do it and never care to just ask "WHY?"

Sure, it may not be the perfect solution.

But, who cares about perfection?

Perfection, is an illusion that will remain unfulfilled many a tomorrow.

Fuck perfection.

What I need TODAY, what I need NOW, is not the perfect solution.

All I need is a means to an end.

Here I Stand.

Unmoving, unmoved, the vowels begin to form on my lips I welcome the sight of the onrushing bus and I whisper softly, slowly, quietly: Till We Meet Again, Goodbye"

~Raandjua "Ra"

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