Feb. 5th, 2016

ontheheath: (Default)
When observing one’s own thoughts,

At certain heights of insight,

One may find some revelations distasteful

And some – the purest of delights.



As illusions are exposed

And a little genius reaffirmed.

Although oxymoronic…

Simple truths remain mostly at inaccessible peaks,

And if one goes a step further to attempt interpretation

As a scientist would draw up his theory,

Is he aware of the limitations?



A respectable lady once asked a young poet

Why he dares bare his soul in words made public,

And the young man answered:

Because the truth, is, as such – already revealed.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
All that surrounds me seems well adjusted,

And the harmonious silence of the night stirs up recollections;

Wherein I hear your heartbeat.

The sweetest music, the softest drumbeat.

Remember when I used to rest my head beneath your breast with my ear

Listening to your rhythm?

When all that mattered was us,

When we risked everything;

When it was worth living.



Even these winter beaten trees still manage generosity and give me air,
So please give me something so I know you’re still there…

Because although I live, it’s for nothing if not for you…

What’s the purpose of a life of imprisoned passions?

Yet there’s hope of flowering for the tree when the seasons change,

Hope that the stars will once again light up the sky when the clouds clear.

But does that spell hope for us?



Every one seems better matched

Because you’re not next to me.

I remember you once said that if it had been me you’d have adopted my name…

Even if distance is in the way; the memories are not faded.

Just preserved…whilst I wait and hope for reunions belated and happier days.

And although the compass that brought me to you,

Is for the time being making sure you remain lost to me,

Somewhere southeast …

Know that I miss you still.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
She wasn’t the type that sought the securities to be gotten from his abilities

but rather his soul…
She required he be selfless…

that her beauty be enough…

as if Serapis was really Christ,

as if Arius wasn’t right.

She thought herself the sun…
the one with whom he would synthesise…

along with the multitudes who could not escape her rays

and those who basked in them… adulating…

Only to tremble upon night’s return

when She unthreaded the warm cocoon

leaving them at the cross roads of the unholy matrimony.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

Cloud Mine

Feb. 5th, 2016 05:33 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
Her cloud white sclera

was pierced through by the sublime dark centre…

Telling of a loud and bright soul somewhere

beneath all that matter….



We talked over old ties and exchanged new lies —

the kind that become truths fostered by fears…

And when time was no more we kissed…

then we danced ’til the morning, sipping corpse revivers.




© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

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