Dear Readers:

Watch now, as we listen closely to our reclusive subject reciting her poetry. She is siting two-fisted with her paper and pen, and a glass of wine. She considers her unraveling sanity night after night. As the moon rises, her intellect spins. She is either going mad or perhaps she is slightly touched. She is indeed overwhelmed by her senses fusing. Irregardless, she is different and obsessed with the human condition. She ruminates with manic creativity over the injustices of humanity, but hope lingers nonetheless. She is haunted, but feeds incessantly on such. Her empathy and pain duel, and the outcome is yet to be determined:

These walls have

Metaphorical stones

My personal Veil of Jericho

I am counting in sevens

A separation from

My innate discomforts and

Mainstream society

My synesthesia shouts in shades of grey

And these walls offer

An isolated haven

Found within and

Built for

My emotional protection

To discern my condition

Away from the noise

Confined to myself and

With all triggers removed

My intimate space is

Safe and solitary

Quietly entombing

In body and mind

And I pace within

This is my mausoleum

The flesh of my wit

Accompanied only

By a cacophony of

Voices weeping

[This is not altogether symbolic, but provides some truth to the subject's fear of pending insanity.]

For mercy

In poetic fragments

Inside my brain, and

The Goddess of Eris --

With Phobos and

Deimos, are ready

To protect me

Exposing the two-faced

To the light, but

In the sanctity of my darkness

Fighting demons

On my own behalf

Borne from a brokenness

My vulnerability shattered like glass

Coupled with

The massive weight of

My empathy pulsing

Disproportionate and consuming

My disfigured changeling

And torn between

The fibers of wool

Now swaddling me

With carnal suffocation

[With regard to matters of the heart, you see here: the subject's undoing is taking place in slow motion.]

To the lovers who scalped me,

And harvested my soul:

You left me for dead.

And I can rest

Within these walls

I am able to heal

[Contradictorily, the subject still ends with hope.]

We take another break from the popular history of authors to bring you a fascinating etymology of words. This week we focus on the word 'rotund'.

Rotund (pronounced: rə(ʊ)ˈtʌnd/roʊˈtənd, ‘roe-tund’): adj. “Approximately spherical; round, orbicular (Bot., esp of a leaf) approximately circular, roundish” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. Or “Of the mouth: rounded in the act of speech; (of the voice or an utterance) sonorous, full-toned; (of literary style) inflated, grandiloquent. Cf”. Alternatively: “Of a person, a part of the body, etc.: rounded; plump, podgy”.

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Read the rest of this week's throwback Thursday on the blog site NOW.

Unconditional Love

As long as you can love

Love wants us to be happy.

For those who suffer from depression and all types of mental stresses, love can make all the difference in the world between jumping out a window or deciding to get help.

That's how LOVE saves lives.

Walking down the street,

Chilling like from weed,

People passing enormous speed,

My mind slowed down so I catch every thought.

My heart calmed so I can feel what love always taught.

And this is another day from those,

You see, you feel, you care of every rose.

One of those days you don't see only your selfish nose.

And you somehow know that everything is perfect.

So you are looking for another second, minute, hour, day with joy, gratitude and respect.

And this is just another life, another try,

So when this life ends there's no need to cry.

You know, certain is the fact you'll die.

And thus find those young days, those forgotten feelings,

when every small thing changed to surprise, joy, love or memorable meetings.

Broken in her armor, cast down in the flames

The armor was to protect her, the fire to show the way

Arrows in her quiver and a bow in her hand

To smite coming danger should one make a stand.

Now broken on the ground, the danger was disguised

It entered her arena under her unsuspecting eyes.

It broke her with one blow and left her in the mess

But as she lay in ruins, anger filled her chest

She picked her broken pieces up off the burning ground,

Found her bow and quiver and smote the danger down.

Lesson learned, she will remember in her heart so torn

The face of danger can arrive disguised in many different forms.

She dreamed of paradise

Because her life, full of lies

One day she's gone

No one knows where

No one knows why

Until the day 

They saw 

A paradise in her.

My dear;

perhaps the cure

to my insanity;

do you even exist

in the same time

and place as I do?

Does the universe

have enough sympathy

for my isolation;

to unparallel our paths

and let them cross?

Oh love,

my everything,

my nothing,

I am stranded

between not

and wanting you

to come around

for I am afraid of becoming

the fool I am if you do;

of having the hap

to cherish

only to, alas,

lose you sometime

when I piteously am

in need of you most;

and if you do not,

my heart shall

continue to beat

for my lifeless soul

until the remnants

of courage and fortitude

deepest inside

become nothing

but empty words.

- e.d.

21 June 2016 at 10:13