Breath

She inhaled, slowly, trying to gather control of her emotions. The last few days, weeks, maybe even months, had been so very, very hard for her soul. She often wondered if she had a soul, based on the type of people she attracted.

Pressing the phone power button, she placed the phone onto the small bedside table and relaxed into the bed. Still breathing, still excising, permanently aware of the way she felt. With each breath, she exclaimed prophetic affirmations within her mind. ‘The world gives me energy’, she said to herself, with the next words expelling her negative emotions, ‘Bad thoughts are leaving me’. Again and again, she repeated the mantras.

The pressure, the pain, the anxiety waiting upon the edges of her mind, asking for any reason to invade her sobriety of illegal thoughts. She couldn’t help herself. That blank canvas, the unwritten scripts, the unsung songs, all painted, wrote and screamed their motives to her as clear as the morning sun.

Another breath, as her mind escaped for the briefest second, to his lips. His defying, dangerous, dubiously delicious lips that had kept her up all through many, many nights. He’d teased her, enthralled her desire to the very breaking of her points of view. Reserved, defined, refined, the stoic, level-headed heiress of knowledge and learned understanding. Nothing escaped her view, her thoughts. Defiant until the end, until that person appeared just to the side of her view, stepping through her defences.

All it took, to fall, were carefully placed words and ever so expertly crafted kisses. He’d spoken to each and every single part of her frame, that skin of hers, amongst his sexually riled motives. A smile here, a laughter filled moment there, all wrapped around the most orgasmic feelings she’d ever reproached in her entire life. When one was bored, one would succumb to the wildest excursions ever imagined. It was inevitable, scribed upon her very lust filled breaths.

He’d taken it all. Her vanity, expunged. Her guile, removed. All of her imaginary standings within life, were swept aside in the gust of seeing herself tainted in such a manner. There was no place for dignity when sat upon his lips, as they caressed and encompassed her very wants. She’d never even realised how much she could yearn for someone to be within her.

She threw away the thoughts, cast them to the side, reflecting upon the silence she craved. If such a moment could be purchased, she’d gladly open her purse as quickly as she’d allowed him into her life. She’d exclaim from upon the highest building, that he had not broken her resolve but, of course, that would be a lie.  She knew that it was the same for all of them, no matter which side any of them sat.

She placed her head into her hands, her knees moving to support her elbows, as she rubbed her face. He was, overall, a heartbreaker that knew exactly what he was doing. A beautiful lie. She couldn’t even help herself, as he informed her of no lies. He didn’t cross the communicative barrier of hope and relational glory. He’d just done what he’d done and opened a part of her to a place that she needed to find. It was glorious, a tragic, spectacular series of events.

Exhaling once more, affirming affirmations exclaiming their value, she felt her heart attempt to find rest. She’d be okay. She’d find salvation within her own mind and moments. It was, after all, a learning experience, just like the other moments within her life and right now, all she had to do, was learn to once again breath on her own.

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Illusion

Daniel, fingers tapping on the table, simply looked at the man in front of him. The man was an odd-looking man, with an almost triangular face, his thin pointed chin strutting forward away from his mouth. If anything, Daniel thought that the man belonged in some kind of circus as his act, for one, was most convincing.

“Who are you?” asked Daniel. As he waited for the answer, he reminded himself of the conversation they’d just had. The man, appearing from nowhere, offered him two choices. The man had started to explain about parents. There were, according to this strange individual, two types of parents in the great scheme of things.

The first parent wished for peace. The ever loving, caring, doting parent that simply wanted harmony. The perfect home, the perfect life, the ideal setting and the most pretentious set of circumstances that simply had to be obeyed. The smiles abound, the perfection apparent, until you wanted to do things your way.

The rules were set. Cast in stone. It was their way or no way at all. The wrath incurred ensured obedience; the zero-tolerance apparent from every single word. You had to play nice, be nice, eat the sweet cherry pie and be on time. Every. Single. Time.

The vengeance and scolding venom, upon a day when you veered off track, would ensure that thought and freedom be removed from every single part of a person’s life.

The second parent would value freedom, above all. You could play, hurt your knee and learn from your mistakes. You’d be protected, to a certain point, but above all you’d learn to think on your own two feet. Adaptable, clever, opinions being formed from facts as well as gut feelings. You would be pushed to improve, yet the pushing would come from within your own heart, soul and mind. You would be cheered on, but also hugged if failure rose within your life.

There would be sadness, arising from the bravest of souls, but you’d learn that life would not always feature cherry pie, as the best would be made from any situation. Be that situation good, bad, or the ugly. You would be free. Free to fail, to fall, to prosper or be whomever you would prefer to be.

There would be rules, but rules could sometimes be broken, if your free-thinking mind thought it possible. You could question, you could discuss, without retribution, cancellation or strife.

The two choices, clear as a bell, as free as a whistle. As Daniel’s mind really thought about the two choices, he also wondered why he had to choose in the first place. Both could exist side by side but, as with many things, the more venomous side usually tried to control the other.

The strange man leant forward, whispering his answer, “You all know me. I’m the Beast, the Evil One, The Devil, Lucifer, Satan and my own personal favourite, the Accuser!”

Daniel let out a short chuckle, deciding to play along.

“Okay, fair enough! What happens if I don’t choose a side?”

The Devil smiled an insidiously creepy smile, his decayed teeth suddenly appearing amongst the apparent shine from his evil looking eyes,

“Well, my boy, do you truly believe that you’ve ever had a choice? From the moment you were born, most of your decisions have been made for you. You were born into unknowing servitude!”

Daniel’s head moved ever so slightly to the side, confused, as the man continued.

“No matter what type of parent you are, or which side you’re on, or where your point of view sits, the illusion is making you think that you ever had a choice to begin with!”

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Disorder

Charmeine curled her wings around her body, shielding herself from the night’s cold. Sat, upon the highest mountain, she reflected upon her recent thoughts. She was, for all intents and purposes, the Angel of harmony. The together Angel, the ever-apart Angel, meant to bring people together or, sadly, to tear them apart when the time arrived.

She adored peace and tolerance, the togetherness of two becoming one or, possibly, the chance of harmony within society. She closed her eyes, unable to deflect the sadness within her heart. The Human race was adrift. Mother’s against Sons. Father’s against Daughters. The disharmony of the many minds being twisted for the evillest of intentions.

She was used to healing hearts, soothing the breaks and pains formed within, yet she knew not the way to heal and harness harmony for the current events. Mass Media had, finally, consumed the hearts and minds of the many, controlled by the few that were far between. The Angels were restricted, banned for eternity, from meddling within the affairs of man and yet, somehow, the greatest evil imaginable had crept amongst them as they slept. The spoken word, the written syllable, used of evil incarnations. The pen, once seen as mightier than the sword, had become more powerful than the very soul of a man or woman.

The infection had spread, the cancerous notifications pacifying the weakest of hearts and minds. The human race, the humanity within each of them, secretly wishing for peace. The price, too high. The result, pacification. They had accepted the spoken word without question, the masses chastising the few that questioned. She’d stood within the times of Witches and Warlocks. She’d known the time where any Woman that spoke a word out of turn, would be called a witch and burned to a crisp. This, however, was far, far worse. The cancellation of a human being becoming a fate worse than death itself.

She placed her fingers onto the ground, as the soil seethed and smoked upon her touch. The very surface of the Earth, tainted and poisoned by the years of destruction ravaging the tree lines. The insects, the animals, all cast aside for the ever need for expansion. A new cinema, a new parking lot, or the latest fad to later be cast aside and forgotten. She knew that the earth eventually reclaimed discarded land, the soft soil speaking volumes to her very soul, but the balance had started to tip ever further towards desolation.

The Human Race hadn’t changed over the centuries. The same fears, the same base instincts, the many following the few. She wished to scream, to shout, to smash their houses until they knew real fear. The children held against her chest upon the awakening of their race, had become insolent. Their impudence betrayed their meek and weak-willed nature. They had, for what it would be worth, forgotten how to really suffer.

She stood, her wings unfolding, her eyes glistening to the tune of a thousand sparkling lights from the cities below. She stood, proud, respectful, no longer allowing her own anger and solace to infect her thoughts. They would stand and fall upon their own knees. They would eventually look towards the heavens, weeping tears of pain and sobriety upon their final days.

Her wings moved and, with a gentle hop, she flew into the air with the speed of a thousand jet engines. Hearts called to her, hearts willing to be joined upon a night of unity. This was her task, her ever destiny, upon this universe and emotional plane. She’d known a thousand versions of this place, she’d seen a hundred worlds burn, over and over again. This place, their hearts, had so far stood the test of time. The precipice was close, but not close enough to avoid. She’d overthrow their governments, stamp upon the faces of deceit and emotional gluttony, but that would again cause devastation of another kind.

The human race believed themselves to be divine. A race upon the very heavens above. The creations of gods. They were, to their basic level, animals and all animals were, in one way or another, ruled by the cowardly and deceitful villains set within any story. The day to day, the ever-stale happenings of each life, never to be broken or set free. Anarchy be rained upon them, if they knew that they were but specs within the universe of souls.

Charmeine slowed her flight as two individuals appeared upon her eyes. They walked with slow, calm, steps. The lovers, the stars above lighting their way, as she smiled upon them. Their blessings were assured until, upon a given day, one of them succumbed to their greed, impudence, idolatry, enmity, jealousy, resentment or sexual immorality. The sins of the ages, infecting more and more as their Mass Media ensured social decay and disorder.

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Blank

The rest of the story, the history of ages and the wealth of events before this very moment, were all distant spoken words and actions. None of that mattered and, often, never did after the present events unfolded into waking seconds. He was ready, willing, the exploratory method and possible madness of his motivations moving him ever forward. He had waited patiently and now, finally, he would have what he’d wanted for the longest of smiles.

Casually, effortlessly, he placed himself between the legs and lowered his head. His lips, wanting, waiting, eager to please, prepared themselves for what was ahead.  Such a task, an ever-willing patience to please, his lips parted, as his hands found what they needed to find. He tasted the distance between them, the void soon to become nothing more than space.

His tongue moved and, as he gently flicked, the picture of his imagination became real. The start of something new, the bridging of two people, forming another connection amongst the many already formed. He flicked again, his strokes becoming more than before. He knew that he had to be patient. All good things, as they said, would come to those that knew what they were doing. Practised, established, the confidence sounding from within the calm.

He moved his head, ever so slightly, to the side. His eyes, looking up and over to see her staring into his. She was that heavenly creature. The imperfect perfection, that he’d wanted for the longest of imaginary moments. Her breasts, taunting him, the curves yet to be scribed upon his page of creation. His mind screamed for him to complete the task at hand, but the ever-present notion of patience once again, reminded him to find his calm.

He knew, more than most, that there was an ideal image for everyone. That person, the heart that caressed and cajoled. She was here, in front of him, still, expectant, and more than willing. He could see her smile grow as he moved. Up, down, the variation forming. His heart, finding calm, as he placed his every thought into making the moment happen. He gripped the left leg and squeezed ever softly, as a reminder, to ground himself upon the revelation of events.

There were gifts within the world, moments that were more than the mortal passing of a fleeting affection. There was love, that created life within the strife of a person’s daily thoughts. She’d fuelled his desire to be more than he could ever be. The pride, the respect, the sheer vibration from her obvious smile, filling him with such strength that he, for once, knew exactly what he was meant to be. What he was made for. The holding of a hand should never, ever, be taken as a light transitory gift. It was special, glowing, magical and not just meant for Kings and Queens.

He moved again, keeping the rhythm, the steady pace as his lips again passed his intentions onto her canvas of purity. She wanted to move, to thrash around, to lose herself, but he had given her the strict instructions of obedience, when he was undertaking such a task. She, gladly and thankfully, agreed to abide by his seductive instructions.

As the seconds moved, they could both feel the conclusion approaching. His heart beat faster as, finally, he finished his masterpiece. He leant back, letting go of the leg, more than happy at the spectacles in front of his moving eyes. His heart slowed, as his emotions flowed within him. He nodded, allowing her to move from the setting. She approached, cautious, excited, the mystery soon to unfold. With her hands pressed together, in front of her mouth, she looked around the easel and, as her hands dropped, her shock and impressed emotions poured forward.

He had, after all of the years waiting, finally painted a picture of perfection upon a blank page.

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Love

There is a love so gentle, so precious, that the arms that hold us are but the same essence and texture of a rose petal. The binds, the ones that are bold, caress and cajole your heart towards a measured meeting of affection. I say not the words that you need to hear as, instead, my warmth will meet all needs. All requirements. All of the tender kisses.

Love.

You see, of course, that many of us either have a dream filled view of love, or are ever so slightly tainted by the experiences that we have been taught. The happy moments of mesmerising bliss, the stroking of our emotions by another while, at the same time, returning affection whilst common sense escaped.

Love is cruel, poetically twisted, by more than one person within this world. When it’s good, when it’s appreciated and reciprocated, it can be so very uplifting. That bonding, the energy, the smiles and holding hands filling our lives with that needed security. We’re stained by the other person, their hands and kisses changing our very skin as well as thoughts.

Then, from nowhere, love turns into something else. Something almost evil. That twisted thing where your mind rips you apart and you go through the ever so obvious emotions. Love is a gift that you give to another person and, if you take the very nature of love, you would be happy for another when they wished to leave. Yeah, I know, madness. Society still has, possibly, the hardest lesson of all to learn. Love is love. It’s supposed to be pure, giving, endless and not even remotely selfish.

We can take something so beautiful, so amazing, to then turn it into words of hurt and pain. Human beings are selfish. We know this. We need, we want, we never wish to be left but that is the way of the world. If you love someone, truly, deep down, with every single part of your heart, soul and mind, you would not ask questions, scream, pull the heavens down from the very sky above as you, instead, would simply accept. Cry, find your tears, but that’s for your private time and moments.

Some of us can be with one person for all our lives, but the likelihood of that happening in our throwaway society… is slim. We grow as people, as individuals and couples. We, eventually, find new interests and drift. It is natural. Hold. Support. Be all you can be and then, when the decision is made, respect that decision. We are all individuals and if we are mentally stable, we can endure the passing of a love. Most of us have done this. Most have lived through the pain.

However, instead of being calm, we spit venom, demeaning the other person to a state of near hatred. How dare someone love a person and then leave. How dare the truth suddenly change into a lie. We twist, manipulate, shout and scream and inform others. This is not love. It will never, ever, be love.

Love is not hatred due to loss. Love is not sending message after message without realising the mental damage they inflict (Which I myself have done… but will never do again). Love is not supposed to be selfish. Love is… not love unless you make it just that. Unfortunately, many of us have been tortured by love’s rose filled idiocy of magical dreams and fairy tales. The movies sell you a dream, as we never truly learn how to live with the lie.

Love is holding the hand of someone special. Love is being free. Love is embracing the world for what it is. Love is understanding another person’s point of view. Love is holding your pillow, as you scream into the night, while also wishing the best for another. Love is understanding that those messages, above, are simply pain and not to be taken as anything else. Love is crying your eyes out and not being mean. Love is… love.

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Written 03.06.2020

One

If there was one place upon this very world, that you could go to right now, where would it be?

Maybe you’d travel to an island covered in volcanic sands, the warmth upon your feet instilling the very calm presence that you need right now, as well as those tropically frilly presented drinks you like. Upon the island you’d meet a friend, that would teach you renewed adventures, and to smile that little bit more than you’re used to.

Maybe you’d visit that last remaining place within your dreams, the far away destination that has haunted your thoughts, and described your desires for the longest of times. Upon a marbled path, towards a mountain destination, you’d find your faith in humanity and scribe your very first and, possibly, last poem.

Maybe you’d fall away from society to become something that you’d always wanted to become. That saviour, the hero, the miracle masterpiece of magnificent majesty. The king or Queen upon the very cards to be presented within the gamble of life and luxury.

Maybe you’d gather the option of the streamlined adventure. The hilltop paradise, the crazy coloured sports machines, that thrust your thirst for adventure into the fast lane. The fancy clothes, that would never oppose your ideals of a perfect destination for your soul.

Maybe you’d spend a day with that loved one that had their time taken from them far, far too early. You’d embrace that person, you’d cry, you’d explain and exclaim all of the words and emotive gestures hidden deep within. You could then transcend the then, to the perfect, present of now.

Maybe you’d escape to a cave of angels, the time of such fantasy events that may, or may not, have ever existed. The transcendent epiphany, of knowing the very secrets of the world and race of humanity. Your eyes would widen, and your soul would find the enlightened choir of life itself.

Maybe you’d simply rest upon the biggest boat within existence itself. You could fish for your true meaning, embracing the silence, as your mind filled the sky with the wonders of every single word you’ve ever wished to scream at the top of your wishes.

Maybe we’d find each other and spend the week laughing about the how’s, the whys, the won’t and will of our existence. We could hold hands, then exclaim the madness of society and wonder of being blind drunk whilst naked and running through a field of corn.

Maybe you would close your eyes, to imagine your very heart resting upon your soft, working, weary fingers. You would listen, and it would whisper a story of how the world was transitory and that you should be as free as you can possibly be.

If there was one place within this very world of ours, that you could go to right now, where would it be? Or, honestly, would you simply, easily, just stay right where you are. After all, where you are is made from all of the places, faces, embraces and disgraces that you’ve been, seen, or been a part of. One life, one moment, one smile and more than one chance to visit wherever you choose.

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Meaning

Frank sipped the fine blend of gin from the glass, enjoying the silence and warmth of the real fire across from him. Calm, reflective, not holding onto any thoughts that might disturb that preciously focussed time of his evening. Normally, he’d have been out in the garden, the taxi driver for his family, or even putting together something or other. Tonight, however, was rest night.

He watched the flames move, whispering in and out of existence, as he felt a disturbance next to his calm. That disturbance, of course, would have small feet, little hands and a tiny, cute, pink nose and go by the usual name of trouble.

“Hello trouble, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” said Frank, turning his head slightly to see her small little face. She smiled the cutest smile imaginable which, understandably, usually meant that she got whatever she wanted.

“What is the meaning of love?” she asked, her face filled with inquisitive wishes of understanding and wonder. He could see the innocence still held within each corner of her heart, mind and eyes. Frank chuckled to himself. One of his other tasks was being an oracle, the constant source of answers for the never ceasing question of, ‘why?’.

Frank smiled, as she hopped onto the seat next to him, resting her head against his arm. He knew that such a question or, should he say, answer, would stay with her for a long time. He himself had experienced every notion of the word, the highs, the lows, the pain and more importantly, the loss.

“That’s quite a good question and it’s not that easy to answer!  Love is,” Frank paused a little, wishing to truly give the subject matter the thought that it deserved, “Everything. It’s the way you smile, it can be within every spoken word, every action and how you feel about every single person!”

Olivia’s nose crunched up slightly, as she replied, “Even Amelia who’s always mean to me?”

“Yes,” replied Frank, “Even Amelia. If you can understand why Amelia is mean, then through that understanding, you can appreciate and ignore her words. Understanding is also love.”

“But Grandpapa, what ‘is’ love?”

“Well, love is supposed to be how you feel about someone. You appreciate them, care for that person and, as I said, listen and understand them. How do you feel when you hold your Mummy’s hand?”

Olivia sprung up from his arm, looking straight into Frank’s eyes, “I feel happy. Safe!”

“Then that is also love!”

“I know that I love Mummy, but should I really love everyone?”

Frank chuckled again, “You don’t ‘have’ to love everyone, but it is a better way of living. Love is caring, even when it would be easier not to do so.”

“Is love always warm and will it always make me happy?”

Frank suddenly wished to be elsewhere, as he replied to the difficult question, “I hope it does Olivia, I truly hope that it does. Although, people will try to take your love from you, to make you see the wide world in a different way, but no matter what happens to you, you can still hold love within your brave heart and manage to smile!”

Olivia shrugged her shoulders, more or less moving away from the question.

“Can I have some ice-cream? Please.”

“It’s a little late for that, but because I love you and you said please, why not!  I might even have some myself!”

They both moved from the sofa, as Olivia raised her arms. Frank scooped her up, her cute, silly face, making faces,

“I love you grandpa!”

“I love you too Olivia and I always will!”

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