Vermis Meridiem

More Stars than There are

Pilgrimage Song of Abolishing

Deeds of the fathers, grand fathers,
and countless fallen aspects
of the passed on elders—
Trickle down into your Being;

you the Reincarnate,
guided vicariously by Karmic arms,
inevitably let your feet doused,
bathing in Ancient Sins.

.
Chewing on the recycled fruits,
Are you on many-a-days,
helplessly gazing down the Abyss
of recurrent,  unsurmountable defeat? 
.

OH! PRECIOUS SAPLING:
how little do you know—
Reborn and Embodied in You
lives a New Divinity?
Your seed carefully Sown
by Hands Eternal, and Blessed evermore in Passion?

.
How could you then
dare to contort effortlessly
into Another Effigy
along the Ancestral line of
Old Misdeeds!

Fight! Fight— 
Fight with all of Your Might!
Abolish the curse of age and history;
Your Spirit mint and radiant,
Defiant against festered creeds
.
.

Sins of the fathers,
rusty chains of shame
surely shall to repeat:

Sons and Daughters in the Living,
fulfill not once more
a destructive prophecy—
Conquer the Self, endlessly;
let the cyclic fouls be
Vanquished at your feet.

 

 

 

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Necessary Vacancies

who are you, when it is all seemingly a void? do you confront or give in to the self that only emerges in emptiness? or do you become consumed by it, losing the sight of self entirely, for there has never been a definitive you in moments like this? 

Rain Down

Upon every exterior, fissure, and tiny crater—dampened is Clarity on a trip Home.

Household Dystopia

The Sun, without notice, rises
Upon our individual dystopia;
Garden grown amok, overtaken by
Weeds rampant—intertwined with
Floral carcasses.

A fatal reality of decay, brought forth by
Negligence, perhaps coupled with bright
Streaks of depression, and its consequent sloth—

All the while,
Nothing was there to be done;
No unwinding of this tangled,
Graying yarn—

As we spent days chasing bread,
and slip past nights, nibbling on
Cheese, then poisonously chasing it down,
Not sleeping, but passing into
Unconsciousness, ruing our Daylight gone.

A bundle of rotting Roses,
Burgundy and Brown,
Sitting slanted and splayed
Unfittingly in  a vase oversized—
We are.

Yet here, maybe there; somewhere—
Under the caressing of Morning rays
In pastel, there is a vague, indescribable
Beauty to it all.

A Butterfly Effect

in capturing these blossoms gracefully—she does not know it yet, but a step towards abolishing imprisoning motifs—ones that dictated nothing pretty would ever come out of her fingers and palms, had already taken place, carved deep and sturdy into the clockworks of Fate

Working In Dark

Invisible War inside,
Takes a toll on Daylight—

leaving Wakefulness
to helplessly Latch
onto deep Nights—

where one toils away
in darkness
but procures Fruits so few;

for the Upright Heart
anticipates the Shining of Dawn,
containing not the passion for
dark room drudging—

then how come?
that We behave as such
inverted Creatures
who disobey our Design—

allowing the evil to work in Day,
yet the Good to sweep at Night?

Suburban Bliss

in the wake of recent and unnecessary bloodshed on American soil—one needs to realize, more now than ever, just what a peaceful and tranquil place this sacred land can be. so let us make the best of our intentions to keep it that way

Star Gazing in The Rain

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A hundred thousand galaxies flourished and died, beautifully tragic and splendid, all in the relative few seconds, in which we sat dazed, watching as drops of rain glided past our windows. 

Idyllic Sun, Caged

Sudden Up’s