An thrumming rhythmically.

At the last breath your soul keeps looking for some dead lost portions of yours. You wreathed each and every corner of the place you called home. Magical box present at the most left side of your cupboard took your attention. The red box reminds you of someone and some precious days. You cannot hold the inner elation at finding something you already lost the memories of. The steady grip to protect the last pieces of your lover is breathtaking. You smiled as the memories flashed about the box. How happy and blessed you felt when you got the most unexpected gift from the most expected person. You cannot content the feeling of starting your love life on the sweetest note. With the calmness you opened the old wood. The torn and old petals of rose justify the trueness of your lover. You still preserved those blood red roses which hide a long brief love letter. Rusted pale sheet inked few portions about you yet the feelings are still freash. That love letter which you repeatedly read each time you missed your lover. The feeling of love is in air back then also and still now.  The surprise box still carries your lover locket. You asked him for that. Believing in love started from wearing a piece of your lover. Blissfully you touches all your last remiances of your partner. The heart feels like a rose garden, filled with red roses and freash aroma. Yet the presence of thrones drag you to the reality of not sharing the acceptance of love again with your lover. He left the soul of the earth but you still have his soul inside you.

I dream that this our world is an Asclepias split open, it's angels carried away on comas long ago. I dream that we live on a curled husk. After washing the sleep from my eyes, all I can see are honey bees. I know this is an illusion because I can feel your cool hands hold mine. this is also an illusion, I have never met you. the bees are in your eyes, & they’ve built their hive inside of me. I dream that you float away from me trailing a silken line. Your buzzing is so loud, angel.

What I Do Not Understand.

There are things I do not understand about the feelings I have. The things from where I stand often don’t make sense of what I have.

Am I angry or sad?
How do I know what to feel?
Should I be bitter or glad? Sometimes I just want to squeal. I look all around at the world. Then I look inside. I sit waiting for the afterworld. Away from the chaos near and wide.

Sad eyes and tortured cries abound. Can’t we just have peace? Loving sighs and joyful cries all around. Will the noise ever cease? Why should hate, and not love, abide? Why should greed and war thrive? Why are we so cruel inside? Can’t we see what it means to be alive?

Should I hate the haters, curse the worst? Should I love the annihilators? I feel like I’m going to burst. Can I live for what’s greater and not be a traitor? Do I look straight ahead Or to what’s above? Who is happier the living or the dead? Where do I find the love?

How can I reach out to help
To those who are lost and hurting? Who do I call on for help when life is so disconcerting? Can I be in comfort with others despondent? Should I live in comfort while so many live without? How can I enjoy ice cream, cake and fondant while outside people starve from disease or drought?

These things I do not understand. What feelings should I have? Feeling helpless where I stand often make me forget what I have.