karma

I NEVER GIVE UP

Why now?
At this peak
the one we climbed
like we were foraging
like the treasure was ours
like we were owed the magic;

the one we promised
like the challenge spoke to our needs
like spooning and completeness
like the familiar sound of Soulmateship;

the one we ate hungrily
like cheesecake and strawberry sauce
like viking sex and the sound of rain
like the walls called for our skin;

the one we privately rode
like thunder and history
like couch kissing at 3am
like the pre-cum that belongs on my lips;

the one our lives changed for
like losing everything to win
like the years mattered more now
like purpose was our new team;

the one we physically yearned
like distance made us realise
like words forgot how to speak
like our eyes smiled through our silence;

the one we mastered
like the Gods of old promised
like synchronicity was our call
like the prophecies had written us;

the one our dreams showed
like we undressed our karma
like it was destiny we could touch
like we had angels for our guides;

the one we paved
like the path was clearer
like the bumps were sensual touches
like the signposts contained our names.

Why now?
At this peak
the one we fall from
like we have forgotten our bond
like our chemistry parries
like our freedoms matter not.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 April, 2017

WEED, THE PEOPLE

Led by foreign madness, we
– to long expected sleepless graves –
will swim to sink and drown in numbers
weighted down beneath the waves
with nothing left inside but shadows;
no-one left of worth to save.

In one end and out the other,
warring with psychotic pride, then
born again and made to suffer
– karmic purpose ill-forgotten –
each new chance at life, a buffer:
“Next time: change…” we chant inside.

Cycles written, history leaking,
sorely weeping through the pores
of growing wombs and offspring born
– another child of soulless form –
to breastfeed lies, imprisoned, shrieking
time again: disease repeating.

Sin ingested (soup for poor)
– the bile of shame and burden lost –
as people starve and lives are sold
and terrors planned to mind control…
and all the while our sickened bodies
hover, rotting, rank with worry.

Toll the bells – it’s time to breathe
and weed this horror from our conscience;
steer ourselves towards a pardon,
pave the way, resume our garden
seeding spirit, heart, and mind
with growth to bloom for one last time
or we, the people, incarnating,
won’t survive beyond our mating.

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 9th July, 2016

KARMA

 

sometimes
mistakes are forever
and regret is the undercoat
that primes your life

perhaps foolishly
it might seem calmer
(karma)
on the surface
to forget the original dream
than to colour it over with
shades of new intention
when all you want to do
is bleed the red out of your eyes
until the copper rusts your face
and runs finally clear;
a dried salty ash
the only pock-marked
stain on your bloody canvas

the minimalist collector
your highest bidder

 

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 15 July, 2015