Capturing Darkness with Light

Lack of Love Lack of love has no form or shape. Lack of love is crying out when no one is awake. Lack of love has no color nor race. Lack of love is children dying and babies crying. Lack of love is young men and women entangling into the lust of this world and dying. Lack of love is “dear mom I’m young and yet pregnant.” Oh, if we only knew what a lack of love may do. Lack of love is young men selling their souls just to make quick money. Lack of love is hurting women selling their bodies just to feel the love they need to survive. Why do you look and see hurting faces? This brokenness coincides with what’s inside. Lack of love brings on so many phases. Lack of love brings on so much neglect, hurt, pain, and most importantly a loss of self. Will this lack of love nurture the gifts set before us, that were meant to be loved? Or will we continue to neglect the love that was meant to be shared? Will our lack of love today be our loss of love tomorrow? If Curves Could Cure If curves could cure the love I have for you and only you, dear man. I sit and watch you drift into a time zone, which holds your faith, a diluted commitment, a dishonest entanglement. If curves could cure this pain. Why am I so ashamed to even walk with you? Watching you float ahead, not waiting, and instead, watching every curve go by. While you drift into the mindset of your naked imagination, you have already determined your destination. Why are you trying to suppress the feelings that wait silently, screaming inside you, see? Dear man, what is above the curves you have on standby, waiting patiently? If curves could cure your faithfulness, as weak as the sun on a cloudy day. If curves could cure your language discrepancies and your swag as you walk  the image only your pride can adore and see. If curves could cure your own lack of self-esteem, could this help your self-fulfilled dreams? If curves could cure, I would have said: “Dear man, drift far, far, away from me because today I have taken back my humility, my respect, and my true beliefs.” Curves cannot cure what is within an age-old, self-image that has traveled through generations. Dear man, maybe one day you will see the curves you long for, but it will not make up for the hope you have lost inside, you see. And this day, dear man, we see the emptiness you tried to hide for centuries. Dear man, come out from there. This world did not mean to cause you any harm. Yet your charm, you see, has been beneath me. Please open your eyes and see the curves you have are a gift and not just a treat. A Disconnected Walk As the wind glides by, our very existence challenges a disconnection far more brilliant than the past’s mere existence. Whatever causes us to walk past and never connect defines our past images of what we were exposed to. What could it be, a depletion of man-made beliefs that caused unwritten grief? Unknowingly filtering into one’s future with mixed emotions going beyond magic potions of created delusions. Someone makes an infusion of truth that shapes our digestion of futuristic notions. Of growth lost without progression, of futuristic beings lost within translations of life’s greatest schemes. Past agendas, hidden messages, waiting for that expectancy of being free. Free to connect items that dilute our existence of what guides us toward this journey. A disconnected walk hesitates and builds off what was and could be expected. Between two beings that walk consistently past winds that are everlasting and creating changes, dying to connect besides one’s past encrypted notions. Yet we glide by never connecting to life’s triumphs, never expecting to be engaged or arranged together like puzzle pieces to cultivate a boundary-less definition of life. A walk that never connects because of a delusion of fear that reaches back instead of moving forward to our destiny. Vanity It is yet, it wasn’t because it should be. But, it doesn’t look, act, or smell like what it’s supposed to be. An optical illusion based upon delusions of one kind, of one likeness. Just because he said it, she did it, they are doing it. So why don’t we? An image built to dilute individualism, hidden within treasures of insecurities. Established to break one down to focus on a delusion of just me. It is yet, it wasn’t because it should be. But it doesn’t look, act, or smell like me. It is vanity that deludes a notion to focus on faces, images of bodies that don’t love nobody, But self-fantasies of false realities hidden beneath deep issues, you see. Yet you don’t look like me. Delusions coming to conclusions, of masks that cover up insecurities, Looking forward into a place that reflects space, of optical delusions, of false conclusions. It is yet, it wasn’t because it should be. But it doesn’t look like or smell like me. Vanity, vanity, vanity.