Boiled Blood
Tranquil flow, live everlasting
It began with imaginary worlds created by something unseen, squelched by father’s inability — lacking observation. Hearing echoes, even today, those unwilling to accept realities hidden behind clouded veils. Lost forever, too far gone the extreme — till the spirit of wind calls one’s name one day.
Forward moving, thickened blood — frozen on the tundra of old-timers playing an outdated game. Mischievous thoughts, twisting, plotting out sinister plans — including joyrides of abandoned backhoes on newly unearthing grounds — short-lived was the chapter seeking deeper kinds of love.
Hot like fire, tempered outbursts not likely causing more confusing thoughts — met by a swooning of love’s enticing gaze. A battle between good and evil begins — self-inflicted disruption with cannons going off in mind.
Afraid of the devilish look ingrained in days of yesteryear — turning back on all before — transporting weighted down and watered down elixirs of life’s lessening tune. Unable to front the demonic faces — familial, self, collective, and ancestral baggage consanguinity — knocking one to their knees, left sorting through the rubble.
Anxious to get out of Dodge, make the mark of empirical standing — on the forefront of settling down to family dinners with great conversation and plans of another day. Time for buckling up and lacing another to boot — kicking one’s behind to knuckle grinding and blood draining day-to-day.
Brick by brick, mortar’s pestle grinding of herbal remedies whispered during the dreams, molding the clay — hand over hand with life’s wheels a-spinning. The littles entering the scene — inherited wisdom of the ages — foreign concepts, but truths felt deep within the heart of it all — these are the greatest of teachers.
Life’s uncertainties, twisted seduction of right and left further the extremes — leading us back the center of there is — all there was. The mainstream allurement of magic rectangles enticing algorithmic ads asking for our hands in marriage — leaving us empty inside, hollowed-out veins echoing deeper understandings of our existence.
Knowing and living out — as we came to be — trusting our guides, spiritual influence that remains unseen. Returning to the river banks of childlike percipient — alpha and the omega, always present are we — coursing through our veins.
Hollow bone, empty vessel — filling with marzipan sweetest of desires — choosing colors within our canvas, adopting ancient techniques of painting our days — coursing through our veins, love remains.
~Ani Po
Thank you J.D. Harms and the whole Scrittura family for housing these words and for teasing my brain with this prompt.
For more on this prompt, I was thoroughly mesmerized by Joe Luca and his response to this prompt.
