Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow
to survive
one must be
what one isn’t
at moments longer
than what one is
to exist
one mustn’t do anything
but exist
to live
one must be
whom one is
and sustain balance
through sacrifice
to survive
and not merely
exist
Intention,
is the Master
those words
their intention
holds me
suspended
those words
though unintended
leave me
defenseless
those words
peak attendance
peak antennas
peak intentions
spree incentives
speed agendas
free, relentless
speaks peace
leaves me senseless
those words
leak from spirit
leap to fearless
link the mirror
henceforth, I see the clearest
those words
a strong stance
a soul’s dance
a long trance
a romance
this place
is NOT
big enough for us both
animal inclinations on autopilot
bearing my claws
hissing my disapproval
swiping at you for good measure
this is where I draw the line!
…
and then you move me out of your way
with your will,
coupled by your two hands
placing me down soft enough for my ego
to withstand the removal and new landing place
then walk beyond the line in the sand
unimpeded
and I ponder
what can I ever stand for
if I can be so easily, moved out of the way
I think my fight has become more of
instinct and principle
because by myself
I’m not strong enough to stop anything
and anyone
by myself
at least not in this state of being
from myths-
to a mystic
to lips-
which uplift us
spoken visions-
that shift us
to balance scales-
we drifted
uniting us-
we remember
we’ll all return-
to sender
no matter race
or gender
no matter ways
we differ
no matter age
or vigor
the spirit is
elixir
if I
contemplated
what I am
than expressed
how I am
could you see past
where I am
and believe in
who I am
well…
when will that be?
because I’ve been waiting
for you to grow the ability
to accept me
for me
but if you can’t get away from
your mirror
how will you ever
be comfortable
looking into mine?
fire of my fire
passion of my passion
purpose of my purpose
could you see me in my turmoil
and still be loyal
so we can both,
rise as royals
like hydrated roots beneath the soil
even if we mix like water and oils
and be called, to our calling
as Roses because we
rose rise and have arisen
from a state of suspension?
so what will it take
for me to get you to listen
to my version of pulp fiction
and see in me,
esoterically
what has been hidden
because I too,
want what you’ve been missing
and I am…
nah, never mind, forget it