Incongruence is

21 06 2011

Gout of the soul

jagged little crystals rubbing raw with every false deed

Life without cartilage

self grinding on self until the edges of desire are worn smooth

 

Compassion is a death

 

I think of the white dog turned jet-black

shamed by cowardice, he gained renown for his sacred suicides

 

When you have nothing to live for,

die for others?

 

What if I have something to live for

but I kill it every day

kill it even now as I glory in verdant zeal of blooming garden?

 

When you hit rock bottom there is freedom to start anew

as masks are ripped from grasping hands

 

But if you languish in the middle?

 

The phoenix rises from the ashes

not the charred

not the singed

 

Where there is fear there is desire

but fear is immediate

and valor yet so very far away

 

So I reach for the rose

caress its silken petals

and hope that life, like water, is passed on by osmosis

 

and in case you read this and wonder, Michael, yes this was inspired by your post on congruence earlier today.

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