7300
“Pompeii”
have your face, face mine and kiss your lips that are so luscious and divine, caress your hair with my hands and stroke it very, very gently, staring into your eyes that are as deep as a void but within that void there is something sweet, lovely, wanting that I will find and invade and capture the essence of you from now till the sun goes nova.
By: Naz’e part
What is this? Are you smitten by what you know of me?
Does the thought create emotions smoldering
under your Pompeii,
your marriage,
the external hardening of a man?
I am not the Queen of your molten core,
although I may have jack-hammered my way
through the crust
and found that your depth
is greater than the height
of this Volcano.
I am she who calls forth a man's heat,
his nasty fire,
his barren earth burnt,
and attempts to nurture in his dust,
define his roots,
and show him how to grow his own seeds.
By: Nia7hicks
I know what is this…
The path to the future,
the tree growing by the river.
You are that river, but it seems that you are in fear of what is going on here.
But I don’t fear I’ll embrace as we embrace our children when they have done something great.
I know more that what I lead of you to believe and one thing that I know is that there is the running to and running from each other because of the emotions that have shown up on the rioter scale. The earthquake that resides in both of us the rumbling of the earth that happened before Pompeii.
By: Naz’e
The tree,
deeply entwined in a shared heritage
divided by oceans
and gathering on carrribean inlets,
where my mind only vacation
and the sway of the language creates it's own melody,
like the rings in the trunk,
aged beauty covered in brown
and salted by time.
Am I the river Styx,
the path to rebirth,
death into the ethereal
like the fog that lilts and hugs my edges?
or am I the Nile,
that seemingly backwards flowing
definition of an ancient culture,
annually celebrating the gift of overflow
and the pleasure in my drought?
Or am I just a creek,
a trickling a new path
through wetlands with the security of a muskrat,
cleansing my own steps
trenched in mud,
caked memories dried to a ton
simply being chiseled off?
Who am I?
By: Nia7Hicks
You are that of the as the seven world wonders, loud with beauty like thunder, bright as the flash of lighting, and though those elements of the Earth can seem frightening; I’ll continue to embrace the something that you have that I have tired to chase.
I will not be the fog that you’ll have to cut through to see the path, I will not be little boy filled with ignorance that laughs at another misfortune, I will not be the killer entangled vines that exists in Brazil’s monsoons.
I will be the one that will comfort you and yet you know that my voice, my words and my eyes do not lie, I feel that there is a part of you that is as the fire and the dust of that Volcano that killed so, so many long ago.
Trickling thoughts that do invade of the memory of Pompeii.
By: Naz’e
Oh, will you?
Your defiance gathers around your feet
like a trail of dust settling
after a wild horse’s run.
I am no more monumental
that the breadth of your thoughts,
the essence of your creativity
collectively pooled on the page
blaspheming the sacraments
worse than the DaVinci Code.
Pompeii remains as statues
in silt, layers of ash dying left and right,
preserving what was perfection,
discovered in the rubble
of what used to be.
I am more than the molten core
of many disappointed suitors
and disenchanted lovers.
My veins bleed lava’s thickness
as if they were spewing fire,
and I don’t feel the burn.
I am that twisted ness,
the golden fleece hung on that jagged branch,
the shiny warmth beyond your comfort zone
that begs you to burn in it’s pursuit.
By: Nia7Hicks
By those words they sound as war but not of the war that mankind cause, but the war of the struggles of your emotion, of your devotion, of all that you say that you are and all that you say that you are not.
It is as if you are saying that you are a vampire but as you know vampires do not exists.
It is as if you are saying that that Moses did not part of the Red Seas but indeed he did.
So by what manner can you claim these words that you are gold but you are not.
The Ashes of Pompeii reminds us that perfection was there but in life is there really perfection? It is but a mere trick of the eye as magician plays tricks with the mind.
The sun gives light because of its purpose of function.
You are love and passion but are wreaked
because of the pasts dysfunction.
Be wreaked no more,
be weakened no more,
be dysfunctional no more,
and live and give life in the manner that I know that you can.
By: Naz’e
I am all that fascinates you,
distant and seemingly mystical
when my only powers come from grand expression,
softness screaming beyond the collected mess I've trekked through,
my queen Dom where u stand at the edge
as a spectator,
weighing the value of your invitation like a warrior atop a speeding horse, the course remains but your actions determine speed and accuracy.
You can no more birth my beginnings
and endings than a child at play,
the world is created and dissipates in her mind;
make-believe isn't real,
no matter how elaborate the set.
Help me mend my arbor,
prune the ugliness until only
royal beauty is left,
water me with more than your
sweat and tears and watch me grow.
Nia7Hicks
And grow you shall like the flower that you are…
Burning brightly is your petals as if you were in
the heavens as a star.
I will not prune you or clip any part of you but
feed you and sustain you to see your stems grow.
And as it is said in the good book of God you are
my help meat but in this moment, this case it is I who has to be the help meat to have you placed firmly on your feet.
Man does not claim to conquer, we just conquer
and I will conquer and kill all the demons that are causing you so much pain, so much distastefulness
of life.
This is not us playing make-believe we must just believe as I again stare at such a lovely face that
has me cool and calm as the season of winter begins.
By: Naz’e
August 07, 2006, 7:32:46 PM
