Playing the Song of my Soul

Threading thoughts together. Living and observing life. Dissecting clarity through the shards. In the end of the days. Truth will be heard in the melody played by the eighth key.

[the8thkey]

The Torah scroll

Don't tell me that I'm close minded Boxed by scrolls that bound me Or seem to confine me Cuz they don't They find me And bind me And remind me of the who, the why, the where, and the way Of who I am today. To hell with the loves that don't last long, to break ups of relationships that were once strong. Or were they weak ones all along. I'm talking of a skin cut deep book. Of rhythms and rhymes. Of tales and times. Years down the line. Technology and psychology. Scientific terminology. Of stories and phases. Of tranquility and mazes. Of life of a nations emergence. Call this book ancient, call it old. But the tale that's been told Sits on shelves, but never dusts And it exists on today. Today I dance with the truth. So call it ancient, restricting, conflicting, expecting, infecting, neglecting, fraudulent, burdening and old. Truth to be told. I may not keep it all. It's order may be tall. Dancing with the scrolls in their garb Its soul untouched. The planted kiss shall not be missed For it is this. Its being that I love. So I dance. Steps of knowledge and wisdom and life that I know exist in these scrolls. That bind me. And one day in it I'll find me.

[the8thkey]

Your soles stepped on my soul Your minds eye blind Oh, it's no ones fault you know. It spiraled out of control; not the imprint on my heart not the smudgy smears The spiraling began before our feet hit the earth. We came from different planets Diverse worlds. Different realms A chain of events landed me here I can't blame you for the footprints Cuz our elements don't match We just have different vibes But I'm fine with that For it spiraled out of control Out of our control. But the master had full hold He knew what he was doing So we may have landed from different planets But we can take flight together on this earth. #fourworlds #sederhishtalshilus #elements

[the8thkey]

He sits there Garbed in black and white A yeshiva boy. Eyes fixed on the screen Headphones plugged in his ears Mesmerized Furrowed brow Creased forehead Intent concentration. Ordinary actions He sits there There in Starbucks His appearance seemingly Mismatched with the setting Or not? Is it we who decide?

[the8thkey]

They were daring ones The illustrators of coloring books. Marking limits Drawing lines Where to color in And where to stop.

They are heroic ones Those that have standards. Marking limits Drawing lines Where to stretch borders And where to stop.

[the8thkey]

The other day Your skin was cut by glass There was no panic attack You swished the oozing blood With a damp cloth The penetrating cut forgotten. Last eve the world darkened You slept calmly Unperturbed Not even glancing out the window To see if the light will return You contemplate and struggle With believing in G-d The creations HAD a creator But you prove that they HAVE The bleeding cut was no worry Bc GD created the body in a way That your body produces clots And you knew that following dusk Dawn will break through Bc GD wouldn't fail his cycle Though he can if he chooses to. So perhaps you believe. But you prevent yourself from believing that you do. That's your problem. Not GDs. because he exists, creates, and is incessantly recreating. And you are the proof.

[the8thkey]

Life is a Highway

I want to Say. From now on Change will unfold. You won't believe Me. One lie Makes you a liar. A cheater- just Needs one cheat. But it's my Life. I'm accountable For my words If so be it, I can Say. What I Wish. So I'm saying This rut sucks, But I'm not Lying. This hypocrisy Is tempting. But I'm not A cheater. Label me as You desire. I'm indifferent To your words. I'm telling you. From now On change IS Unfolding.

[the8thkey]

Someone plucked it's strings. It squeaked. Perhaps it mustered a cry. I felt it Working. Pumping. Functioning. Today I discovered my heart. And now my ears are perked in tune to hearing its call.

[the8thkey]

Why do hearts easily break? Seldom remain in tact Shards are sprawled Shattered remains Why are they scarcely whole? The fragile organ Needs a wrapping Where is the cushion to protect? Words, regrets Petty frets Why do they target the soul? The vitality of the body The surge of life Sliced with a knife By feeling and emotions Thoughts and commotions On the heart they take a toll So fragile and tender Perseveres what comes it's way Despite the fractures It holds with stature Faithfully serves its role Though it would be nice Before cutting a slice Or puncturing a hole To be cloaked in bubble wrap for the soul But I wonder Would it prevent plunder Or is this the beauty of the soul That it lives on despite not being whole?

[the8thkey]

Self--- Less?

Like gum that’s been chewed, stretched, and played, you watched on as my energies were maximized and frayed. Let’s be realistic with the doormat that all trample- a chariot, a robot, the “perfect” example. The fuel unbeknownst what is the source? That drives not deprived to keep alive at full force. So casual so smooth as a twitch continues dismissed. As the drone of routine, the habitual bedtime kiss. As a heart with no pump, a head with no mind. Treated as mechanics with gears that are blind. Stampeded and tread imprinted and dusted, marked with footprints, known to be trusted. The footmarks of many stamped in its wake. Some dusty, some muddy, from the foe and the buddy, all stopped by for a shake. To wear off their troubles, their rubble, and weight- for it was reliable to assist all in gait. Selfless or mindless, the masses had no care, for the mat at their feet or was it a sheet? Unaware what it was, but it was always there. There to coo the bruise, to wipe the dirt and the hurt. To run the errand, the favor , give its last shirt. Concealed to the onlookers, the users, and friends, the mind that seems blind, has knowledge that extends. Passed the feet of its passerby and the marks that they left. Far beyond the users and the parasitical thefts. Reaching in the heart and emotion far known. It wasn’t numb to it all but through it it had grown. Grown to be stronger, and feel each tip toe and intention. To understand each process, the methods and decision. Experienced in trades that were thrown in its midst. It’s eye wasn’t blind, it was fixed in its mind. And every night there was a bedtime kiss. Yes, it was never missed. But habit new of none of this. For each day it was planted, with new understanding, and strength, with lessons and feelings that new of great lengths.

[the8thkey]

They say we aren't just a number

When I was born, they exclaimed, "She's 5.2!" I weighed 5 pounds and 2 oz. Body temperature is 98.6*. My heart rate and my life breaths are gauged with numbers. 5 feet and 1/4 inch is my height. So I wonder am I just a number? I'm the second child in my family. To enroll in Harvard I need a 2400 SAT score. My GPA determines my job. IQ is composed of numbers. Statistics show that the larger amount of numbers you amass in cash the wealthier you are. At the clinic my entire being was marked as a percentage amongst millions of others of beings contracted into pen dots. They wonder why I'm bother by numbers. Why numbers shatter me at times. They claim we differ from the Holocaust. We don't have numbers tattooed on our arms. We are worse. We have numbers tattooed in our mind. •••••• So I wonder, are we really numbers or do we categorize ourselves that way? I can't think. I'm seeing too many numbers.

[the8thkey]

The children played The mud went round Their trousers soiled The mothers frowned But amongst the mothers There was one that did grin For her child was spotless From foot to chin A mature boy The townsmen did whisper Oh what a bright child A fledgling mister He drew in the lines When his peers weren't able He ran errands, beat records Adult was his label His age overlooked His talents expectation No one acknowledged his age For it had no identification The boy was mature He perceived and understood His altruistic heart Helped when it could But when his peers got all muddy And the boy did too He didn't think twice For that's what boys his age do His teacher, his parents, And his mates stared in dismay For how can a boy of such caliber Lightheartedly play The mud was for regulars Of his age but not he He was more mature Obligated to act perfectly The boy held in For the rest of his years His youth and his childhood His yearning to be like his peers He knew that no slipping Was ever allowed He had to meet the measure Or get hurt from the crowd

[the8thkey]

If I am I Because I am I and You are You because you are you – Then I am I and you are you . But if I am I Cause you are you and You are you because I am I then I am not I and you are not you

[the8thkey]

Is it possible to hamper natures course of action. Can the ways of the world meander, an alternate refraction? Or are we destined to live by as memory will amass. As swiftly as time flutters by do memories have to pass? I bear a hole of emptiness, now it's been a year. Oh dear loving Bubby, why are you no longer here. My heart has been punctured and raw flesh has been showing, what I fear that as time goes, the skin is now regrowing. I laughed with you and lived with you, admired the path you took. I created mental files, which I follow and relook. I adore your brilliance, and the genuineness you possess. Your keen and sharp eye, bringing out are best. I live with you each day, and the example you did impart. You have a pedestal Bubby dear, your forever in my heart. I think of you each day, and picture your shining face. I wish and yearn to have one more turn, to bask in your warm embrace. The life we shared together, why does it have to fray. Bubby, I miss you, why were you taken away? Your presence does linger, but I'm scared of life's fate. Will the life we lived together, will the memories dissipate? I want to hear your loving voice, on the daily calls you paid. The image I conjure in my mind, I don't want it to fade. I fear that life's course will take a toll. How will I tell the future and Bubby's ways extol? I want the raw flesh the vivid reality to be. I want you my dear Bubby, a resplendent part of me. •••••• Bubby, it will be. I'll perpetuate your legacy.

[the8thkey]

One has to be great in order to be humble

-- my thoughts inspired by Mrs. L

[the8thkey]

Not all that glitters is gold

Is it true that fences are built to protect when all that is felt is a disconnect? Can limits be made and separations longer, can it be the relationship is growing stronger? Are the bounds and the limits there to achieve a healthy relationship without any grief. What’s the deal with the constraint and confines when contact is marked off with invisible lines? Is it true that the eye can be filled with deceit? The publicized relations are often a cheat? Why is it what’s cherished can’t always be your way? When you want it to linger and not divert astray? At the peak of time when you want it right here, it seems out of reach vanished into thin air. Why are the fences strong why do they conceal? If no one validates and witnesses can the relation be real? I want all to see the relation I’ve built. On strong firm grounds that never will wilt. But the fence does obscure all I did procure and despite the restrictions curiosity does stir. But if it is all just for the show what did you create? A relationship that’ll crumble when the observers dissipate. The fences serve screaming your place that every person needs their individual space. A friendship of friends can shimmer and glisten but a meaningful friend always there to listen. Isn’t contingent on what’s revealed to the eye, it can be unbeknownst to the passerby. Watered with respect and tended with care, grown subtly, but the firm seeds are there. Why put up for sale what you toiled to build. Don’t be fooled by the deceiving guild. Don’t pawn your relationship that’s gold and true for monetary things of fraudulent value. Remember the tale that’s constantly told not all that glitters is always gold. So if yours doesn’t glitter, don’t be a quitter. Because not all that glitters is gold. So check, you might be the rich one.

[the8thkey]

When life spits; are you in the pits?

Where parallel lines meet And the dead are alive Silence is noise Instability, poise Shallow water - dive Heat emanates a chill Red and yellow make blue Together, solo Friend or foe Have your priorities gone askew?

[wnq-writers]

My scars won’t fade and I can’t tell if they’re evidence of healing or just painful reminders of regret.