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	Bron Dayvid
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Bron Dayvid, 2 grudnia 2013

She Wonders

I wonder if she thinks about me
A selfish thought indeed

As if I was ever that important
As if I didn't wish I still was
But the mind forgets what the heart obscures
And we have lost more than touch

Time - my wonderful companion has become a mortal enemy

I wonder if she still thinks about me
A selfish thought indeed

Because I only think of her in moments like this
A fleeting feeling that can't be trusted
So infectious and corrupted

I wonder if she still thinks about me

In the morning or before she rests her head
I wonder if I cross her mind even though another may lie in her bed

I don't dream about her
But I slip sometimes and my mind runs
The thing I desire has no reality parallel to this one's

But again
I do not dream about her
Though I am in a dream
I wonder if I'll wake
I wonder if she dreams

I wonder if she thinks about me
Maybe I should call
A number that is no more known then she
A 5 a 3 I can’t recall

I wonder if she still knows mine
I would answer if she did
I wouldn't know it was her but I'd hope it would be
And even if it wasn't I still would hope

That she thinks of me
At least once
Because sometimes I can't stop
And I know it's selfish because I know she never had a choice
Only mine only me

I wonder if she still thinks of me
And if so
I wonder if it's a positive thought
Or was I a mistake
Surely a thought I regret even thinking
But it is far too late

I wonder if she thinks of me
A little or a lot
I wonder if she knows sometimes I can't stop

Like this time
And the time long ago
And a few weeks before then
And another month or so even then
All the way to the last thought of her that I had

It's been awhile since then
Maybe I’m making progress
Maybe I haven't thought of her as much as I would like to think I do

I think I think too much

I wonder if she does too

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Bron Dayvid, 6 października 2013

Saturday Morning

It was a cool Saturday morning
The dew from the lawn seasoned the air
With a refreshing scent that floated on a gust of wind right into our open bedroom window

She kisses my chest and gives me new breath
Everything magnifies

The slight breeze becomes a magnificent whirlwind
That gently lifts and carries two souls off into eternity –
A perpetual state of free fall

Holding on to nothing but each other
The souls' eyes never part
Never glance forwards or backwards
Never losing the captivating captivity each has found in the other's gaze

She kisses my lips and the love persists
Everything magnifies

The sunlight tiptoeing through the blinds
Suddenly bursts into enormous flames engulfing all
Fermenting two hearts to dive into the pit of its fiery warmth
To let the sensation of the heat of the moment braze the two hearts into one

Inseparable intertwined
Indestructible enshrined
In this bed we lie

And then she asks
Why do you love me?

Hmm.

Why does the wind blow, brushing against your soft skin?
Why does the sun shine, illuminating and radiating your beauty?
Why does the earth spin, as two spirits dance and twirl in harmony?
And why does one "try" to love, when love is the universe?

So you see I love you……….period.

There is no one reason
Or one word or phrase
That can adequately express this more than what the universe has already provided

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Bron Dayvid, 9 września 2013

Love Again

I want to love again

I want to drift aimlessly in your warmth
I want to fall as a drunkard from the sweet taste of the elixir on your lips
I want to lay my head across your chest and count the beats of your heart until it synchronizes with mine
I want that never ending
Forever in the present
Forever in your presence
I want your fingers to submerge into the roots of my hair and dance from nap to nap to the rhythm of you
I want you to tell me you love me over and over even though I know but act as If I have Amnesia
Act as if I’m hard of hearing
I want you to act like nothing but your beautiful self
I want to wake up to your beautiful face next to mine
I want you to know you’re beautiful
I want you to hear it everyday
I want you to see it
I want you to feel it
I want you to feel me
I want you to want me
As bad as I want you
Then I want you to sleep
In hope that you might have the same dream that I have
The dream were we're still in love
The one where you still know I exist
The one where we still care
The dream I have every night
The same dream I wish you would have
Then maybe it could stop being a dream
And maybe I could stop being afraid to sleep
Because I dream about the dream but I dread when I awake without the dream girl
I don't want the dream
I just want the dream girl
I just want love again

I just want love

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Bron Dayvid, 12 lipca 2013

As Bad As It Seams

At the core of poverty lies a thick quilt of malice

Embroidered in greed
And fabricated promises
Stitched by the tailor and seamstress
Whose hands,
callused and bruised by years of depression ,oppression and
Intermediate progression, thwarted by "inadvertent" regression,

threads the very needle that severs their souls and punctures their spirits

It is Unbeknownst to the tailor and seamstress that the very quilt they sew, once completed, will wrap itself around their throats, deplete their life's earnings, and render them lifeless

The tailor and seamstress, broken, aged and afflicted with angst, will be said to have had self-inflicted wounds when they discover their bodies

Investigations will find no objecting evidence

Their families will mourn
Their bodies will be buried

But the quilt
The smothering life absorbing quilt
Will continue to be threaded ,stitched, and patched

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Bron Dayvid, 12 lipca 2013

ART

The greatest honor that any artist can receive for a piece of art is to have it render its spectators absolutely speechless

In doing so any artist has done one of two extremes

The artist has either created such a masterpiece that's its transcendent beauty and otherworldliness leaves even the most astute critic devoid of thought

The grandeur of this work of art is so intense that once observed
Its image is burned into the soul of viewer like a brand to an unsuspicious calf

"Genius!" they'll yell prematurely
And whatever other words they can find to calculate and depreciate the value of the art

Or the contrary

The artist could have created something so unworldly something so sullied something so appalling and mindless that the neat pompous critics simply brush it away as if not to get a spec of dirt on their lavish sports coats

Breathless as in not worth a single gasp of air
Speechless as if unworthy of diction

And yet this is still an honor for any artist

For in their ignorance in their incompetence is complete silence

The stillness necessary for true beauty to speak for itself

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Bron Dayvid, 6 marca 2013

10sion

1. How do you go about respecting a man who neglects to respect himself?

2. How do you begin to love a woman who has no knowledge of its existence?

3. How can you mend a broken heart with one that has already been shattered?

4. How can you find a smile in such a vile pit of matter?

5. How can one take life from self without taking self from life?

6. How can one be forgiven for sacrifice?

7. Why must the innocent be burdened with guilt?

8. What pleasure is there in bearing the malignancy of others?

9. Why do we continually destroy what again will be rebuilt?

10. Why do we surrender to suffer?

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Bron Dayvid, 7 stycznia 2013

A Letter to Anonymity

I shall call you anonymous.
For to summon the strength necessary for your name to pass my lips; requires a power far beyond my hardly humble existence.

Dear Anonymous:

Seems like eons since our eyes met
And ages since our mouths conducted stale symphonies
Words so translucent that as speakers we ourselves became transparent
Shallow as an empty shot of vodka leaving the throat rancid and molten
A burning sensation we so despairingly longed for
Neither of us could reject it nor could we even hesitate to refill our glass

Sometimes our voices clashed
Violently
Flailing hopelessly as if drowning in loneliness
Clinging desperately to the other’s words in a shameless attempt at staying afloat

Multiple times I let you drown
Only to be framed as your rescuer

Judas is thy savior

But In all fairness
We both were blind
By our naivety
By the lasciviousness that comes along with hormonal adolescence
And by haunting backgrounds that were much too tumultuous to properly prepare us for such an emotional and physical relationship

I could taste the vulnerability on your lips
I, with more guile then gullibility, was not deterred
But instead encouraged
To let my fantasies penetrate our innocence and run wild through our minds

I asked for your body and you gave me your being

You loved with what you could love
You touched with what you could touch
You gave everything you could give

I loved only what you gave to touch
I touched only what you gave to love
And I gave only what I thought you were worthy of getting

Selfish is a foolishly mislead understatement
But how can someone who only loves self be expected to be anything but

By no means is this an excuse
Only another variable in the equation
The irony being there was never any equality in us
A sad but honest reality
And to no one’s avail

Temporal happiness is all we could ever have hoped for
At such a young age love is mythological: fairy tales and misconceptions

In a way what we experienced was a kind of love; though unhealthy and vague
At one point we shared a mutual friendship that I admittedly couldn't handle at the time

Then, still struggling to develop into my own person I couldn't simultaneously come to terms with who I wanted and needed me to be and who you wanted and needed me to be.

So with patience worn as a peasant’s sole
And guilt mounting as with a sinner in the house of god

I gave up

On you
And our friendship

Instead of conducting more lackluster symphonies and rearranging those illuminating words that obscured and protected my soul
I abandoned you
Shipwrecked with no life boat

I wrote this letter not because I regret my decision I made but how I made it.
This by no means is attempt at rekindling an already desolate, and even back then faint, flame

The reality is I've never been more at peace with myself and with who I am
I've grown into my own; piecing myself together daily
Becoming more and more of the person I am destined to be.

But as my vision clears there are still memories that cloud my mind.

You never deserved the heartache or the disappointment
You expected much more out of me as a companion and once lover
And Sadly I didn't honor that

Even though my ears had grown deaf to our once beloved symphonies and my tongue became tasteless; immune to the feverish sensation of conversing
You still deserved an explanation or at least a good bye

And in writing this letter this is my farewell

My apology for not honoring your arrangements as co-conductor
For wrongfully accusing your brilliant hues for poison
For allowing my arrogance to persuade my sentiment
For destroying our world

Though I did it with flawed execution believe me I did it with the best intentions.
Better off we were.
Better off without.

Sincerely, Sorry

P.S.
I neither expect a response nor do I expect forgiveness
Only Closure

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Bron Dayvid, 12 października 2012

Beautiful Death

Beautiful Death
Thy name is autumn
Irrefutable Death
Reflect thy sovereign
Use hues to sooth those who mourn
Then ensue to be subdued to elude the storm

With death
Thou art soon reborn
Reformed
Adorned
But for now
Thou art worn

Angelic crystals cascade the skies
Covers thy blisters heals all eyes
Freezes the sadness
Lightens all sighs
A wintry madness
To which (f)all falls and dies

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Bron Dayvid, 23 maja 2012

A Cup of Optimism

In the morning we drink coffee
We drink coffee in the morning
Every morning
Routine
Every morning
Systematic
2 teaspoons of sugar to add a little zest
For a three hour drive to a job we detest
Is that it?

Every morning we drink coffee
We drink coffee every morning
Every morning
Fixed
Every morning
Engraved
Half a cup of cream to add a little color
2 cups at lunch and 2 more at supper
Enslaved

We drink coffee every morning
Every morning we drink coffee
Every morning
Every afternoon
Every night
We drink coffee

But we don't have to
We can change

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Bron Dayvid, 22 maja 2012

The Ride

Ride into The Night
Ride into The Plight
Stop for no victim
Stop for no light

Ride into The Pleasure
Ride into The Release
Rejoice in The Freedom
Until it’s revoked by the police

Ride until the sirens
Ride until the tyrants
Then Ride in cuffs
Head up
In silence

Ride into the station
Ride in amazement
For The Ride has just begun
The Ride to Salvation

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Najnowsze prace:

Poezja

She Wonders

Saturday Morning

Love Again

As Bad As It Seams

ART

10sion

A Letter to Anonymity

Beautiful Death

A Cup of Optimism

The Ride

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