Existential Friends … R.I.P. Jesse Howard Lash Masterson 1/7/16

Existential Friends, Jesse Masterson, the talking district, gj padilla, photography, death, grief, friendship, poetryIn the midst of chaos
enclosed circles
beckon the chrysalis
to divulge not
the true nature
of her slumber

Tumbling weeds, dirt pile
into wind-stormed perfection
random in style, erupting
through-out desert lands
about every other mile

And whilst I launder emotions
in the bluest of sea’s grandeur
guttural pleas of seagull’s angst
indistinctly comfort me

Sunrise petitions me
daily, in the morning
to rise to the occasion
of MY life

And should my life
be not the one
sought after by me
perhaps by sunset
I might reconsider…that

…that which is dull
occasionally emanates glamour
what swirls and engulfs
can set you free
what promises freedom
might wilt the soul

No, edges of the universe
customs, nor pedigree
can substantially, adequately
or, even vaguely define me

Truly, I am alive
when I honor breath
allowing it to slur melodies
encircling chaos into a trance
of harmonized dialogue
between destiny and chance

Communing later
at the table
of broken bread
and borrowed wine
narrowed eyes
judge not
clasped hands
nor the direction
of thine grace

Rather,
a voracious
reciprocal love
out-pours into souls
filled with passion,
silliness, and chatter

Relinquishing false faculties
suited only to fleeting moments
of illusionary individuality
for at the end of the day
not much can distinguish
you, from I

The day shall come
when some…one
will be entitled
as one who has died
fret it not
as a sign of the end
’tis merely a moment
a transitional breath
between existential friends

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