Stoned Illusion

~Time is but a phantom, blowing over and around us as we change.
We morph and trod on in our lives, often unaware at times.
Yet it moves on, without our permission, regardless of our resistance.
Consistent in what it is, itself, a thing, a concept in our minds.
Existing like a thread with no end...an inflexible being.
Never changing, quietly, always there~

©3/29/11 by Danya Mosgofian

Why Wait?

I've decided, at least for right now, come tomorrow it may change, that I am no longer going to wait.
I'm moving on, building out.

I've sown seeds, tilled the soil and watered the spirits and still...not. 

I've donated blood, given pieces of my heart, sides of my flesh. 

Yet somehow enough, is not.

Am I doing it wrong?  

Giving too much?  

Or not enough?

Maybe not right.  Maybe not now.

How much is left and will any remain?  

So, I'm not going to wait anymore. 

I will mend, sew, puzzle and plot.

I will break and repair, sift and create.

Sort and sort and sort until I have built a mountain so high I cannot see the other side.

From thin air and dust, I will make. 

And on breath baited, I will not wait.  

There is room, there is space.  I am open, in a sense.
But it's not for sale, not anymore.

I will tonight, try and keep up this fight.

But come tomorrow, don't be sore, I may change my mind.
That's just the way the wind moves in and blows things around.

©4/30/11 Photo and words by Danya Mosgofian

Pobresito

Played played played like a fucking fiddle.
Strummed and plucked in a childish riddle.
Bouncing, jumping like a foolish lover,
I bob and weave like a mouse, ducking for cover.
I dance to myself, because there is no other.
Safe and hidden, like a moth stuck on hover.


©3/2/11 by Danya Mosgofian