Astrological

1+6=7
7 is God.
16 is Hell.
I'm on fire.  
Extinguishing the pyre.
With a name, 5,  
Freedom of self.
 
Escape reality.  
Take on, duality.
Achieve the manor,
Of wisdom and filth.
A snake in your garden.
Truths that harden,
A heart of energy.
A world that was built.
 
Always on fire.
Out of the ashes.  
Higher and higher.
No cycle can break me.
I'm out of this world.
Life's a satire.
Too much work, and no hires.
Too much weight on my shoulders,
Just for a girl.
 
My moods keep on cycling.  
Melancholy; deciphering.  
Am I just here to make you smile?
Just a joke; I'm inviting.
No bad karma I'm denying.
Just riding the wave,
Of a tilt-a-whirl.
 
Alone at the top.
Horns to stab those who loft.
Fins to swim to my sanctuary.  
Inside a gift shop.
That I have to mop.
Because God gave too much props,
To Mother Mary.
 
Another Pan in the Face.
Those who don't undertake.
Those who laugh at what they don't understand.  
Are on their knees,  
Begging me for eternity.
I'm the God,
Reaching towards their hand.  
 
 

What is to give light must endure burning.  
~ Victor Frankl  
   
Poems like this are thought dangerous  
born of blood, bone  
 and scorched-feathers  
 of smoldering ash    
   stirring the heat  
   striking the sweat    
before spreading wings  
to ascend    
   
Dig up an underworld  
  of hidden truth  
  beneath the rock of its heart  
because poems    
like this are thought dangerous  
their eyes turning    
  to the sun  
surrendering    
  earthen words    
weathered by war  
  following the flight-path  
  of birds  
   
There is a poisonous telson  
attached to our body  
  howling  
  for release  
because poems  
like this are thought dangerous    
born of a deep-water womb  
  they did not create    
but chose nonetheless    
   
Cinder and ocean-drops  
glisten together  
  upon a hard-shelled back  
a shatter of a soul thought dangerous  
  crawling into the dessert    
meeting the cactus  
whose sting burns    
  as its own    
but petaled bloom  
  submits to the sun    
   
We are the in-between  
neither cardinal nor mutable    
  but fixed passion and desire  
an arachnid life  
destined for the pyre  
   
You may think  
a Poem like this is dangerous  
when the only true taste  
of freedom    
is to fearlessly walk    
through a probing portal  
 of burning flesh to reincarnate  
   a phoenix    
   
but any bloom  
will turn back its face  
          only once    
to confirm  
   
No. . .it's truth  
   
before being burned    
at its own stake by the sun  
  reincarnating from a seed  
  it birthed