Balance

A clap of sound and my pride is hurt,
the shadows hush me,
the voices rush me.
But just so far I have held my ground.

Rage threatens and swells like an ocean
‘neath stormy skies
and whispered lies-
The hollow vessel of insecurity teeters.

Nothing is lost and nothing is gained,
so long as wisdom is maintained.
Though distant fish may find it strange
that the vessel tossed
was not o’erturned-
this very fact may knot their brains.

But another day will bring another wave,
and soon enough
their tides turn rough-
and they too shall have had their turn.

displeasure

The whole world will be bit and swallowed whole by a monstrous anger that shall be birthed by the severe intensity of unhappy minds echoing moans of displeasure and cries of atrocities into the far reaches of all matter that governs reality.

And then reality will warp; and it will bend; and it will split as only a crack, a silent slit that will usher in all the monsters of unreality. As noiselessly as possible. And then it will come, quick as a flood and gulp down all that was deemed precious, leaving not even the root of all preciousness – existence – to remain.

And then matter and reality would have finished all and vanished- into this monstrous unreality, fashioned from whatever it is that is un-matter. And all shall exist by not existing. And seeing that its somehow-defined, solitary purpose is fulfilled, it shall be a monster no longer; for there will remain nothing for it to be a monster to. It will be the one instance of unreality present in reality- that has consumed all reality, leaving thus a state that is neither reality nor unreality. Simply an absence of reality; within reality.

It is not a void, but it may considered as such for the matter of explanation. Though, explanation in this state is simply an echo, a hollow noise flitting through all that is naught, simply as rhythmic as a butterfly’s flutter.

So be it.

If the world will go on,
then so be it.
If the rivers, will flow on,
then so be it.
If I’m expected to move along
then so be it.

What is the point in spending time,
in spending all your time
trying to spin the tops the other way.
What is the point
in spending all this time
trying to make it your own way,
when despite all time spent and given
its only going to end the same.

If the skies will remain forever blue,
then so be it.
If people will march in listless queues
then so be it.
If the drowning of life will continue
then so be it.

All lanes lead to a desolate place,
the streets are lined with beauty and trees.
But the crawl will continue
to an empty place.
There is a place more empty.
And even there, what is
shall be as it will.

sleepy slow slope

Slow motion commotion of the
hustle and bustle on the street.
So many people, so many people
and so much evil beneath.

We won’t sleep tonight,
Oh we can’t shut our eyes
to the evil beyond the
sleepy slow slope ahead.
The sleepy slow slope ahead,
It won’t let us
rest still in our beds.

We’ll sleep our dreams away
pack them tight in a suitcase,
and wait for the day, we can
throw them away, because
we don’t know how far we’ll get,
because, we don’t know how far
this life will let us get.

Yet we don’t want this to end,
Life and death are our friends.
Hoping for a heaven and hoping
it will send us hope;
hoping it will lend us rope;
because, we don’t want this to end,
Life and death are our friends.

Oceanic

Immense swelling solitude,
Crashing down in fine spray.

Intense loneliness  in a place
Never desolate.

The spirit of desolation rises
Like the warm sea breeze.

It has other places to numb.

fairytale wind

A distant wind came down to whisper
fairy-tales
of distant lands and pretty places
beyond these empty spaces
where the sky is bluer than ever before
and the grass is greener on both sides.

And a sun with a smiling face was up
the other day
looking down at the world still asleep
he said sheepishly:

Count them as you are, and count them in your sleep
the world is greater than you ever thought before
you could build tall walls and buildings as high as the sky
but you will never see it all.

The moon got drunk in company
of the sea
And in his wholesome stupor he fell
down into the crowded town.
And hands came up to keep him up
from down below
holding him above their heads
waiting for him to glow
again.

And drunk as a lab-monkey
he slurred enlightendly:

Count them as you are, and count them in your sleep
the world is greater than you ever thought before
you could build tall walls and buildings as high as the sky
but you will never see it all.

The imminent fall

The cliff’s edge comes faster than expected.
Ascension turns to rapid descent
and the cliff becomes a distant dream
once the precipice is over-stepped.

It doesn’t take long to realise,
falling is like flying,
when you close your eyes.
And it doesn’t take long to realise,
not every wing in the sky
can keep you from your demise.

The waning folk will mourn the loss
of the lost soul so morose
that he could not save himself
from Himself.

But their chariots too, will arrive,
and allow them aboard while still alive,
and drive them to their mountaintop.
But, at its peak it shall not stop;
and off the edge they too shall drop.

And it won’t take long to realise
falling is like flying
if you close your eyes.
And it won’t take long to realise
the way down
is paved with lies.

something about death

Open windows line the walls
of this place I have to leave.
Blue skies will show them all
nothing’s ever more-
than a passing cloud,
dry leaves on a stream,
and we’re all just part of
one big dream.

Early morning, sunny sky;
We’re all just meant to die.
And we’ll say our goodbyes
before the bright sky sets to night.

Laughter from afar
as someone is ripped apart
by a steaming locomotive
or peer-posed incentive.
And the embers in a pipe
like scarlet tail-lights
will burn on through the night
till the bed springs heave.

Early morning, sunny sky;
We’re all just meant to die.
And we’ll say our goodbyes
before the bright sky sets to night.

But once the morning disappears
the candle smoke will despair
and we’ll all lie still
and so will our cares
and we’ll all lie still
and so will our heads
because we’ll be dead. Oh
We’ll be dead.
Some day.

Flicker

Pink circles drawn across the surface.
They glide along the lines
they vaguely abide by in sliding
down to the very end.

There is more spirit than action,
there is more calm than sorrow.
But there is little knowledge
on the shadows of tomorrow.

When the flame will dance and
when it will die, is not to be known;
the candle is alone.

The room is dark, and the room
is strange. Its workings wander beyond
such flames as the candle will
breathe. And it will only know
so much as it bathes in its glow.

When it ceases, it will. What changes,
and what instigates this will not
be seen in the receding illumination.
The light will die, and the smoke
will celebrate.

Phantom

Who is that man-
Silent he stands, still against
the corner of the room directly
before me. His dark coat
swallowed whole by the shadows
that dance in festive spirit,
gliding to congregation, from all
four walls, to that occupied corner.

His pale face alone shone bright.
Such a sickly countenance: so vilely
framed by a slick and slender hint
of mane- silver slivers drawn back
So neatly; in such absurd order.
So still is he, like a
stiff chalk sculpture of a corpse;
whose hands I do not spy.
But, who’s eyes
are strained upon me, seeing me
as if I were not to be seen,
and they were the only ones
to know it.

He watches me.  As I draw this
blade to my wrist, he watches me.
Eagerness in the twinkling of
his eyes, and I can see him
wet his lips even as he remains still.
Even as his lips begin
to stretch into a grin, drawing a line
across his face, like a phantom cut
on a bloodless ghost- I have already
seen his appetite.

I realise his patience. I know
why he waits now. I shall
quench him.