Thoughts of you A wounded prism Bleeding rainbow blood From skin the colour of acrylic Water upon water Wet upon wet (Random noise; My pseudo poetry, Commas and semicolons limping across the verses In a desolate frequency Like an empty road echoing; The silhouettes of silent wheels The smell of burnt rubber And the touch of gasoline) I long to stare at your face that stands stark against the sky A newborn moon; unblemished Rolling upon tethered horizons Like a dime in the dark
O how I ache to be in your arms now To be your ice and your fire Your utter despair and open desire I wish I could hold you Like ink in my paper palm Like an unformed word Like a fleeting thought I wish I could know how you see me Am I an anchor that keeps you calm Or wings that sets you free? I know I heal as an afterthought And you are careful in remembrance And although we have met few times These moments that pass This liquid life Is reshaped by our every touch For the fire that burns us feels the same Today, tomorrow, after an eternity again
I remember being Your dream When you were wide awake A flower trapped within sunshine And I know I am not destiny’s choice For my voice That dark tobacco of my baritone Is neither honey nor nectar And my eyes that reach out Through the veiled carcass of some velveteen night Belongs to shadow and to spectre But love Through the shards of slow time That ebbed our feet away for many days Now we walk With our two hearts disguised as one
I once had branches That burned in my backyard A pyre sans desire A fire drowned by its fire And at night In the dark When ghost grew like fruits From the shadow of its seeds From the ashes of its roots One could hear In the cast out whispers that they kept Broken words bandaged Pain yet un-wept And they said, they said In the black waves of bright flames We are faces without faces Nameless within our names And if night be a star in the ocean And infinity an eternal motion If silence be the words without sound And self a state never to be found Then the world with it’s weight held in a grain And poets with their pens dipped in pain The weathered visages with their vermillion words And the horizon a home for forgotten birds Is there to be seen, is there to be shown And not to be alone or utterly unknown
O the desire to be Loved by all And the ache of letting go When it is harder to fall Because of the world with it’s quiet words left to rot On transparent eyelashes Of eyes that dream, of eyes that dare Of eyes that hold, of eyes that care Should I wish upon myself an early demise Would the darkness in it’s view find it wise Why then sometimes I want to be The silence that shapes the sea Why then sometimes I want to be Someone whom none can see
Despair, beware I am a sky without cause My pain, insane Do not ache for applause Stare in the mirror O horror of my mind What you see is what you are Be gentle if not kind And whisper unto the wind These fables of your own For you are no Pietá But a statue turned to stone
If I could be free From the echoes of other people And be something more than A traffic light thought Winking in the dim halls of their tragic mind I would prefer being a butterfly Frozen in ice That way My beauty though long lost; euthanised, Will live still In regret That beautiful cancer Common to all men Drooling on sad lips of time Like honey gone bad; A tasteless parable for Once a good man now gone mad From the cold touch of metal people that I meet With their eyes upon my river back, my other face and feet With yellow leaves gathering In a dry rage to drown My steps towards the hilltop Within the noise of a dead town Asking me to surrender Asking me to still For being born amidst wrong angels To die right under heel
On nights like paraffin When shadows too burn I curl into concrete And cease to ache To be deeply awake Of all the things I am not As sought by those carvers Shaping my form into chess pieces, Dull black and off white; A crooked king, a broken queen and two quixotic knights To be kept alive and conquered Or cast into the unheard Age of borrowed sentiment A proud brick in a ruinous monument Should I now pray To whetstones Wet with sweat wounds of men Pierced alive With the worms of their own wisdom Or within the confines of my Diluted divinity Fall prey To the sinful delight Of being right And fall asleep With this winter as witness And awake when the dying dream Is truly dead And the sound of turning wheels No longer praise Destinations remembered along forgotten ways…
In this sudden stillness A final silence grows From beneath the dead branches Enveloping ants and Angels alike
The dry mist of purpose That once haunted men Now haunts their monuments The mindless mortar Made and remade For each thought And every contour Which seeks in itself The forever form That everlasting aspiration Of becoming a being
But the Promethean promises Are but promises Just as the silhouette stems from the shape So does the shape is rooted in the silhouette Like a circle trapped Within its own circumference Sans a seen beginning Sans any unseen end
There is a witness For every arrival Till no one arrives anymore And then the fishes are left alone in the desert To drown in the mirage of memories The breathing carcass Reminiscent of living In an abandoned womb Never to awake Never to walk Like ages unspent Upon the faces of the rock
I believe the night to be beautiful And polite in its quiet understanding Of letting people be Alone with their monsters That others would never see For the dark cannot differ Between the shape and its shadow Nor cast colours by their causes Or ask more of friend and less of foe To night all belong Both the dreamer and its dreams The silence of frozen lakes And the songs of eternal streams But here in the deep Within the halls of man’s own mind The dark reigns ever awake In hope to one day find The answer all eyes seek Yet doubt to ever know; If the soul is but a seed That once then shall never grow…
I saw my children standing in the rain Their faces lined with age and late reason Watched the abandoned bicycles And broken seesaws Being pulled down by the weight of raindrops Their hands, long and thin, like dead seaweed in the summer wind Their legs green and gold, like new leaves suddenly old Seemed painted In the moist color of quiet The abandoned delight Having dissolved In the lament of the rain They turn; the motion a sad song An unfinished lullaby To look at me with eyes Half awake but never asleep As if I with my window earned wisdom Would know Why all things grow Only to die If life in the very virtue of living Is a lie But they know the answer As well as me It is better to forget than to believe what we see In the everyday aftermath Of the daily demise Of choices left to chances And promises made before goodbyes For in the end all paths Shall return where they began Even the oceans with all their eternity Are but remains of the rain…
All I can think about is dust and dusk And drowning in a shattered sea Made of glass Like a photograph of a falling man Who is never truly falling But eternally trapped With a suspended scream In an endless dream Like a dreamless wraith; Weightless and wordless As an orphan in death
But sometimes the night is too strong for me to sleep And the dreams I have are too dark for me to keep So I become a cobweb on the far wall Or a three pin plug lost in a socket Some crumpled paper on the floor Or a faded face in an old heart shaped locket A catharsis of cause Building prisons to be free An empty ship sailing An emptier sea
Where there is fog in the air And yet I stare Like a blind man blinking Without thinking at the sky Wondering in my own vacuum About the mute purpose of ‘Why’ With voices at the edge of my vision And footsteps at the back of my mind I am dreaming of being asleep And afraid of losing what I cannot find
Thus, in this black and white world In this sharp and smooth world In this loud and quiet world In this bitter and sweet world In this dull and fragrant world I shall remain awake Till a different tomorrow
Let me go And I shall be Something akin To a memory My flesh it burns My bones they weigh The nights are tough And it’s hard these days For my soul it wanes Like wax neath flame And I know the pain To always feel the same Thus there is no way Where I can sow A seed of pearl For a sea to grow So I shall pass Through the veil of sand Alone with eternity Hand in hand…
Death, do not cry I know; you are no one’s friend But that does not make you; a foe Like all who have been and are being swept away Like a clove leaf upon a current You too are destined by design To sow and grow; sorrow That abandoned thistle tree Which all passes and pretends not to see
Death, do not cry When your choices go wrong There are so many voices asking To add another verse to their swan song But you know as do I That music is sweet only for so long And it starts with no cymbals and shall end with no gong
Death, do not cry People do care about you a lot You may not always be the fountainhead But you are almost always an afterthought And we may not think of you as we breathe Or when we play the games of Holy Land But we do rehearse our union every night Though not all of us understand
Death, do not cry We shall meet for once and forever But before that I must ask an honest, humble favor: Of all the places for us to meet And greet, if you could visit me when I am fast asleep Then there shall be nothing for me to weep As I skip; the curtain call of my every emotion And be like a nameless raindrop falling into an aimless ocean
