Wind on the shore, just a hiss, nothing more.
Often hard to hear, naught but the roar.
Not my thoughts, nor heartbeat,
Just the wind and nothing more.
Seems this silence, a tempered peace, nothing more,
A break from turmoil, the rarest treat.
Settled thoughts, welcomed bore,
A tempered mind and nothing more.
To be sure,
The only thing separating man from beast is the delusion of grandeur.
The difference is not a delusion,
But the delusion is the difference.
I watch the sunset,
This time that blazing ball will burn,
The suspect blue speck that is the origin of tomorrow's pandemic.
Self spun nightmare,
Neverending fight there,
Never thought I might scare
Myself some days.
Thought I had it all down,
Wrapped up, tightly wound,
How could I be unfound
In this dreadful maze?
Brought to a boil,
Chaotic vapors churn beneath.
Haunting the edge of vision,
Shifting silently along the soil.
Demons of dark,
Poisoned blade hidden by the sheath.
Drawn for the first incision,
Sadistic surgeon eventually makes his mark.
Dirge of the sane,
Mantra for those touched in the head.
I dance to a tune seldom heard,
For you may never know the refrain.
Broke in the brain,
Society remains misled.
I can cover the absurd,
So am allowed to go with the grain.
The merry sounds are all around,
Grab a cup, to the brim if you will,
Cheery greetings of new friends found.
And let your ears drink their fill.
The mind is lost to fetching measure,
Marvelous melody born from skill,
I find it is the simple pleasure,
That draws me to night's thrill.
The dreamers dream of better days,
Of better ways, days spent in daze.
Wacky worlds of perfect pitch,
Each moment rich, without a hitch.
The whirlwind of life around
Cannot compete the mind unbound.
Time spent inside insanity
May feel more real than memory.
Soon dreamers dream the day away,
And dream a way to stay away,
To next adventure through the haze.
Lost in a glaze of phony days.
I know this little puppy,
Or maybe he’s a guppy,
As he likes to take to water,
Like rav’nous rats a larder.
I am compelled to mention,
While he seems to seek attention,
Could not he be aware,
How his actions help him fair?
Does he bury furry friends,
So they don’t obstruct his end?
Is a pat on the head that needed?
Or is causality unheeded?
As this bastard of a fish and mutt,
Is capable of kindness but,
Only when it drowns those near,
Of shadowing his own career.
Rainy day, I want to play.
What to do with a rusted shovel?
Summer rain won't be a bane,
Run around with the trusted shovel.
Splish-Splash, muddy puddle,
Displaced worms squirm on the ground.
Rip-Slash, bloody middle,
Your precious organs spread all around.
Life's a cheer with the voices here.
Lots of fun with now dusted Shovel.
Rain overhead, clears away the dead,
Soon forgotten, encrusted shovel...
Run! to dodge the rain drops.
Quick! before the rain stops.
You can't catch me,
In a battle of words, choice less.
The plague of silence is worse than violence,
But yet I cannot voice this.
I must be seriously delirious with the fervor of fever,
'Cause whimsical words play on my mind like some ludicrous lever.
Creating cracks that become chasms
That shake me,
Deep beneath the seething sea,
Before you, before me,
A war is fought so far from shore,
For life, for existence, wholeheartedly.
Each creature fights in its own way,
With speed, or numbers, predator or prey,
They fight so hard through day and night,
To survive, to prosper, to stay.
But what is it worth?
Time watches with mirth,
As they leave there mark in defiance.
So each niche is found,
The variety unbound,
A war of grand alliance.
Sometimes seen as not quite right
Too much fun with fire
Take a breath
Is your mind ready
Try not to botch the title
Life’s end is ready
Hold your breath until you're blue,
The sun keeps burning,
Towards the night when it's burnt out.
It won't matter what you do,
The world keeps turning,
Towards the day it has spun out.
Makes me wonder through and through,
And I keep yearning,
Towards a time when I don't doubt.
I've got this.
I need nothing. no help, no shove,
In any direction.
Relax. the beast below has a weak grasp,
On the strong of heart.
I step off.
The ledge leaves me. lost nerve, lost sight,
Of all planned action.
Relax. the wind whips by, then at last,
I spread my wings apart.
It always seems my darkest dreams are wrought by day sun brought.
Rarely is reality an ample theme of thought.
I tend to lend a hue of humor horror and confusion,
To each insipid incident improved by my delusion.
Few can follow in the furrow forged by winding mind.
From time to time I try to track it and end up left behind.
So tangled is my train of thought, I come across as crazy,
I could explain each chain of thought, but really I'm just Lazy.
The night of the fight,
Mind closed to the sights,
I dread counting lights.
Before the first round,
Ears closed to all sound,
Soon violence unbound.
Nerves make me shiver,
Heart starts to quiver,
Win by a sliver?
Start off like a shot,
Lungs burn icy hot,
Give all that I got.
With fire in the veins,
Let go of the sane,
Embrace the sweet pain.
With hand in the air,
I knew how I'd fare,
No feeling so rare.
Silvery spectator sheds touch of light
Tranquil forest green, black, white,
Snow settles down, Not a sound,
On this crisp, winter, night.
Like the snow, white and silent,
An owl hunts its prey,
A hungry hare looks up by chance,
Is struck by fright,
He cannot get away.
So unlucky was this glance,
To see impending doom.
There is no time for thought of flight,
Forever will that final sight
Be owl's snowy plume.
Random goes tandem with insane in the brain,
I try for the score that is more then the rest,
Passed test, the best.
Yet no one knows nothing now and everything later,
Can't understand the thoughts in my mind, the kind that you find
To be strange and deranged will all be changed.
But hence they make sense in the right pretense
The stream of my dreams pour forth from the lake of my mind.
The mirth of their birth from this firth is too fast to grasp.
Dripping down into darkness, slipping through fingers, ripping open a tear
Never meant to be there. Don't care how I fare,
Or stand there and stare, stealing dignity from me as plain as can be.
Myself is my own, neither water nor stone
I may be alone but am still flesh and bone,
And may my thoughts be known
More or less,
To be meaningful to the meaningless.
Day after day.
Yet farther apart.
Bent so far as to break,
Deep in its ache,
Forever longing the start.
The one that got away.
Or should I say, that there was a day
When there was one that got away?
Memories, such as these,
Are hazy at best, crazy at worst.
Did my mind make a false key?
Stuffing the square not meant to be there,
Into the small circular whole in my head.
A mistake that could wake the dead?