To the dock at midnight,
solitary moonlight path upon the bay,
to worship, to tread, star touching, that being
The plan.

Disrobed, it seemed apropos,
Totally out of character, ashamed,
Pressed my body into the black sky suede,
Words, of my issue, but not my styling,
Broke apart, watched each letter uprising.

Stars and moon conference-called,
Their judgement:
Coat the boy's words with the fragrance of
humility,
We are not super-centric, sun-greedy,
We are easy satisfied,
A simple haiku will suffice.

Five seven five once.
Fragility, Frailty.
Do it well, our son.

1:10 AM Monday Morning

And as I thought of you,
a single teardrop slowly fell
from my tired eye.

And I soon realised,
that I was that single teardrop,
in the way that it also felt
alone, weak, lost.

I leaned my head slowly to the left,
so that the teardrop would run,
and change it's path.
Avoiding the cheek that you once touched,
avoiding the thought that you once loved.

Walking down the left hand footpath, a dry heavy dusk beginning in the midst of a blasting summer.
The buildings are an adobe kind of thatch, but modern, with some big square four storey clunkers amongst them. I’m near the edge of the inner city, it is opening out into a smoother, more human kind of chaos. The people are moving with a little more freedom. With a bag-snatch-on-bicycle kind of flow.
  I have a Chinese-made ak47 in my hands with a wooden stock. I don’t know what to do with it; I slide it under my long coat, wherever either of these came from.
  I am temperate and comfortable, maybe the sky is a little bluer now and the colours are darkening. Carefully drifting along.
  Feeling currents of deep panic, energized in the pavement, beneath the tread of my steps. This is a land ready, silently waiting for its return to birth and I don’t know what the fuck to do.
  An atm is across the road, one person attending it, one person attending them. I sense the inner city sort of chaos and I don’t know what the fuck, to do. I check the ak and tuck my chin down, keep walking. I pass the silent mugging, fearful, feeling weak, trying not to have seen a thing. But I did see, and the mugger had an ak, folded into his coat.
  The town is breaking up, smaller roads. Sandy houses now grey blue, some high walls, huts, caravans, some quarter acres of settled dust with some piles of smashed shopping trolleys and banana boxes and even more people. It’s cooling now, they’re moving more quickly, crossing in front of me either with pensive glances or staring straight ahead and accelerating, breaking into a run with powerlust in their eyes, reaching into their jackets..    
  Something’s happening. I meet with scared eyes and share half motions and half sentences. Loosely gathering, still moving as if not connected, happenstancing across each other’s paths. Backs turning away, looking outward, turning in, milling. Falling to the left or to the right of unity, water molecules with aks, sensing danger, nondescript, avoiding detection. Waves of sprinters fly through us and fleet away, through and around us and the huts and houses, over the walls and yes, into the night.
  Mobs. In wider land, sprinting through it with a kind of purity and an unfathomable but absolute purpose. Forming swelling and closing braids of curved laser beams in their paths through the terrain as I see them for a moment from a balloon, up in the cool sky.    
  Nothing solved, night falls and sleep comes cramped in a caravan. A tiny bastion of nothing much whatsoever with nothing known and nothing discussed, surrounded by flowing, energizing swarms.
  It is a blinding, bright morning. The caravan is a little in the distance, six or seven sprinters are in front of and around me. They stare at me with intent, waiting. I could take three, I wish, I want to think. But they’d still catch me, wear me down, turn me. I put the ak in my mouth. No blame. And yet after the shot, the first shot I have fired with the thing, nothing ends. The bullet has lifted out the back of my skull; there is a deaf searing heat above my nape. My eyelids are weighted but not closed. The sprinters are still standing around, staring. There is a rich Rothko black above ruby and I wait. An electric surge of hallucinogenic twisted warmth bolts and bonds directly to my groin as I observe the ruby Rothko. It is ridiculous and I wait. I always knew these silly, stupid things. Stumbling over rose bushes and cracking my head on a cool concrete path. Telling lies and staring at stars

I sensed the pureness and innocence
in your sacred space
A passion I haven't felt in a long time
I saw a part of me in you
I've never met someone I felt affinity to before
But after a while you ended up on a that path, the one they manipulate everyone to go to
You've lost your authenticity
You are now a puppet under their spell
You are letting your beautiful heart be consumed by darkness and evil
This is not who you are, I know because I felt the real you
Everyone is born pure and innocent, with a heart ready to love all
Please don't let it take you
I got sucked in for a while, died a little inside
Lost, and confused in emptiness
I focused on healing myself and let the love and light enter my heart again
I want to one day remind you to really see and feel
the light and pureness of unconditional universal love that is within you

lies
so many of them
truth
no longer can it be seen
memory lost
confused
where does it all go
my path like a maze
to many walls
so few doors
my mind like a puzzle
one peace at a time
put together
can it be solved
or is it lost forever

by scarlet rose