and i've come to realize
that all the things your
are secret and
not mine to
but when you kiss me,
i feel drunk
and he said son
i havnt you in oh so long
how about dinner
at around 8 oclock
theres a secret sundown just for you
ill meet you there
hot footed up the flight of stairs
lighting up when he got there
i been lost at sea
hope youll forgive me
In reading an interesting book today
I came across a line that gave me pause
"Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
I've always taken secret pleasure in being somewhat different
Even odd some may say (as most archaeologist tend to be)
But in that sentence from the book
I stopped to give it thought and came away with something
I would have never considered till this day
I wouldn't mind being just like the Joneses
A happy family just down the way
Right down to the mini van and Mr Jones and his golf shirt tan
With creased khaki shorts and socks in loafers
I would gladly give up my worn faded jeans work boots and untucked
Neal T-shirt covering my boot lace belt and trim my hair
To be exactly happy like the happy Jones family down the way
I hope you've had sweet dreams the past five years;
I know I have.
I wish I looked more like you, talked more like you, was more like you.
Then I could at least feel like you were real
And luck was kinder.
It's been so long since I've known what to do, or how to.
I haven't ever written much about you,
For, or to you;
Too many words I just can't say.
I can't believe how much you haven't seen--
I've outgrown mom now.
I graduate in twenty days.
You never saw the baby born,
Or mama sick from chemo.
She's never been the same since you, and I need all your strength.
Just so you know, the whole world thinks you're a hero.
I've never seen so many people cry within a hall's length.
I wish you'd seen me sing, I wish you could be in my wedding.
A sister's such an awful thing to lose.
I always tell you so much, I just wish that you could answer.
No friend or pen can fill your shoes.
I miss our arguments and PC games and secret missions--
About the fire: I told mom.
And by the way, I've never smoked in my life, and I won't.
A promise is a promise, even if you're gone.
I – Rain Over the Dying Empire
The Weather Forecast looks grim today
This mess won’t clear up any time soon
So button up your jackets and turn up your collars
And mark up your calendars for a time of grey skies
There’s a storm on the way
We’ll all be blown away
The reign will never end
Until we’re washed clean off the map
But don’t you worry darling viewers
Just find yourselves a shelter, you’ll be fine
Don’t go scrambling in the smog to find hope: it’s always there
It pains me to be the bringer of bad news
Oh! Dearest Public I always pride myself in saying Tomorrow will be a brighter day
But oh! My friends I also promised I would never lie to you
We have serious weather warnings on the way
They will ravage your livelihoods but don’t let them take your souls
We stand strong against the tide of the oncoming gale, the hail and the thunder
If they weather away each tiny bit of all you hold dear
Raise your fist to the angry sky and scream for what is right
I promise, one day, sunshine will be legal again
I’ve tried to make you laugh and I’ve tried to make you cry
But it’s difficult when describing the movements of cold air across the land
If you ignore the hot stuff blowing out of parliament these days
It’s possible to force a smile: a fraction of happiness for hollow promises
They know nothing of how to save the world, they just want to escape
They’re harvesting the strong so they can find another home
Sure, they bejewel their guillotine as it hangs above your throat
Because they think that you’re impressionable but my advice is let them think so
Because Nature wants out of the pact she made when God abandoned us here
And they just want revenge because she’s stronger than they’ll ever be
The Mother they used to love, that they cast down, has come to kiss them with her poison passion
She won’t ask for their forgiveness as she beats them down, begging for hers
I’ll leave you with my darkest secret since you probably won’t see me again
As they surround me I want to let you know it’s been incredible
Striding through the desert carrying you upon my shoulders
And so I’ll thank you and blow a goodnight kiss to you
If there’s anyone they’ve left alive
They have finally come for me
II – The Broken Figurehead Speaks
We interrupt this broadcast with a message from the high command
Good evening noble people, please ignore what you have just heard
And keep on working for our greater good
For as we all know, it is better than theirs
Regrettably, my tolerance is thin for behaviour like that of our darling Weather Reporter
And my mercy is negligible for those who stand against us…
III – Martyrdom for Sunshine
As I stand above the ocean, with the army at my back, looking out at this sunset
It feels like the first time I have seen such beauty
Though waves gallop into the cliff below there is a malleable peace
It penetrates to the deepest corner of my heart
As they load their guns and prepare to fire, I think of the others who they have killed
And how privileged I am to have the sun as the last thing I see
If God will have me I’ll happily join his angels now
I look down the crippled rock face to the water, miles below
What have I got to lose?
I’m going to learn to fly…
Beginning at the very end,
My life takes a sudden bend.
Tells me it has a secret box,hidden somewhere inside my socks.
To find it i need faith,
and all the hope i have on bate.
I gather whats left of hope.
and tie it with a thick round rope.
making sure of all the lose ends,
nothing on doubt depends.
The thick layer of dust lifts up its head.
to show me positivity sleeping on the bed.
I wake it up and ask his help,
To help me secure my futures belt.
Its looks at me with sleepy eyes,
and asks me why i let all the hope die?
"Now hope will need all the food,
And lock negetivity in the atic to brood.
Only then can I help you make whats left,
And shine the future bright, full of zest."
I coax and cajol postivity with words,
which tickles up the drooping thirst.
Thirst to live life to its fullest
and look at the glass at its fullest
And hope and pray and dance with chardonnay,
Cheering life ahead all the way!
Refference to the "Glass half full theory."
Some of us are given to,
upon our person to secret
instrumentation to adjust
the patina of our facial tones,
lest the glare of man made light
lend a shine undesired and worse,
uncovered windowed pores allow
revelations undesirable into our souls.
In other words, a compact and its constituents:
puff, powder and mirror.
Observed a compact in use
between Act I and Act II,
the deft use of the mirror,
angled, moved back and forth
to provide perspective,
close-up and/or total.
The Gods of Metaphor,
Deities of Derision
force my unwilling reveal
thru the holy confessional screen:
I too have compacts.
My compact, a deal, a treaty accord
between the white rigors of life daily,
and spasms of black lies
to make appearances tolerable.
My compact is what I cover up
with powder and puffery.
Aged sixty two years, life nonsensical,
perversely inversely, the dependence upon
these cracked hands grows,
dying cells dividing like newborns,
worrisome weariness make the lies
come faster and more frequent,
which is why my compact has a mirror.
No matter what perspective enamored,
In the mirror, my reality check,
No powder upon my eyes,
the brutality and the joy,
of life is undisguised.
Nonetheless, I have more,
Morethanless, the balance
is favorable, the outlook positive.
My compact with you is to
remind us all, through
music, dance, words and love,
This is the only compact
with the power of human law.
my brother is not a king, but a giant fool,
who would have thought 'he' of all gods get's to rule.
I have faced him with many challenges,
but what I'd like more than anything is to face him in a deul.
He let his own daughter be taken by me,
let's see what this so called ''leader'' shall do.
they watch, they wonder, they look and they see
but what those fools don't know is where to find me.
Persephone, my queen-for 6 months she stays.
my sister and that fool still wait for days and days.
dear ''Persy'', she cries, she moans, she prays,
but cry as she might, she'll stay till the end of days.
No-one shall get her, she's my prize, my queen.
I'll keep this a secret; they won't know where she's been.
My brother, the oaf, the godly fool,
will never know how to judge or for that matter, even rule.
You already read three of my secrets.
I know they scared you.
They scare me too.
There are more.
What I am about to tell you is not a secret.
It's just something I should have said from day one.
I'm a suicidal, used-to-be emo, punk girl.
Or I should say was.
Now I am a smart, loving, funny, misunderstood teenage girl.
Then again what 16 year old isn't?
Four times lonely
Four minutes of blankness
Four deep inhales
Four breaths released
Four missed occasions
Four hundred dollars gone
Four misspelt words
Four missed friends
Four cigarettes in four minutes
Four empty bottles and ash filled trays
Four favourite songs
Four misunderstood words
Four times a death attempt
Four inches deep
Four hundred secrets
In these four walls