Lost time
always slipping
trickling sands tumble
ticking hands aren’t mine to change
it’s late
Later
now forever
colder before first light
dawn breaking, time turns back
after
Bleeding
light is going
Darkness is times agent,
in closing my eyes I have won.
Time lost
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
You are nothing
nothing but a slight light
nothing but everything but what you are.
Yet you are something
you must be something?
For your meanings are streaming
your regal feel,
a star of injured award of war,
a bruise that looms
from sort of doom!
You are everything.
In every lashing of light you lie
reflected corrected then read by the eye
subjected to infected ‘definition’.
You are everything.
You are black, green, blue,
red yellow orange too.
But then you are nothing.
Just a pattern of letters and syllables,
no more than a thought
thought long before I hand a chance to see.
You are mine.
I disregard that, which was before
let the letters leave
let me lament what I see.
For you are mine.
Persistent in what you are,
Utterly unlawful to change,
Repeatedly ruining, the renitence of shame,
Perpetually poisoning the marriage of red and blue,
Lethargically lying in a rainbow too,
Every entity I see is you.
For you are light,
as am I,
thus I am yours,
thus we are everything,
and, in the dark
we are nothing.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Oft’ in my thoughts, that little dog eared book
There with it’s spine cracking and un-binding.
I see you in the side-scrawled notes you took.
Fraying edges mean more than I’m finding.
The very last thing you ever gave me,
Oh and how it binds us together still.
No idea what its origins could be.
The last mystery you keep, what a skill.
Never to discuss what we thought it meant,
Argue for hours until morning dew.
The last thing to me that you ever lent,
and yet with no chance you ever knew.
Always my guide, my reservation thief,
my inspiration, my friend and my chief.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
I have an epiphany
with every other breath
with each **** of air
I swear
another becomes redundant.
Sitting looking
on a window ledge
with a breeze
trying not to breathe.
With the slow burn
my mind turns.
I fear the years that stretch before me,
I fear what I’ll become,
I fear the tears yet to fall,
I fear the fear that grips my soul,
that shakes and breaks me,
in the dark .
My youth weighs heavy
and my shoulders already bowed
from the weight of the past
let it slip to the edge.
The vapid nights,
drunken sight,
a ragged boy soaked in gin and sin,
and the drugs that dragged him to escape.
But the dreams I dreamed
when in escape,
where no less worthy
than those I chose to make.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
You open your mouth and fists fly out,
in repetition you let it flap like trout.
Lay your love on a bed of nails,
and gleam with glee the formation of your scales.
Pause your thought for that train has taken you adrift
Pause your dreams for the sleepy ones will not agree
Pause your tongue for its slamming rage has led you from a mothers love.
Freedom found me in my cage
and now like ecstasy
creeps up and down my neck
and the sweat!
The endless sweat!
That drips from my brow as pearls
mocking the tamed and lame children.
Stretching and reaching to feel real,
to descend at last into the manic panic.
To cast off the joy and divinity of youth
and instead commit ourselves to the asylum of living.
To accept the madness and sadness
as necessitates on a quest for love.
Don’t waste your pity on the broken ones,
their cuts are not yours to plaster.
Find solace that life is not a line
that you should act or learn.
It hides in us all that burning, churning,
that sullied broken ground,
that hot slopping metal that covers my chest,
squeezes life from my breast!
How can we draw comfort,
when all artistic talent has left us?
Where do we place our dreams,
when the waking hours are nightmares?
When god is dead,
who holds the keys to heaven?
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
You left life on the side in the cud,
saw the fall but eyes stayed fixed in front,
let it lie and wallow in mud.
Built a house on the sludge and set up shop.
Let himself forget in dreamless sleep
Carried on breathing,
just to warm his hands.
Eyes stayed fixed in front,
swivelled for a second,
but didn’t recognise behind.
Slowly suffocated on the space.
To live and breath in sleep was the dream.
Eyes stayed fixed in front.
Each night clinging to images and dreams,
unpleasant scenes,
only reminiscent of a reality,
propped up with rotten beams.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Drib drab syntax;
don’t follow what you’ve been taught.
Dreams flow delicate, and words follow suit.
Precedents only compliment,
the things that should go wrong.
Calamities may seem tragedies,
without the softness of time.
Don’t listen to the music;
you’ll only define your mind.
If you don’t like what’s hidden,
then don’t let it be true.
See the goodness of intention,
notice the sorrow of the action.
Hear the wisdom of ignorance,
See the colour of the dark,
hear the song of the mundane,
know the heart of the timid,
list the parts that make up nothing,
feel the touch of empty space.
Know the difference between a skipped heartbeat,
and the love that takes its place.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Silent skills
with never ending quills
writing only bending wills,
running to the violent hills.
The feet with which I walk upon,
jump up from the ground
warmed by the sun
I will come undone.
So I’ll break through the lies
of the unsatisfied
drop a verse so superb
they use my name as a verb.
But, the skill is a curse
ordered words construct my own hearse
And, she doesn’t see me,
knows one name but I’ve got three
I guess I’ve got to be free.
Introduce me to myself
leave the sappy stuff on the shelf.
It’s hard not to die
when you’re not living to heal
but living to survive.
So sleep away now
dream your dreams
sleep in peace.
This lifelines marred by the crease.
Now to carry on,
words spoken meaning gone.
Heavy head holding heartless hope,
trying times taught these minds to cope
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I could pause those hands,
that sluggish tick that mocks me.
Each slow sound races like the trickling of sands.
If I could halt them,
for only a while-
What joys could I posses,
if the weight they hold were born by me,
what truths would I be told.
Their harsh regime cripples the weak,
and decimates the old.
Their relentless movement stifles me,
trapped within their design.
The strongest hands that be
are no match for those that drive them.
Only in death do we escape this mighty pair,
in the sleep of ages are we free.
Yet we seem to cheat them, you and me.
In each frozen second of voiceless speech.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC