Oh the world will be so much more than it was
And the life you'll lead will see much more than it does,
For the power behind your fatigue-addled mind
May not rest its head as resigned.

Your brilliance has always been measured in eyes
That are far too rarely your own.
May you find the street that you know you must cross,
And the journey from what you have sown.

And so clear it will be, on your pillow at night
That you've come to where you had dreamt.
And through tears defiling the doubts you had kept
You may assuage what was once yourself.

Under dated culture of times familiar,
She resides.
Knees to chest as memory to breast,
She pays homage to this new world
From the confines of her own.

The carves in her skin define a wealth
That is ineffable in its worth.
And yet
She sits alone
Enclosed in the shade of the times she shared.
Gazing.

Her dulling eyes study me, uncertain.
A foreigner; coloured of which has brought naught but pain.
Yet she is tired.
Her body is wrought by her sightings in her age,
And so she smiles.

She is at peace with her country contorted,
But happily watches afar.
This space will warm her reminiscent mind
As her months are spent in hours,
Watching.

And the whims of the undermind impart a law;
Governance rigid, and in restless complacence
We remain in knowing, but wanting more;
A release from our own makeup.

And the bloodiest wars we wage on our own;
Casualties amassed to lost peace of mind.
Or perhaps we desert our timeless fight
And escape to the places that may subdue
Our ego-rattled bind.

Ne'er dormant shall lie the critical mind, of
The fights it must have to survive.
For surely to not fight must mean to die
And settle into a life refined.

We look out onto masses who've lived and left
The breathing to remain unkind,
And such comfort we find in the age-old lie
That we depart in peace of mind.
For who could persist to combat the
Inconsistencies that lay in this mirror of mine,
Knowing that we will never achieve a whole end;
Tied neatly in elegant twine.

He watches the rain that falls unwitting
Of the people who shall scatter before it.
And he sees the people who treat their minds
To whatever may repose it.
For he's met all kinds of shady folk
And the ones that live in kind.
He's seen the ails and woes of men
And seen the same men shine.

But he sees himself within their place
And he hopes his hopes benign.
For at this time he sees his place
As one he shall not resign.
For there is no pure or divine
Amongst our giant shuffle.
There is just intent and wants to vent
And wickedness sublime.

And so he hops from next to next,
Any distance short or far.
And sees the men who walk or rest
And those who cower before their mar.
But no image enough, he has found
To rest his weary self.
And so he'll walk and watch and search
For a nook to base himself.

And so the world has left its stride,
Taken a breath and stepped aside.
We sick of heart and trapped of mind
Have only ourselves to see to.

And a mirror is held to what's inside,
Your self as lived without a guise,
No people with which to base your self;
You are only living for yourself.

Prisoners new, who've come inside
To view the truths which ne'er preside.
Take notes of what you come to find;
Understand just how you see you.

Your skin and heart is with life asunder,
As cold as you had dreamt it.
All the sins you loved to plunder
Brought no more glee than death did.

Youth left your heart, poor in time
To show you how to grasp it.
You deemed it weak within its prime
So you scorn what were your best bits.

But busy a mind does not mean restful
And your work just stalled the war.
Besieged, you changed to vengeful
And chased your pleasure no more.

Now chase the bottle as not a tool
But a crutch with which to live on.
You live apart within your cesspool
With which you'll always cling on.

But came the day you sobered up
And saw the love you hated.
Mixed those pills with what was left
And soon, your name was dated.

And so what was wild now calms;
As the distant lights hide your all;
As the cold ****** at the fading veneer
Of a night to remember,
And a day to forget.

Such purity, coated in chemicals,
Brought to light a world of thought
That blossomed through the settled decay.
These hours you've borrowed from tomorrow
May serve to remind
That your mind may bend to your shape,
As well as against it.

Blissful delirium in dark, dank solidarity.
Your world is well within reach,
But it will not hurt to stay here
A little longer.

Lavish yourself in the time that you've spent;
Stave off tomorrow a while.

Worn out seats but immaculate tread;
Motionless legs but a lively head;
Your will for will to grow and more;
To venture forth and wholly thaw
What froze in transition, from mind to condition;
Will strip from rust to raw.

And your comfort assures a blessed present,
But naught from here onwards.
Those dreams we choose to hold up high
May not be ones we later stand by
So if you're desperate for content complete
Lay open to the whims of the world.

This house in all its glory,
This house in all its pride.
Manicured daily to tailored eyes;
In beauty and in size.

There was a love of look and want of heart;
Money was thrown at the hands
That would put this dream to start.

And so the space took on a form
Of design both great and bright.
And delighted were the owners,
Who wound their smiles tight.

Step through the heavy wooden door
To polished floors and pricey goods;
Marble, paintings, and some leather,
As all good houses should.

Visitors left the house in awe
Laced with envy diluted.
For such thought was poured into the house,
And how perfectly it suited.

But look no further than that, or see
In the livings, inconsistency.
Stay longer than a visitor should
And see what no others could.

This house devoid of humanity
Had no love to be known.
In all the workings of the look,
This house was not a home.

So leaves the conscious breath of day,
And with my dwindling mind power, I lay
And pray upon my awaited sleep
That it delivers me another life to keep.

Oh sleep, why don't you heed my call
To present me else with greater gall;
The life of one that springs in step
And looks back at all in a fond recall.

The man that may spend an eternity in his head
With dreams that deem all else damnable;
Shall push and pass the world outside
And live in wanting of an end with no path.

And so many live in unrelenting squalor
As their own subpar perfectionists.
Afraid to lurch towards a start
Lest they find themselves wanting
From themselves.
Any direction will bring us back
To a world of inaction;
Save that of dreaming;
We dream it all.

You live and breathe the dead of night,
To fly through the world at bare.
No eyes to pry or fish to fry,
Just you and a spoilt mind fair.

For within your car, within your head
You are safest and in control.
You could go for miles or stop and trial
A world to be explored in whole.

But the peak of day sees people aflock
To tend to all you despise.
You don't wish to see the fear they breathe
And the intermission before their demise.

So you soothe your mind in tunes sublime
And breathe a cleanly night.
And look upon your all as fair and small
And mend that which broke when bright

You will sit and think or run and chase
A path you believe will quicken the pace
Of fulfillment grand, or to at least withstand
Times ebbing flow and recurring woe.
And rise and fall, contentment's sprawl;
The specks we pan the ground for.
And rise and fall, discomfort's drawl;
The eras we spend in wanting.

Some questions reign:
"What constants remain?"
And with the answer lies eternity.
It is the love of a strain that grounds the sane;
An enduring devotion, a lingering notion,
Detached from what others deem necessary.

I love you my darling, you just know naught
Of how it is I intend to do so.
You may see the blanket of stars over your world
But may not feel their warmth.
Not yet.
Let your sufferance of words important
Splinter your bones until the frame of you
Is revealed.
Only then may you scrape dried paint
From your stained canvas
And make for an art more suited.