There once was a little piece floating of light.
It was the only piece that shone blindingly bright

It radiantly darted and fluttered about.
Being lost, a long blown over cloud.

Bumping into all the pieces of light it met.
Even into pieces of darkness it thought dead.

When it touched them, time would halt.
Quasar carrying pained sibling, soul turned basalt.

The relation between them set to grow beyond.  
To part a mind of pother, found feelings fond.

When the eyes are open and our light is seen.
Seer and blind alike, find no difference between.

Lambent love glinting off the work of a writer.
Lustrous words may make a day brighter.

You share your words, I cup my ears.
You shed your shell, I catch your tears.

When life goes awry, wisdom gives bliss.
I hold your face, forehead graced with kiss.

My words are calm, warm, and tranquil.
I'm gentle, understanding; tell me how you feel.

You're unburdened, cumbersome no more.
Uplifted you thank me and say your peace.
I'm alone again, but it's better now. I'm sure.
Wings flap; I close my eyes and feel the breeze.

Their once storms, now but a gust.
Shepard their dragons, I must.

Their dragons are slain, the fire is gone.
I shoulder their pain, my words drawn.

As they sleep, I sit and gaze at the stars.
I'm arrested, their beauty. Oh, how they glisten.
Frankly, I weep as I'm fighting their wars.
As dark as the night may fall, I'll always listen.

To whose ears may I profess?
Am I not too, simply a mess?

No one to be me, for the father.
Everyday, the man seems closer yet farther.

Who is there when it all seems so bad?
I know who I am, the man, my own dad.

Dwindling through the air.
I am not convinced it's fair.

From whence comes this cold icy wind?
Ignorance; frigidly frozen.
In aftermath, my vision I'll rescind.
The glassy path I haven't chosen.

The past winter my friend.
In the avalanche I stand.
Buried alive in bone shattering cold.
My visage, your opinions unfold.

Why can't you see eye to eye.
Why is it that you presume I lie?
The frost frankly freezes friendship over.
When the thaw sets in - blooms the clover.

I am master of cold, but I bring only heat
My soul not sold, but you see what you need
There is nothing I can do, leader of men.
I conjure my cue, my mind is zen

I'll be the hero I never had.
The live I lived without a dad.
The paths I took without a guide.
All these questions when you died.

"your flow is off; they have you beat!" Boarish cough let, the ref's presumed seed. Righteous in rhythm reels the ref in, why can time be so timid, is that a sin?

I really don't know, colors are so - surefire, concept's core dire. Bound to flow is hollow,  found a collar to follow?

Full of paint, the same words faint. The rhythm dies, as their cries. Atop that flop, they will stop. "leave me as is, leave me alone! I am happy like this." - snappy, a drone.

Climb the ladder from nether, whatever the weather.  Clear the skies, drop disguise. Be rigidly real, heart strings of steel.

How does this flow?
Laving the first row,
A lamenting show.
En fin, a lavish yo

Ik zie ze vallen, de vogels zijn bevroren.
*** kan een vorst zo snel bevriezen?

Vliegen naar de vrijheid richting verder.
Maar het noorden is koud en het zuiden verwoest.

Oost of west, thuis, draag ik een vest.
De kachel verliet mij. Waarom verliet hij mij?

Een heuvel probeert zijn piek te bevochtigen,
Maar niemand staat daar, dus hij blijft droog.

Alles rolt naar beneden, een diep en duister gat.
Wanneer krijg ik een reden? Mijn kin is nat.

Ik vraag mij af wanneer dooi zal wederkeren.
Ik vraag mij af wie er moet leren.

Zijn zij dood en leef ik voort?
Of is dit zoals het hoort?

Kleurenblind, dat ben ik, maar jij bent doof.
Jouw oren werken, graver des kloof.

Wil jij niet luisteren? Ben jij bang?
Laat mij jou koesteren met mijn gezang.

Jouw wonden, lik ze niet zo hard.
Voel je pijn, spreidt het vlees apart.

Ik ben daar, ik **** je kreet.
Jouw vervloeking, toch, ik grijp je beet.

Ooit op een dag, in verre tijd.
Mijn hart beantwoord; jouw spijt.

Open je ogen en druppel met mij mee
Vergiffenis en liefde, ons bootje op zee.

A multitude of fortnights passed us by,
We passents of time, our sorrow, we tried.

A spell of brief written touches.
Time and space were arranged.

The earth turned and turned.
Time and space were burned.

The wind ceased carrying sound.
Passing time, the end inbound.

Pigeons carried the desire.
Hearts in smoldering fire.

Speed takes breath aback.
A journey, lips on your neck.

The movement, speed squared.
Our shadow never cared.

Risen to the peak of feel.
I peek and never conceal.

You and I, both sore.
The loss a shared core

The night brought silence.
Menacing unspoken words.

King and queen, both know.
The kingdom fades slow.

The sun dawns, all rays travel.
Light reveals and starts to unravel.

Secrets that we knew.
Far from too few.

All the birds fly and sing.
A message for the king.

Couriers travel back and forth.
The only direction is north.

When then the sun sleeps.
and the night creaks.
Feel what she seeks.
And speak from their beaks.

Undrape the play.
Hear what I say.

Mind tries to reason.
Such a blue season.

A wordsmith works his furnace.
The wood is scarce - he burns his.

Labouring day and night,
Keep that flame alight.

Hammer and anvil entwined.
All my words are kind.

Walk the rope, you won't fall.
If you're scared, I'll take it all.

When a chapter ends so low.
We only reap what we sow.
Cast the light, we will make it right.
The beauteous fields are in sight.

My love is free.
Come write with me.

Standing and walking, staring and stopping.
An inkling of thought consumes my mind.

A stare was shared, a kindness shown.
Hiding her smile, innocent attraction.
A vibrant strangers' dyad grown.
Eyes darting around, seeking reflection.

A gaze met, but a book read.
Uninvited regret - not, a word let

A final pass by near the corner passed
I look a final time, this won't be the last.

A sorrow by virtue of lonely
The forecast exclaims "cleared be the skies!"
Sadness exists in name only.
Painful wisdom opens eyes.

It is not about the I, but the us that is we.
See through ego of self and set I free.

They may feel as I or not as such at all.
Open our hearts so we may feather down any fall.
My limiting factor, that, is my thinking; I fear.
Submit to the gifts, to wherever they veer.

Sing the song, so happily they may dance.
Stand not still during the funny happenstance.

Everybody thinks Bobby stays in bed all day and that he does absolutely nothing. “Indolence in human form” is what they call him. In reality Bobby ponders one of life’s greatest mysteries day and night, he’s a student of being. “I Don’t fear A.I. rebellion” Bobby tells himself as he reflects on the futile and expedient nature of subjectivity. After many months of wrestling the behemoth that is Nihilism Bobby concluded that there was no intrinsic value to anything and that there was no reason to do anything. “You can’t derive an is from an ought” Bobby thought to himself. In that moment Bobby reached a new epiphany. There is no way of valuing anything in an objective manner, so therefore he couldn’t construct a dominance hierarchy of personal values, and thus he couldn’t justify getting out of bed or do anything for that matter. Bobby had justified his laziness.

Bobby never stopped thinking, Bobby wondered whether or not he should keep on existing. Since there was no objective value to anything, that, in turn meant that he had no value either. Bobby, human as he was, he was a rational man first. He wasn’t bothered by his own otiose nature. With this is mind he started to entertain a new thought. “Does a rational man choose to not exist?” Bobby thought to himself after pondering on subjective value. “Subjective value is our only hope for justifying existence!” Bobby exclaimed to his ceiling in his dim-lit basement room.

Rational as he was, Bobby still liked existing, it was something he never managed to explain. Apathetic in nature, he still felt a desire to be. The dichotomy he had become felt annoyingly quintessential. How could he, a rational man, not shake such irrational thoughts. After staring at his feet for some minutes he bequeathed himself to his human nature. “I’m but a talking monkey” he sighed.

Now a wiser man, Bobby shifted his philosophical gaze. He reasoned subjectivity, how could he maximize his experience, the only thing with potential for true, albeit subjective, value. “What stands atop the dominance hierarchy of subjective value?” Bobby wondered. After many journeys to the depths of his Being Bobby realized that love was the highest value. “What else is a better antidote to the chaos of consciousness?” Bobby asked aloud as if he wasn’t alone in his basement.

Other humans, Bobby knew they existed, but he never really spoke much with them. There was this one man he once knew though, Will was his name. Will was an odd fellow. Even though he didn’t owe someone a single thing, he would still always help everyone. “There’s a natural law of karma” is what he would always say. As Bobby recounts the memories of Will he starts to question the irrational nature of karma. “Is karma measurable by science?” Bobby blurts out as he stretches himself out in his dusty bed. “All human processes can be calculated, granted we posses a powerful enough calculator.” Bobby said as he muffled his mouth with a pillow. Bobby considered his own proposition and after some minutes he yelled “If all can be calculated, then so can emotional in- and outputs!” as if he was standing in front of an audience. Bobby came to the conclusion that if those values could be measured then karma would be a mathematically substantiated concept. This thought made Bobby’s heart beat just a bit faster, but only just a bit.

Sleep was something not even Bobby could be too lazy to do. Bobby had passed out for some minutes or hours, he couldn’t tell. When he woke his mind wandered back to his unfinished mental quest. “How to maximize the amount of love in my subjective experience?” Bobby groggily said. He widened his eyes, “eureka!” he screamed. Will, he himself, and all of humanity were all connected, socially. When Bobby realized this he quickly reached his next conclusion. If he wanted to maximize his own subjective experience then he needed to maximize his output of the highest subjective value, love. Karma was a natural law after all, a mathematical one. Being yet wiser again Bobby started to ponder the ways of love.

“The more I love, the more subjectively pleased I become.” Bobby thought to himself as he adored his human nature. Now that he had found a rational way for value, albeit still subjective in nature, Bobby smiled. He knew that, although there was no intrinsic objective value in anything, there was still value in subjecting himself to his consciousness. “It makes me feel good, so why not.” he said victoriously.  Armed with karma Bobby ventured out from underneath his house. The sunlight on his skin made his sense tingle, for the first time in decades Bobby felt alive. People were shocked when they saw the once indolent man indolent no more.

Over the coming years Bobby had changed and the people with him. Bobby had become a pillar of support for his community, spreading his years of indolently bred wisdom. The people had started to call him Wise Bob. Now with Wise Bob’s stultifying lethargic behavior gone the people followed his lead by example. Wise Bob was no leader though, he was still but a student of being, but with a slightly larger Being. “Not wise enough.” he told one of his many friends. Wise Bob still felt his objective insignificance in his heart, but no longer as a nihilistic threat. His futility gave him meaning. Bringing order to the chaos of consciousness gave him responsibility and thus meaning. This meaning made his life worth living. “The collective human condition will fight off our dragons.” Bobby professed.

Bobby was a rational man, but a man still.

A long and lonesome wait.
The waiting for the dance of two.
An entwined fate, infinitely distanced.
To stand-up is to desire for dance.

I know who, the daemon, the dancer.
The moving words, a monologue.
Heard songs a reminder of silence.
The rhythm plays out of tune.

The sound, no longer flat.
Yet the ears are presumed deaf.
The pitch transcendental.
My garden over the hill.

A pain let and a cry felt.
The responsibility of insignificance.
Walled green, suffers and broods.
Flowers, just are.

When I think, I queue
Feelings are not blinding, but
Tips caress a braille