I saw two silhouettes
standing oblique
in the dark mystique
of a long dead street.

With my path blocked
from the light beyond
I was denied the prize
from whence life absconds.

Were they lovers or threats?
Or jesters and priests?
As they turned astray to face me
With eyes of charcoal gold
They undressed their bones
to bare the holes
within the prisons of their souls.

Tattooed upon these wounds
were promises forged too soon
Shattered by the witness
of the ever weeping moon,

I saw ones fate soon marooned
with great fortune entombed in doom.
Although courageous by nature,
Folly is the prisoner of passion

The second wore simple linens,
and espoused poetic virtues
He spoke of poets long since dead
but said you can reach them if you choose.

As I drew closer to these phantoms
I spied familiar faces
One was young and one was old
They spoke of conquests long foretold

One spoke of ******,
The other spoke for Buddha,
both said life is what you make it,
Tho, when I gazed into this mirror
I was neither dejected nor elated

Take heed to the deafening scream
of silence echoing within the chasm of your soul.
If your muse chooses you
use it’s brute truth to fill in the hole.
Just don’t think yourself reckless
when its from poison you flee
only to run to
what calls you
from a banquet of vaccines
within the colour of your dreams.
Take heed,
take heed,
My darling
take heed
of all snarling beasts
that hold festering feasts
when your heart begins to bleed,
Lest you let loose with sick spry
the distinguished disguise
for you damp, saddened eyes

Paradise is the lovechild of courage and pain
but only when the passion
to reinstate pleasure
is birthed by dancing in the rain.
For all tenacious dreamers
serenade the Goddess of Blooming
lest the coldness thats looming
from their soon to be consuming tomb
swiftly seals their doom.
Yet when the Devil prowls the avenues looking for souls to ******
with a life thats deranged
by the day to day charade
of the virtuous ball and chain
maimed around hard, sad truths,
who amongst us can try to deny the pull of
temptation towards false salvation
of all nihilistic avenues of uncouth youth
and the bittersweet fruits of their brutal truth

If you hear the insatiable whispers of your calling
beckoning you forward,
within the dark depths
of sleepless attempts at slumber-
If it keeps you staring up at the ceiling
long past the dawn
with threatening thoughts
which only the pawns of failure spawn-
then use the fuel of the pursuers whom
came before you,
coupled with your own unique integrity,
passion
and drive,
to bring into being that which you cannot go a day without thinking about.
Believe in Yourself
as much
as you believe in your Hell
for You will be dead a long time-
do not dawdle.
Your Muse chooses You
as much as You choose your Muse.
You owe it the nobility of pursuit
in exchange for the simple comfort
which the essence of being offered a way out of meaninglessness direction brings.
(This is the gift all Muses present you with.
It is symbiosis in its most poetic form.)
Likewise,
You cannot prevent your Muse choosing You,
no more than your Muse can prevent
You from not pursuing it
with all the tenacious ambition it deserves.
So love and cherish your Muse as it were your mother,
along with all the hopeful dreams it brings with it.
It chose you for a reason.

If dreams are the harbinger of life’s great serenade
then I either spent 20 years deaf or 20 years afraid.
To live our days dreamlessly is to live in grey stained shade
so if you don’t stray from the colours,
you’ll see we’re all brothers
but were asleep in a fevered dream

Why is it,
the best of mankind’s minds all dwell
on the tortured side of hell?
For those within their high ivory towers,
far from the tortured toiling
of the boiling broth below
hold the keys to change
but fail to unlock that
which the doors of hope bestow.
Granted,
not all those that survive the swell of the Devils ****** spell
become patron Saints
through their pain,
but the very act of survival
means that their miraculous revival
can put life into those long dead
with that earned wisdom
birthed from the dungeons within their heads.
For Dantes rocky road
is for those alone
whose abodes
are bestowed
within the land of no mans code,
who bare the weight of tomorrow’s load,
until they don’t

Ivory towers only seek to alienate;
The ones who cherish an elephants grace.
For those who build their homes
out of the bones
of a dying world
will proudly play their fiddles
as all of the chaos and riddles
of a burning Rome unfurls