Everytime I see her
She’s far away
Maybe I should go talk to her
Maybe I should stay
Out of reach
My fingers turn to clay
They freeze in the night
And they burn in the day
They are nothing
Waiting to be molded by her
No
I can’t
She is surrounded by knights
What she wants is steel
Im a mere peasant
At the bottom of the hill
Looking up at her
I imagine her voice soothes
Harmonic like a flute
But I can’t hear
I’m a bystander
Watching a movie on mute
Everytime she talks
It’s to someone else
I see her cherry lips moving
Motions I felt
Words of fire
that could bring ice to melt
She is a silhouette
A shadow
Dancing in the back of my mind
As I wonder what it would take
To make her mine

The moon is a beautiful thing
This big and bold gleaming grey rock hovering amongst the stars in a clear sky
Something so simple yet has the power to illuminate skies
And form waves like Poseidon himself
But best of all
To me personally
It acts as a beacon of hope  
The eyes of great men, strong men
All those with trials and tribulations
That shaped this very world
Have at least once gazed up to that moon
Like me they felt small
Yet they persisted and made something special
That will forever be echoed to its craters and back
My existence unexplained and a purpose not assured
In this insignificant position
Which at one stage those great individuals found themselves
I am reminded that I too possess the potential to achieve what they have
maybe greater
And like them
My name could echo for a thousand years
On the very same craters
I ponder as I stare at the moon
as they did.

THE IRIDESCENT PLATEAU FLOATED ABOVE THE DUSK PINK SKY
YET SHE CHERISHED WHAT HAD MADE HER HOME AFTER ALLL THE YEARS
THE FEAR THAT GREW AND THE PROBLEMS THAT ARROSED
A DEMON WHOM APPEARED PARTLY VANISHED

When you rose this morning,

I got you 12 more roses.



Hold them close,

They more similar to you than you think.

They’re short, full of life,

And both of you smell nice.



When you go to bed,

I hope them to be near you in a vase,

Their pedals will be ever spread,

Waiting to greet your waking face.



When time has passed,

And the pedals no longer glisten,

They won’t cling to the stem,

The beautifully imperfect flowers,

You will truly miss them.



But give them love and patience,

They will bloom in the rain.

And every time you look at them,

You will relive this night again.

Who is who?
Is he, he?
Is she, she?
Who is false?
Who is true?

They are not themselves,
They are others,
to their own.
Who are they really?

If you are one of them?
Then who are you?
If you are not truly yourself?
A mere shell pretending.
An impersonator of who
You once were.

I feel trapped in my own mind sometimes,
A mind of four walls.
These four walls mock me,
making a cell of 176 mm length and a width of 145 mm.
I’ve grown to see it change.

At first it was a collage with the upmost potential,
With plenty of space to be filled.
As years went, the cell learned,
Like a bucket collecting rain drops,
Under a cracked ceiling,
One idea after the other entered.
I can only hear the echoes of my own voice here,
No one else can hear the screams,
laughs and everything in between.
No one can help save me,
nor join me,
in this cell.
I feel it observing me from the deepest hallows,
of my subconscious,
Grinning at me and my meagre existence.

I greet the sun, through the barred window,
Every once and a while.
For those moment’s I am not imprisoned,
I am free as the wind and the birds that glide upon it.
But always,
The bucket over-flows,
I drown to awake.
It can’t be escaped and
With every attempt to,
It always find a way,
To tame, subjugate and leave me in submission.

I realise I am the door that separates me from my desires
and ambitions.
The concrete and steel, are figments of ones own
imagination.
Somewhere within, there is a key.
When found, I shall take it and run,
never to return,
to this cell of mine.

I don’t need just your love.
It doesn’t interest me.

I need your thoughts,
Your heart to beat a little faster
Every time I enter the room,
Your eyes to gaze a little longer
When they cross over me,
Your stomach to jump
When someone mentions my name.

An Illness that cannot be cured,
Coursing through your veins.
A part of you that you can’t remove,
No matter how hard you try.
That’s what I want.

Love me so much, you could die.

What does one do when love is lost?
I have merely stopped existing.
No past, no future
No dreams, no fears
No up, no down
Just a mere straight line,
With no faults, breaks,
or ascensions.
I even crave a plummet,
If need be.
But there’s nothing...
I have flatlined, I am dead.
As what is life without love?
Nothing

All I hear is the deafening tock,
Of a clock ticking
My life is slowly going by
I would  stop it to say hello
And dare I even enjoy it’s company
But I’ve always been too shy

Daisy,
She’s a Yellow ball of happiness,
Covered with a
White innocence.
One amongst many,
In a Garden of Eden.
But with a closer glance:
Her petals bear bruises,
Her stem has blown bent,
Her stigma lingers a foul stench.
Beaten, almost destroyed,
She appears to have been trampled.
Once, twice,
Maybe more.
But there she stands,
Despite it all.

Brown eyes,
Not just any kind of brown.
In the sunlight,
Pools of honey,swirling around.
Nectar of the body,
Gateway to the soul.
Many wish to taste,
Few will actually know.
Shallow in complete clarity yet,
Deep enough to drown.
All it takes is one drop,
To turn my whole world
Upside down.

If you had a penny for every time you thought of me.
How rich would you be?
If you had a choice of anyone
Among all the beings of fantasy
Would I be the one you chose?
If all your deepest fears arose
Would I be the one you pulled close?
If I die would you cry?
Would I be worth the precious water leaving your eye?
When the tests have all been done, and your face finally dry.
Would I have been worth it? Only you could decide.

I burn with every thought,
           Slowly my fingers reduce to ash,
                      I place them on my beating heart.
                                            With it I paint a picture,
                The sands of flesh every which way,
          Caressed over my roaring chest.    
      I can no longer.
I have no more to give,
      No more for you to take,
         I am half of what I once was.
            Letter by letter,
            Shoulder to shoulder,
          Your name is etched.
        And when I heal,
     It will forever say
   I’m yours,
Yours to burn once again.

In a car ride to nowhere,
Because why not.
Nothing much left for me here, page is full
The feather has drivelled its last blot.
In a starry night above somewhere,
The darkness is painted white.
The wind blows cold but the sun
will meet it with light.
For all life’s problems will drift away,
Whatever it is, it’s going to be alright.

Over coming my short comings.
Initially so plentiful, now nothing.
Your naked body clothing my thoughts.
Like leaves to trees.
Like pouring vinegar in the wounds I once bled, I continue to ponder you,
they continue to bleed.
Alone I walk in paradise, the shrivelled memories faulting to mere dust.
The air in Eden, a little colder, the water stained bitter, turning hardened steel into rust.
Spiralling up in a whirlwind of desire of what once was, consuming me whole, and ridding me of trust.
My inevitable demise,
I knew what you were, I chose to bite the apple , why am I surprised.

D’evils
Devils amongst us, painted in a glisten, dipped in gold. And thus, if to them, you truly listen, thou shan’t make it to old.
A patter of steps, trailing, lurking, never rest. For if guard is lost, with her eyes, you will get undressed.
A slither of a tongue, a caress or two, scrounging around for what it is, that weakens you. May it be ambition, may it be vanity.
The appearance of it, a delusion, for something so innocent, could wield your sanity.
Like a fisherman in calm waters, peering about into the blue sea, an encounter, lies a test for thee, beautiful it is, promises empty as hollow.
Peer closer he does, a goner he may, in the waters he is swallowed.
For she lured and prevailed it be, beauty is no longer hailed, as to him, it and the devil, are now a simile.
D’evils.

Never has anyone had the power to make me feel so strong, yet so weak, so alive yet so bleak, so amused at what I’m so confused, calling victory to what I should have called truce, until you. I’m a walking contradiction, a Yin and a Yang, with no balance, an order and a chaos, with a hint of madness. For you, I would take the happiness with the sadness.

It was a particularly melancholic morning appearing like a blemish to my week,
a dark spot surrounded by the light,
much like a melanoma.

Hair, looping about, intersecting through one another, locks, like a sea of being.
Smell, scent from an unseen utopia, lingering, waiting to be consumed by my gasping lungs.
In and out, it controls, to the point of complete isolation, eyes become obsolete, lids contract, breathing in slowly the calming breeze.
Like a sea shell, the ear witnesses the origins, beat after beat, separated by intermissions of quiet, her inner mechanisms at work. I feel her soul coming alive.