…don't give an F to the world, as it will only play you out so flat. it's a
place where young men are taught from a tender age to think with a
D, as if that's the major key to success – we desperately need some
minor adjustments in all our mindset's metronome

life:

the stark black and white hues, like the keys on a piano, as
everyone tries to ascend their scale of freedom. so often, I find myself
pondering what melodies, the piano man in the sky composes as he
watches over us, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the celestial
keys – harmonies to echo through the universe

our heart’s compositions reflect a symphony of your own human
emotions, those blending notes of joy, sorrow, love, and hope – a
beautiful crescendo of one’s life journey. but we live as a fleeting
chord in the vast symphony of the cosmos, hoping to play each note
with delicate precision and purpose

the music within and around you, could guide you through the
harmonies and dissonances of life. fighting the silent chaos in your
head – or being the distracting sound of chaos from all your worries
                             this grand life piano.

purpose: for in the many parts of me, I know somewhere there
could be a perfect version of me – if only I wasn’t losing pieces
of myself so purposely. living past due the experience of full sleep;
ten thousand butterflies in the net of my body, to form a fluttering
soul.

heavy lead filled tears to melt in the soil – when I choose to cry, I
think of the rain for my emotions to better flow, catching my breath
on love, by that breeze of excitement. winded from chasing after the
dreams of it, and running further away from prior defeats – some still
follow me.

love asks me, to fight my battle; a lover would tell me, “be my
champion,” my own strength would remind me to be a little more
patient – my eyes would sting me, for finding a reason to be blinded
again. lastly these unclean hands would pretend to have never
touched a piece of sin though in the many pieces of myself, pieces
of myself have been followers of skin.
            so stands the message, sighed as a lover

don’t hug me for too long, just to suffocate my heart; then
look at me surprised when I tell you, “I think I’m in love.

don’t point me out so quickly as your man – I don’t
want to disappoint you.

don’t look into my eyes for the value of love; I’m also
still confirming the price.

don’t bother yourself giving me a cold shoulder, as a child
I enjoyed chewing on ice.

don’t force me to show you my love, my presence around
you will make sure it’s more than enough.

but…

do tell me constantly, “I love you” –
those three very words, I haven’t heard them enough.

somewhere out in the world, somebody’s child is dying –
we all should be crying, but being miles apart, you right
now could be smiling – knowing not a thing

life is often tragedy; in other times it’s the happier times
to make us smile. we are a billion diamonds reflecting
each other lights – we hope to live, we all know we’ll
die, some hope for peace, still we fight within this life
to try and survive  

we do our best to dream, even when sleep has other plans
so for some, they re-enact the scenes from dreams to make
them seem real. though the past is gone, some of the memories
of it don’t make a retreat; some hope for peace, still we fight
within this life to try and survive  
                seems we’ve always been bred to fight.

dilated tears, those that cut through your eyes – in the
silence of hope, I know love will call for me part-time;
working myself just to prove forever. but it always stays
the same, fighting the headache of it all – smiles dissolving
away like an aspirin in a glass of water

where you rest your mind on everything you had; memories
are just gravestones, where we bury ourselves in – hoping
they too find their resurrection

in memory; I’ve written dreams of love on chiselled marble
slabs – lettered in gold, where we loved each other, close
enough to death; ending if all off as two concrete bodies

love makes death jealous, on how good it plays the waiting
game. the still waiting of a grandparent, who reaches their
own old age, knowing in death, they will finally meet their
lover once again.
                love is age, and that love is beautiful!

a heart dares itself to be in charge – heavy as lead
a mind so lost in depths of the mundane, man’s greatest
and heaviest sigh is knowing tomorrow is, “Monday”

the perennial and annihilating thirst of this flesh;
funny how the power of creation is another man’s
addiction – one who multiplies life, the other just makes
an addition to their means of only finding, “friction”

some days I pray for angels to bear the weight on
my shoulders, the demons sit on top of my head –
all-knowing silence; the darkness smiles at your
shame, but who really knows what to look for in
the dark?

         …I only pray you see yourself in a better light

empty cup that fills my mind – down to earth man
sips the ground; a scent that erodes all other scents
swirling steam, a bittersweet dream – fruitful energy
given by the swirl of it’s heat; as my tongue ripens
to this flavour in my cup

the days are always a rush; a cup of coffee sort of helps
me slow it all down – thrown seeds to grow in my heart,
rejoicing in the love I have for my morning drink. reaping
for more, coffee seeds planted in the coffee machine.

cos some days I work myself like a machine – I need to
oil the machine, with the fuel from that coffee bean
the goosebumps rise on my skin, I’m in love with this
              coffee bean