Fooling myself—
“I’m halfway through.”
I dive with my eyes closed.

The sense of direction
vanished a mile back.

I wade forward,
bleak effort in each step,
doubting the trails I pass.

I embody Sisyphus—

Living in the past,
I wonder
if it would have been different.

I travel
but reach nowhere.

I’ve changed.
I’ve grew,
and not for the better.
I used to laugh.
But now I wither.
I lie in my room and stare at my ceiling.
I wish I was different,
but times have changed me.
I’m not the same.
I don’t smile, I cry.
And I’ll watch myself die.
Because I’ve been changed,
that’s life.
Always a different person inside.
Change exists, and I hate it.
Take me to 2019,
when I wasn’t hated.
Change change, and more change.
Nothings ever the same.
Grow up, go back.
Life’s insane.
Oh, how I hate change.

A boy with a guitar in his hand
Doesn't sing for money or a band
He sings for himself, for town, for world
For love, for hate, or maybe a girl

When I saw you for the "first time" I still remember that innocent smile, I was just a teenager. Rude yet kind, with an ounce of hope and prayers "in my mind."

I am missing "the sound of my heart beating with delight, when I saw you in the shadey light walking across the lake with the bouquet of lilies while I was beholded by just the presence of thee."

"It was never about the outline nor about the view. It was always about the soul and forever about you."

He hummed as if the sea found its waves
He expressed as if a soul found its face
He waved the strings as if to tell how flowers bloomed
Or to dress up for someone groomed and perfumed

The words he sang, recited, or spoke
Had an essence of love, of fear, of hope
The love for the first talk and fear for the last glimpse
And hope that still lies silenced in the speaker's lips

He continued to sing and tried to answer
The whys that the listener demanded                                Who ?....
Maybe also cried "when I saw you die
I just wanna close my eyes and remember ,whom I said to wait"

With the scar in his hand
The boy said when the last notes arrived
Listeners were spellbound with love
And all the beings learnt to adore their beloved

It may be a flower or just a petal
It may be a magazine or a piece of letter
But all that matters are the feelings true
And there may be a someone which will evoke the guitar boy hidden in you

They call them the Kings of Bones,
torching the  villages and the homes.
Saying they’re done with the ******* and moans
they’re expected to hear when upon their thrones.

So tell me is a battlefield even real
if it isn’t littered in blood, limbs and steel?
The bone kings only receive their end of the deal
if they offer up those who support them for the next meal.

So with scraped and ****** knees,
how are they to pray or please?
If our heads are always bent,
does worship even hold any sentiment?

So tell me is it really a done deal,
just like in guns, germs and steel?
The bone kings take what they want, act as they feel.
They tear all apart and neglect to place a seal.

They’re all too busy reading out of date scripture
that they’re all missing the blatantly clear picture;
Hell is empty as the devils walk the earth.
Everyone wants to rule the world,
trade gold for diamond and diamond for pearl;
doesn’t realize the reverse of worth.

Now they’re wearing collarbones around their neck,
and accessorizing every vertebrae as a ring.
Assuming this cruelty grants them respect,
really at best it’s just straight vulgarity.

But each King stands alone,
forever isolated and on their own.
So they polish a fresh bone
just to add to their skeletal throne.

I have never been so depressed
as I was
when stepped on by an elephant

I have never been so down
as I was
when attacked by a moulting duck

I have never been as shocked
as I was
when wiring that plug as I did

I never felt so abandoned
as I was
when she passed and left me here

When I think about her
I don't believe I will ever feel alive again
but I am older and will join her soon

Apples
in a bowl
on a wooden table
glowing
in a beam
of sunshine

A window
facing trees
gently moving
in the winds
of Summer

A hand
pooring coffee
for a friend
at the table

Senses intermingling:
apples, wood, summer wind
talk and friendship
in a timeless moment
of simplicity.

I wish I could say that he took me for granted
But he took me for nothing at all
His disinterest would have been legendary
If there was a measure for how much someone don’t want to see
I got on my knees
Said lots of pleas
Asked for help from a God I don’t truly believe
Wrote a whole lot of poetry
Shared lots of music, too
Tried everything I could think to do
He didn’t appreciate even one bit
Nothing ever to come of it
That’s his right
No hard feelings
All my might, I tried
Never got one toe inside
Nothing granted
Except this free ride
Round and round
On the invisible train
To nowhere town