The best kind of laugh is one that
is unexpected and, like love,
starts with a trickled and gains momentum.
cradle that laugh, and help it become something
more extraordinary, beyond words, just with a look
and while you can’t breathe
and yet it’s not panic you feel,
but a lovely warmth and fondness for the old friend
who has strayed from your broken heart for so long.
You’re glad he’s back, and indeed you can’t wipe the
smile from spreading across your face for the remainder
of the evening.

The best kind of laugh is one that
is unexpected and, like love,
starts with a trickled and gains momentum.
cradle that laugh, and help it become something
more extraordinary, beyond words, just with a look
and while you can’t breathe
and yet it’s not panic you feel,
but a lovely warmth and fondness for the old friend
who has strayed from your broken heart for so long.
You’re glad he’s back, and indeed you can’t wipe the
smile from spreading across your face for the remainder
of the evening.

My mother gathered me on her knee
and oh the stories i would hear
“The prince slay’d the beast his eyes white 
and strained, his inevitable end was near”

“The fair damsel had long golden hair
her face as pale as snow.
The prince took home the beautiful maid”
of course knighthood would be bestowed. 

They would wander the soft green hills together
wanting soon to be wed,
They softly reached the large wooden door
And drank from the pool of red. 

Oh how merry they’d seem as man and wife
with his dark hair and her light skin.
Mother closed the book, the light turned off
and my slumber enclosed within.


I wandered the soft green hills alone
recalling a story once told
Of princes and dragons with golden flare
my mind once easy to mould.

Dead sheep from a wolf’s mouth i pass
the preacher stood in my midst
i walked right by, not a word to spare
his white strained eyes i did resist.

As i passed the church where grass once grew
dark graves, and candle lit light
but not a glance i threw to its golden prince
not awed in it’s holy sight.

Night, At Night i sit.

She turns in the bed and sleeps all expression in her soft face gone, 
the storm brews in the distance, dream catchers rustle in the breeze.
Memories of a distant hotel bar burn in my mind.
Drinks, soft plush velvet in which feet sank, the smell of perfume.
 A silent tear falls down my cheek, the floorboards don't creek, only the dream catchers watchful hands stand protectively against the window closest to her.
The soft feathers almost brush her face, as if standing guard over the demons that often escape leaving her in a sweating nightmare.

Night, at Night i stand.

The rocking chair falls forwards and catching itself slides back into reality, the cot now takes place of the corner as fatherhood now takes mine.
The dream catchers sigh can be heard now guarding the little precious package fast asleep in a colourful world.

Night, at Night i pace,

waiting for the car lights signaling the package has returned to the sender.
My words are nothing but suddenly seem to spill over into the room in black and white, i bow my head and she still sleeps, unaware of my silent suffering.
The catcher now working it's magic.

Night, at Night i sleep.

She turns to face me and in that moment we both know.
I smile which catches her off guard.
I clasp her aged wrinkled hands and whisper words of a distant hotel bar and drinks leading us through this life.
I know the dream catchers eye watches over me now, we both lay there, contented, and as we parted from this world i saw the hands of the catcher.
His face old and weathered. He offered us his hands, and pulled us gently into the rocking lullaby of his world.

A never ending pool of life, things erupt burning into the darkness, a fireball in the black hole.
It lights up the sky, daytime.
Always wandering, searching for the other half. You feel helpless, something's missing.
Then one day, like a light had suddenly been turned on you find it. 
That light burning into the darkness, illuminated by your own imagination.
you forget meaningless experiences
You realize you have everything to loose now.
The more you gain, the harder it is to part with.

I'm the observer, an outsider to the world. I sit and  watch.
The small child, eyes like shinning beacons.
They play silently. I cannot hear. I'm the observer.
Without them I would fall into the oblivion, the dark pit of reality.
This frightens me.

I'm the observer. I see her grow up, I see animalistic instincts,
I see it all. I watch people pass, unwarranted and alone I sit.
I cannot help feel invisible, maybe I am.
My only friend a small pigeon
Who seems to share my woe and disgust for the world.

People pass. I'm the observer. Nothing more and nothing less. Expressions range, each one having their own story,
I can see it all.
I suppose that's the burden of the observer, as an outsider to the world, lost and forgotten in a thought, a flicker, a moment.
Forgotten. forgot. forget. for go. for. go.