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 Jan 2015
Pax

A prisoner of your own doing
Selfishness is a way of avoiding
Stay fair by merely existing
Pain and craving
Lock and stored in a well-guarded place
Hunger made it hollow in this well hidden base
Loving from a distance
Shielded by masquerade
Person in charade.

written way, way back last: August 30, 2011
its a old piece, this was the time I was still jobless & with many sleepless nights I had. I was in a lot of pressure, or I created too many expectations upon myself. Subconsciously I started writing, to help me sleep and not think of many things that I will begin to regret. I guess my point is, I started writing because I needed peace of mind.
 Jan 2015
Poetic T
He was lonely, as was his heart, carver
Of wood, he searched upon forest &
Glade till before his eyes laid sight of a masterpiece,
Home he hurried
Carving,  
Smoothing,
Varnishing
Not noticing or ignoring the black knot
But unbeknown, this was a deeper
Problem. Rotten, decayed black festered
Within not showing on the outside,
But things are missed in joy,
Things that will haunt, but he was finished
His boy of wood stood before
His so tearful eyes, your only wood
Only inanimate, sitting before my weeping eyes.
Heard where his whispers
Upon a night were they asked back,
"You are of sound heart"
"You are of compassion"
"You will have a son of wood with life in his heart"
As he looked upward,
A sight befell his reddened eyes
"FATHER"
Words fell forth unto his ears,
"Did you just speak??
"Father"
He hugged upon wood given life,
"Son"
"Son"
"A boy of my own given life"
"I love you son"
"I love you father"
His nose grew,
leaves sprouted forth,
"Aaghhhhh"
As Pinocchio snapped what grew forth,
And throw it upon the floor,
In pain he reeled,
"Son be calm"
For lies will be greeted by growth
Shall a lie be told, only good boys
And girls realise that honesty will be rewarded.
With that he cuddled his father, you know
Not love but I will show you unconditionally
Till you understand honesty also love,
Upon those words both bedded
For the night was late and father was old,
But he never slept, upon the floor
Part of him that broke off,
Now tainted black,
As it had succumb to its chosen fate,
As he fashioned upon tools
A living weapon,
"Blackest as night"
He felt connected
They were apart but one.
Into the bedroom he crept,
"Father"
"Father"
"Awaken"
Startled old eyes widen, I have a gift,
As he plunges it forth,
Son whhhhy I loveeee youuu
"I am but wooden given life"
"Blackness rots inside"
"It must feed"
For without it I will cease,
When I was just cold
It was my end no difference to any one.
And now given life
That is all that matters this night,
And with that he ****** into his
"Fathers heart"
He felt relief inside no more ties
But he cried splintered tears upon his
Blood they mixed upon the floor
He had extinguished his first life.
He needed to stem the flow as
He felt the veins rooting further
Life was his not easily given up,
The town fell silent that night,
As he fed well, he charred his
Finger tips black upon once so tanned,
So to feed with both knife and hand.
He would travel the world, death in his wake
All thought
"How unique"
"How harmless"
"How sweet"
But when the hunger craved,
Life was bled,  life was ceased
All for the rot to not **** this wooden boy
"Rotten core in a boys shell"
Prey his nose does not grow just a little
Because your time in life will be up.
 Jan 2015
Poetic T
I bit upon the shell
It was soft and moist
It bleed candy apple red.

I could feast on it all night,
But I rested for darkness
Conceals deeds not seen
In light.

To long wasted, what was
Full of life now sour,
The core rotting, pungent
Smell of a now hardened shell.

She bleed candy apple red,
Tasted the sweetest I have
Ever had. But now is spoilt,
I threw her away, I took my
Fill and I leave this for another
dinner blind date.
 Jan 2015
eunsung aka Silas
sadness wraps around me
like a warm blanket.
joy evaporates out of my pores,
as I am slowly drenched with sweat.
I did not notice how heavy and thick
my blanket of sadness had gotten,
until depression started smothering me.
I shed my blanket, when like a silent killer
my sadness tried to take my last breath.
I had always thought I'd welcome death,
but I gasped for breath.
I did not know I wanted to really live
till my life was almost taken away by
a thick layer of depression
enveloping me whole.

I
am lighter now,
free.
a gift of life I never wanted
until strangers , who almost suffered the  same death
showed me how to shed my blanket
layer by layer.
sometimes it's helpful to be with those who lived through darkness like our own, I feel less judged when they reach out their hand and walk with me.
 Jan 2015
Poetic T
Time is a moment, lengthened
Stretched, but ever fluid,
Not stationary but ever moving
I formation of forth and back.

It is the crest upon a traveling
quantum consciousness,
We are here, behind, staring
At what is enviable.

Time is conscious thought,
That which we think later is
A thought happened in the
Past, weaving to the now
And remembered as If never
Knowing that we always had it.

We are a sting of moments,
Time is but a ticking clock, we
Are living are existence.
Past, present, future are a
locking mechanism of
Consciousness that we have
Yet in a infinite moment,
To properly unlock.
I don't know where this came from, but I liked it.
 Jan 2015
bones
On the day
her body burned
she asked the
winds to be
her friends
and they
picked her
up and poured
her through
the fingers of
their hands
like a river
without ending
that won't
be tied or
bound, until
every trace of
dust embraced
the freedom it
had found.
 Jan 2015
Traveler
If I show my emotions
My issues might try to escape
I can't seem to keep up
With her formalities
Normality I have to fake

Kisses to me feel awkward
Please don't touch me while I sleep
Exhausted are my conversations
She just can't seem to go that deep

But there are times
When life come undone
She is there, my voice is gone
And my empty heart
Weighs a ton
Even if I neglect to show it,
I love you.
 Jan 2015
Poetic T
I am one voice I am alone
But I hear a ringing in the
Distance,  It could be imagined
I could be only one in this land
Of perpetual darkness.

Could there be anyone else but
Me, I hear echoes as if something
Far but near, I am in the vastness
Of a blinding white, There has
To be more to this than me.


"I run in blackness never a direction seen"
"I run though blinded by what isn't seen"

I reach this edge as if a finite space,
Mirrored, contorted images,
An aura of what that which is
Opposite to me.


Running until I hit upon a enclosed space,
I see a detachment of what is viewed.
I'd look upon, as my features blinded
By this reflection of confusion, bathed
In purest puzzlement.*

I touch the boundary
I touch upon  the confines

"Yours"*
"Ours"

Palms  grasp upon each, a moment of clarity
As what was single parts unite as a merged
Thought of right or wrong, a conscience,
Of two parts that on meeting became the
Same but singularly separated. Voices that
Speak in sync, but always different
together and apart as *one.
 Jan 2015
Tryst
sEnd
                              t
He                moNEy:

              *TRY!
          ­   noTHiNg                         funnY!

    othEr     wIsE                               ,tHE

                   "poEt"                                          **DIES?
First published 21st January 2015, 09:20 AEST.
 Jan 2015
Phosphorimental
I try to catch my words like fireflies
and store them in a jar.
I cannot.
Whenever I lift the lid to speak again,
the jar talks to me...
And off they fly.

In the silence,
inspired thoughts
make pleas for their own release.
Within moments
they are captured by another,
no longer mine.

Anything but silence is futile
when it comes to liberating
the true meaning of my fireflies.
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