What if you could read another person's thoughts
What if you could hear their mind
If you could see what they think...
You may be better off blind

My contribution
To society
Has been minimal

I live without plans
Without goals

Born into a prosperous society
Born into a prosperous family

Lazy
I suppose so, yes

I admire the workers
Of the world
Who toil
Who must toil
To eat

To put food
Into their mouths

I admire those
Who are committed
To something good

Doctors or nurses
Farmers
Whatever it may be

As for me
I hardly contribute
At all
To this society

It's just
I have no need to

Let others achieve
Let others work

The basic necessities
Of life
Have been provided

And so
I will work
Twice a week at most

There are my documentaries
They interest me

I don't need more
I'm just going to do
The minimum

Relax and rest

I'm not here
To make a big commitment

No plans
For a career

.
Like an answer it calls,
loud voices of the inspired,
sipping coffee cups
Picking moments like fresh corn,
hoping for the sweetest
Falling into space
in tiny squares of who we are
lost in words
Requested visits due in time
as the door opens,
the mat is clean…WELCOME

Breathing in search of dreams
Still dark outside as
bright light finds me
and I am here
Where I belong…mostly
Some love me, some don’t
some don’t care one way or the other,
but they are all poets,
sharing thoughts and ideas,
well wishes flourish
and sometimes anger, softly ranting

Adventures become lone wanderings,
lush floral habitats
with gardens of fragrant ideas
battling the weeds of yesterday,
still beautiful when woven
in the serendipity,
sown of long ago experiences
and tomorrow’s promises
for those eyes drifting
line to line from
time to time

Human beings, trapped in a world…
not trapped, (that was wrong) found living,
touching others and soothing hearts
Examining feelings with magnified senses
Skipping from here to there,
dressed up for an evening in
Finding direction and offering it
Poetry, it is our blood,
the rivers we float on hand in hand
till we reach the falls
and go headfirst into our own written paradise

sandstone hits glass
she wants to talk about our past
the knives,the guns,the pills fill my head
her words ring in my ears like a lost melody
the things i would do to her,
the things i would do for her

she wields her sword and raises her shield,
ready to fight
our enemy is not the one waiting at the city gates
but the one messing with her heads.

we have the same enemies, her and i
they are born in our heads,
they thrive on our thoughts,
they keep us awake at 3 AM with a bottle of wine by our bedsides
because our eyes are too tired to shut themselves,
they make us love ourselves sometimes
only to rip us apart and wear our skin as cloaks.
our enemies are peculiar
they lift the corners of our mouth to form a smile
they make us swallow pills and snort drugs to feel alive.
we don't fight them
we let them win
we let them aim their guns at us
we let them destroy our will to live
we let them follow us to family gatherings and night-outs
we watch them rip our insides out with a smile
we can never get them out of our heads.
you see, we once built a palace inside our heads
we adorned the walls with our favourite pictures and stories
we hung fairy lights by our bedsides
because all the light we couldn't see was fading away.
the demons crawled out from under our beds and got into our heads.

darkness loomed over our palace.
the fairy lights were broken
the pictures shattered
the stories reduced to scribbles
we sharpened our knives,
got guns for hands,
bombs at the entrance
and changed the lamps to grenades
but they didn't die.
they grew stronger.

we tried to burn down our palace,
run away to our haven
but they got us in the end
and no matter how high our swords and shields are raised
they will stay with us
until the very end

Our culture is lost
The future no longer belongs to us
Today I have realized this

Today I come to create my own path
And one day I shall die
Everything left behind

Someone will arrive and forge their own destiny
Raise monuments and a culture
And there they shall remain

A new people will arrive
Free to construct their own legacy
Unbound by anything of the past

A being must be unchained.

"You already know everyone."

the wet summer
Crowns the head of a psalm-
    Unlacing it's proverbial season
The sun adjusts it's pilgrimage
    Making the images of the world:

    From green to yellow to orange
In a foliage of wind and water and ice
    The season begins
On the five senses;
What I see is what I feel
And the thoughts begin a momentum,
   Impending dazzlement
In the erosions of trees,
  Sculpting winds
Falling to the untouchable clarity,
    The soul and earth join,
These endless things
   At the cusp of change
With that familiar feeling.

Old souls are the most beautiful things inside of us.
They are a thousand of years old.
We can't paint them on canvas.
We can't write them in a poem.
And we can't play them on the piano.

This is a pure hurting that can't be avoided.
It demands to be felt.
Pulsing waves of sadness radiating from within.

It washes over me.
It floods my body.
It cleanses my mind.

And in the morn -
I am reborn.