Over weeks and months
and fleeting years, my
chaos became a cozy
blanket to cover winters
of thinking, and reading.

And of course living.

I wish the story could be told;
and more so could be told by me
with smells and views and
hints of what was heard
and said and softer said.

But the wish and the truth and
the fear of the lies are attached
and afloat in my heedless head
as I walk along the platform line.
The yellow line. The danger line.

And Yes you know the fear out here
and No you can't be seen out here,
but that is why I must be here.
Even ignored like the twitter
trends of the mindless mass.

Here I fear the worst of all.

I fear it never happened at all.

Not at all.

But it did.

This road trip of mine
has run out of gas
and of guts and if there
ever was any glory it
would be running from
the house right now.

But there was none
and none has passed
to stop and ask and
fill the can of worms
one last time before
we ask with dread:

Isn't this enough now?

I stand up straight,
just like she taught me.

I'm calm.

Collected.

But the table ahead is
hurtling through space,
a thousand miles to
the tick of a clock.

And the tick crawls
slow and alone through
the hairy forest. Oblivious
to the car chase ahead.

I turn the glass upside down
and pour the Cabernet.

Oaky flavours spill to the
floor and consume my world.

At first they were dreams.
Dragons in the night.
Dreams of who I could be.
Slayers in the night.
Dreams of where I could be.
Battles in the night.
Dreams with whom I could be.
The American Dream.

At the wake I saw the way.
Struggles in the light.
The man I need to be.
A fighter for what is right.
The roads I need to see.
A pass, rough in the light.
With whom I need to be.
My American Dream.

The pass lay steep. In wait.
But I flipped the switch and
Stared to screen. Screens of
Dreams. Screens of screams.
Screens for the Hollow Men.
Yup, Mistah Kurtz he dead.
But sure I saved before?
Where was I before?

Opinion of my own?
Oh no.
Goals of my own?
So so..
Achievements of my own?
Oh dear god, no!
But I had a dream of my own.
And then I let it go.

Between the conception
And the creation,
Between the emotion
And the response,
Falls the Shadow.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.

Between my dreams
And no creation,
Between my jealousy
And the flat screen,
Falls the Shadow.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.
Not with a bang but a whimper.

"To arms", screamed he
who crowned himself
as chief in charge;
conscience-corporal to
the slain virtue in me.
To arms? TO ARMS?!

"TO ARMS" spewed he
and forth they came in
reckless droves they
pushed and passed
with fists and lies
and cut-throat eyes.

But early hope did
now subside. "To death",
I thought and mopped as
best my hands could
care at blood and guts
beyond repair.

We're locked in place
with twisting tides
that drift the lines
of wrong and right.
With curse and scream
in vain we fight.

The perfection of texture and hue,
seeming so clear and true
with delicate patterns enticing
the calmness of enchanted blue.
In life and death it stands alone
this timeless vase on ivory keep,
gazing tall and bright at those below
where out of view its cracks grow deep.
They spring in time and expose with zeal
the vanity, lust and hate inside;
And the lesser evils that I conceal.

Did they not see it
last night? Or did
I dream up that
dim-red sight?

And the bright old
sun that roused my
soul? Rising alone,
had no friend but me;

So let's be honest
for now, and ask:
How exciting could
my company be?

Did I not walk this way in summer sun?
In spring's bouquet I must have come
to breathe and see and chat away with
friends and "friends" of those in sway.

I did. I did. I surely did.
I've seen this place in many suns.
Its fizzy coat and grassy *****
too green and grey for in-between.

On lonely days I've passed this way,
with eyes cast down on darkened path
I stole my time in these here parts
with coat and hat and white in eye.

And yet I've missed this moment's sight,
a pause, a smile and grasp to heart.
Last night's forgot. Its glum has
gone and brought again another sun.

They stood at his door,
both of them, on tiles red.
On the wet floor,
two, six, four were
the eyes of the truth,
but the eyes of his lies
were many more.

Did I not walk this way in summer sun?
In spring's bouquet I must have come
to breathe and see and chat away with
friends and "friends" of those in sway.

I did. I did. I surely did.
I've seen this place in many suns.
Its fizzy coat and grassy *****
too green and grey for in-between.

On lonely days I've passed this way,
with eyes cast down on darkened path
I stole my time in these here parts
with coat and hat and white in eye.

And yet I've missed this moment's sight,
a pause, a smile and grasp to heart.
Last night's forgot. Its glum has
gone and brought again another sun.

Like a drumming crowd
who scream and spit
and shove and curse
they force on through.
Clutching with craze
a stolen view of the
street brawl ahead,
the ****** confusion
that all have said
is the life of my life,
the death of my death,
and the end of my faith.

Did it change of late,
or was it as such
since pre-time arose?
Me a bad actor,
my life a bad show?
The tickets are sold
but all can see that
no story's been told.
And still I roam
with rhymes that
wither and fade
under eyes of scorn.

And in good times,
no eye at all.

It had happened before:
This callous exploit.
Sequence adrift and
perhaps an ending too swift,
but I'd seen it before.

A previous morn was
woke with shudder and
sweat before with reason
I met and could curl again
toward that lusted retreat.

Not so on this
not-so-innocent wake.
It was real and all too true
What's done is done.
The devil within had come.