1100

The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying—this to Us
Made Nature different

We noticed smallest things—
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized—as ’twere.

As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame

That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite—

We waited while She passed—
It was a narrow time—
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot—
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce—
Consented, and was dead—

And We—We placed the Hair—
And drew the Head *****—
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate—

I am myself
in his encircled silence
lust doesn’t last
only love can travel
with the speed of light

only love can unravel
the colors of time
expose
the silent paradox
of gravity:
to be falling
when you’re flying

falling
deeper
into yourself
while you
elevate
in another

We are the lost generation
One would say we strayed
If there was a path to stray from
To be lost, to not know one's whereabouts is tough
When one doesn't know themselves.
A gap year will solve that problem
Or two
Or eight
Perhaps a gap life might be more appropriate
More appropriate than 3 years of falsities we label as education
Three years of losing oneself
-the self one never owned-
For instant gratification, excessive debauchery
Live now, pay later
In full, with interest
They never warn you of the interest
At some point undergo transformation,
Don't so much follow as pursue your passion as a detective seeks his criminal
Craft your philosophy and prepare for war where
Freedom fighters clash with crashes of the sharpest steel
Shame really,
To be fighting when one does not know what they are fighting for
The world burns and we feed the fire without thinking
The lights are on
Yet we are shrouded in darkness
Cast over by the shadows of our possessions
Acquired as one collects stamps or stones
Stones more like, for they will be too heavy to take with us
As will the paper our degrees are published on
As will the words I scribble furiously, daily
All because my work is by extension, me,
And so with it comes purpose
A bumpy, undefined path for me to trek on
For me to struggle and strive for an invisible finish line
Sans friends and family
Without anyone to shield me from my own monstrous thoughts
Is it fear or control which prevents me from action?
Perhaps a more suitable question for those who do
Take action
Seeing evil, hearing evil, contributing to it
Ignoring it
Ignoring the little boys and girls plucked from their homes
Or forced into silence by the ones they trust
Or watching countries storm their neighbours for no reason
Or even the most ordinary,
Where families are ripped apart and vows are broken
Where we cut and chop and mutilate our flesh to become someone's doppelganger
Where heart, honour and respect mean nothing.
Don't tell me money started this
When evil existed before money
Long before we didn't know who we were
Are.
We are the lost generation
And though I don't know how to be found
Maybe the solution
Is to find each other.

He loved me with the fierceness of a friday night
(Wine, smoke and moving hips)

You loved me with the tenderness of a tuesday morning
(Blinds, sunlight and fingertips)

My life
is made up of
interesting lives.
People that seem
to always be in
motion, doing
and experiencing life
and all that it offers.
I merely sit and observe
from behind the railings,
Yearning to join in,
But having not the courage
That would be needed to
Step away from my life
Into the one I wish I had.