You are everything
you pretend to be.

The best thing about life
is finding the simple patterns.

through shattered glass a broken mind
in one lone voice terse and cleansed
speaks unspoken thoughts of rusty will

nestled in spirit's brawny grasp
winged notions lay in wait
on woodless edges of fate's forest
relenting for relent's sake

heart-shaped clouds bleed sorrowed sheets
blanketing a clown of shame
huddled atop nervy stilts
embedded in the muck of mourn

furious fields forge fires of rage
a sweltering stench stands tall
in lockstep a ghosts parade
foggy silhouettes stop and gaze
watching, waiting, wanting
to rob future's grave of treasures past

scratched and bruised and battered lands
tattered bands of dreamscape caravans
timeless sands, spineless hands, heartless clans
among these, fate is planned

a distant city stands to fall
infidels shall cringe and crawl
brotherhood of hate begun
redemption of man undone

©Jason Cole

dancer of the clouds,
ink of dream,
as if the sky, hushed
and utterly forlorn,
turned a pirouette.

With no pointed angles to hold us up,
We fall, fall forcefully among the masses,
No sparkles in the dust below,
How easy it is to get pushed.
As a child on a swing so eager to jump
But knowing that there is no soft landing,
We are thrown into a new discourse.
Distant excuses ringing from afar,
No loud bang just murmurings
That it won't and could never be our place.
It shone too brightly to allow the other in.
Now that we have learnt our fate,
Masks hung innocently over our faces,
Cloaks of greys and blues.
No bells chiming when we made the landing.
Far away from the who knows who.
Take those hands from deepened pockets,
Remove the swollen scarves,
That zip doesn't hide the demeaning brow,
Unpack all the anger and hurt.
A battle of stars against bridges of stone,
Made tall with stacks of mortar,
No frown will give us prominence now,
Is that what we are after?