Words on the wall.
Go with Paul.
So profound.
Like a crystal ball.
Okay, all coming back.
Should have read.
Julie, will you go with Paul.
But it didn’t.
Surely a message.
A deeper meaning.
Check the celestial phone.
A message awaits.
You ***** lying scummbag, drop dead.
Should I tell her there's only one M in scumbag.
Could this be another message.
I enlighten her.
The other M is for *******.
But is it.
Is there an even deeper meaning.
The celestial phone bleeps.
I peruse the heavenly text.
Actually there should be an extra B with the extra M, *******.
I see pain in her text.
I feel it myself.
There is a wanting.
Flowers and chocolates.
I feel comfort walking through the graveyard.
Knowing random people are helping me in the pursuit of love.
I throw a pebble up to her window.
Holding my mixed bunch of flowers.
Old Mrs Jones looks down, smiling.
If I was seventy, I’d do, I digress.
I bade her in, throwing the pebble up to my true love.
Who opened the window maybe a tad too early.
She screams my name.
Which was comforting in a strange way.
Old Mrs Jones looked out, recoiling in horror, knocking herself out in the process.
I realised I had forgotten the chocolates.
Darling, could you borrow me ten pounds.
Something in her one good eye told me no.
The paramedics told me to go.
The Police read me my rights.
Putting me up for the day, and the night.
Still, as the Councilman said as I was scrubbing the wall.
It’s not like you’re Banksy, is it Paul.
I felt a deeper meaning.
A thought had occurred
It would take a lot of paint.
But would be worth the pain.
I worked through the night.
Such a delight.
I threw a pebble up to her window.
Old Mrs Jones looked down at the naked mural of me, and dropped down dead.
Julie sort of squinted in dread.
But the gun in her hand.
Well, enough said.
The Police charged me with indecent exposure.
Though the court said that wasn’t quite true.
Still, the Councilman said.
I’m really impressed.
I mean, it's different.
Maybe you should have added a verse.
He stopped me scrubbing.
We bowed our heads.
As old Mrs Jones passed by in the hearse.

It’s a tragedy
Both parents
Road accident
Still, life goes on
That’s the real tragedy
She left him
His first love
For a gay guy
That was a  tragedy
He still had his sense of humour though
You needed a sense of humour when a gay guy steals your woman
She wanted you back
It wasn’t working out with the gay guy
Mainly because he left you for a gay guy
Tragic
The world was his oyster
The mud suited
Camouflaged the loss
Hid the tragedy
Kept his sense of humour though
Met her years later
She remembered his sense of humour
What a tragedy
She was dying of cancer
Still, life goes on.

The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist  cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed.

5 am you woke me up, to meditate.

I thought someone had died, someone had, me.

It was the ultimate time, you said.

Looking down, I had to disagree.

Can you feel the energy, she said.

I can’t feel myself, go away.

This is a window of opportunity she said.

There was a window.

Let us breathe she said.

This had never happened before, nutcase  came to mind.

What is your mantra she said.

What is my name I said.

No, you have to reach out, draw in the energy.

I am going to reach out, it won’t be pretty.

Let me take you on a journey, join me.

I’ll phone you a taxi, blast, it’s your house, I’ll phone me a taxi.

If we connect the *** will be out of this world.

Okay, through the delirium I heard the S word

Mmmm feel it, Mmmm, feel it, Mmmm, can you feel it.

I can definitely feel something.

It’s getting stronger, we are one.

We definitely are.

We must connect.

We definitely must.

Before my husband comes off the nightshift.

Thought I heard the H word there.

Let us be one.

Let us wind back to the husband.

He is but a component in time.

What time does this component come home at.

Six, but it’s okay, he’s gay.

Thought I heard the G word there.

He likes to join in, which can be a pain.

When you say join in, what do you mean.

In the mantra, he likes to join in in the mantra.

I don't know where to start...
At the beginning I guess.
That's where it all starts,
And ends, if you think about it

When I look inside, I don't see darkness.
I see light, wonder, potential
Spinning and spinning
Like the thoughts and feelings inside me.
Things fly by my view
At a speed too fast to grasp
And yet slow enough to see.
What do I chose?
What do I do?

An eagle chooses which way it flies.
A mouse chooses which direction it scurries.
Even a humble caterpillar has the freedom of direction.
Why can't I?
Why am I destined to stay on one path?
Since when has anything stayed on one path...

Life may not have any meaning
But it was never meant to.
Our meanings our individual, unique.
We have the opportunity and ability to shape them how we want
Make us who we want.
Meaning to one may mean different to another.
Difference of meaning is not contempt of acceptance.
Life has no meaning.
So we provide meaning into that which is life.

I want to fall away
From everything that bothers me
...there's so much that bothers me...
It's getting hard to bear
       Getting hard to stand
       Getting hard to breath
       Getting hard to live
If only the best things in my life
Could be applied to those problems
And whisked them away
Like a feather
In the breeze.
To be seen years later
In a field of never ending wonder
And yet boundless stagnancy
Where one is all
And all is the same
That is all