It's the waiting that gets you
when your sat on that chair
it muggles your mind
to that long vacant stare

When you stop and listen
you can hear the clouds rushing by
the trees bending in their wake
a ginger cat sat on a wall watching
an old man shuffling along with his stick
and the mother in charge of a pram and baby
weaving to get past
thank you she says as the old man leans on the wall
next to the cat who was watching

Then the clouds disappear
and that world floats away
who's next a voice whispers
as the band starts to play

the light is raging, colours are hiding
when we hide our hearts full of dusk
we are mercenaries of ensoulment
listening to this manic-depressive couple,
power and helplessness, makes one wanna scream:
darkness is vulnerable too
clockwise the mind in action flows looking for its anti-time,
our actions can stand as tall us
anticlockwise is a flow into the trance of the unknown
into foreign bodies full of the tension of keeping the light
apart from day

Magritte is dreaming his hat, Freud his pipe
The Empire of Light perhaps
Ceci est une pipe, a vital voyeurism, the pleasure of stirring up
so many levels to listen for their hidden symbols
we are antiparticles for each other, when we collide reality starts screaming for each soul to witness
but a homeless pain possesses our dreams
unable to recognize the ******* of caring

too tired for rage, I am only wondering
where to find the necessary love for this fiery world
I ask the trees, the birds, the mind of the wind,
I'll pray for them to teach me their grace

There's nothing I can really own,
I ache at something that wasn't mine; no memories to recollect and no sound of voice that I could memorize, not even a light could stay within.

And even the sky changes its color, it doesn't even own the stars.

When sun touches sea
Sky paints magnificent view
Hope stirs in my soul
Gorgeous beauty like you
Come to brighten my darkness.
24/11/2023

heavy rain from a darkening sky
and buildings  fall

no one knows what will be left
running down the nowhere
where dreams die
on a metal tray
at the hospital morgue

trouser leg pushed up
the search for black ink
and a child's name
begins

perhaps the arm
the hip

the back?

and the children plead,
lie to me,
tell me,
i won't die,
today

and the silent screams
are left in an eternity of why?

foul and bitter hearts
will prevail
on both sides,
this is the poetry of death