We all have questions of our motivations          
              and endeavours of life's
cause and effect.

Then we realise,
   life is a challenge of moments.
      And how we play the game  
                                of our finite continuing...

Do we give up?

                             Or do we collect our strength.
      Showing all that where stronger
                        than a question mark..

That falls at every ending to a query?
           But why must we be hooked by this.
                       Now answering it before
  we need to even explain ourselves..


Be stronger at the start
                        and never  question
                           where we finished.
Because to question ourselves
                     only leaves more question marks..

The morality of our present
                           will have implications
       on the repercussions

of what it means to be moral.

For the principles we bestow
       on others
                                of future words,
                                          of actions.
Will acknowledge
                    the motivations of future references.

Our ethics aren't beckoned by
       beliefs or
                         regional confides.
       They are moulded
on the evolution of our
                                     evolving humanity.

Showing that no matter our distance,
                                               the substance
                         of each.
Is morally imbued
                         within the fibre of each moment
we collect and share upon each other..

Breath was exhumed from the corpses
lingering impressions.
   But all were merged beyond
                           the futile emotions of the flesh.

For where reflections were void,
             only true deliberations stigmatized.
                                    Everything of before,
               that  were psychedelic illusions.

Reminiscing of stained windows,
                recently cleansed of the memories of
                                                                ­yesterday.
Only now were remnant fallen dreams buried
                                           beneath falling stars..



                           That crawled like maggots
                                                 in the heavens
burrowing deeper the more they fell...
                And still though falling, there breath still
                                          gasped as death only exhales.

Are my eyes not sewn
To the vestagise's of
                                You.

Your words like songbirds
In mornings glory,
                     singing the awakening

                                           of ourselves..

We fly higher in dawns rising,
         and slumber in a nest of
                                            two,
                            when dusk falls beneath
                                                    our hearts.

Two feathers always gliding
            on the rhyme of loves wind.
And we soar for eternity
          as we are the breath beneath
                       each others yearnings.

I used to follow every echo
             bellowing beneath
the subconscious frame work

                            that where
        hanging in my empty halls..


Before I realised that within these
                    representations of hollow
                                       imitations.

Were just blank obscure nothingness's
                        swallowing me within a
                                   kaleidoscope of false
                      pretext.

And then I saw that there was no picture
          as the  frame never existed
     beneath the
              echoes just shadows of insecurity...

We are to busy looking at the grandeur
                  of the nirvana above
to realise that even though there is beauty
exhaling  beyond our sights.

                       That there is an inhiation
of stunning metaphors
                              swimming beneath ever wave..

Stories drowned beneath every convulsion that
             swells with every passing rise of
                                 nights eternal watchman.

Immersed luminosity that never sees lambent ashes
                                            hanging silently above.
Only giving the onyx deep a light show
                    of life's perfection to never fade away..

For in every darkness there is a shade of light,
               and within every light
there is a passing glimmer of shading.

For no matter how far we ascend, what is beneath
            still teaches us that we need to look into
the  darkness to realise that we need go deeper
                       before we ascend higher than our gaze wishes..

Clinging to seconds when
      There where hours that
                  Flew by.

But we never
        Caught that flight.
Instead we looked
out the window
            counting the seconds.

Every moment counts..
      Don't let anything
Fly by,
          catch every breath as
                     They never fly forever.

My veins like glass shards
   itch beneath a memory
of aging brackish memories.


I couldn't lift my arms for they
fell like a breathless moment
                                 in a forest of regrets.  
    
                     No one heard them descend,
they just bled sap slowly, till all was hollow.

And all that was left was a time that fell,
                                      and the cuts where silent.

I was a moment standing in grandeur,
        but beneath it didn't really matter
                             I
                         was a hollow moment,
crumbling beneath life's weight.

Every day is a concussion,
                where I feel that
my thoughts are suffering
                    from blunt force trauma.


Slumped within the confines
                                     of self..
Blood vessels burst in a rainbow
              of fluctuation and I think
                                 was it all worth it.


Should I have let that last thought
                                                haemorrha­ge.

Instead of getting up again and again...

Realising that after the first reaction I should
have stayed down ,Succumbing to the
                                                            even­tuality.  

That I could be what I wanted, what I thought
                 I could become. I was like a flower,

Dying before it blossomed..
                          And all that was left
                              was dead memories
crushed before they could even show
                                            there beauty.

                Now just wilted dreams becoming nightmares.

Such a strong branch holding up the
fruits of so many seasons but then one
winters wrath did the wind pick a fight.

Though it fought against the odds, it bent
within the breath of failing and yielded to
                       the chosen fate and befell its birth.


Falling silently in a wood of mute descents,
           where nothing was heard, but everything
knew that something was not as it was before.

Even thought strength held it at the yearning of all
below now it was stagnant. Then eyes pondered upon
its elegance. A fortitude of worth now meant for other means.


And though cleaved it was meant for a purpose,
             not one that it knew, now sewn on to
metallic wows. Sharp edges flowed like breath.

And so many times did it fall, not as before
                       this time it drank a different dew..
    teardrops flowed upon its eternal falling.

But it never grew weak, feeding on the nourishment
                                   of each diminishing stance.
Though it fell from the tree it still grew in depravity.



What was once a yearning life, growing further than
any other. It fell and became contaminated within
                                  earthly pleasures which it drank upon..    

A moment falls that severs ever moment before,
                     and what falls in moments after isn't
confused.  
                             It now has a purpose of the death it felt.

Play me a melody
           that I may slumber.

Not to count sheep,
     more like to feed
on the carcass of
                 decaying dreams.

For in the lethargy that consumes
            me knows no awakening.

For the sheep no longer jump
          a cloud they are atop
the earth decaying in the nightmares
                           of life's living  
apprehension.

Even though every leaf may fall,
            you realise that one may stay.

Never giving in ,
                     Always hanging on to that
                     last breath


of wind...

One will never falter,
            
              
                never fading away..

When all have decomposed to there fate,
              I stay green..


Awake to the what could be's….
    




                 Never giving into the fate,


that befell those before.. For what is life& love if  not
                holding on to a moment of love that
                              could be more than those that fell before us.

I need to know that I'm loved, to stay where I am,



                       not to fall to the whims of life.


Only to know that no matter the wind of change
                      your always e the on hanging on...

We are the virtues of natures
                           measurements.
No matter the strength that portray ,
                            we are each but wind.

Captured in a singular episodes
that collects

                                within a series of




cyclone syllables.


              And each is more vocal.
                 causing more destruction with


meanings that was expelled before.



Weep on the condensation that falls,
                 for the breath that collects after
                 will carry you further
      

Than any that fell in subjugation
                               before any verse...

where all wind in an eclipse of motions,
                      also surpassing every falling..

Like a swan on dark lagoons,
          she was flawless.

Gathering her steps between
                              the undulation
that clawed endlessly at the shores.

Still she whispered her impressions,
                 silhouettes that degraded
     every movement.

Blinding everything that gathered
                at the shores.
                Feeding the polluted grandeur,
that feed the embankment of sustenance.


She had the elegance of  death,
            captivating all within her



distorted softness..



And they all slept on the edge of

her sanity feeding the ripples that
                    washed over all that watched
                         her tainted perfection

When words weren't enough
              to show how much
                              I loved you.

I gave you a box,
           containing past loves..

And when you touched them.

                          They where still warm,
then you knew that my love was true..


As I wouldn't be swayed by the past,
                 knowing you held the
remanence in your hands.

They where still warm,
           but all that mattered

                             was that there was no
going back after this show of affection...

We where sails torn,
    never catching

each others gusts....


But still we tried to blow
                 life into something,

that wasn't moving anywhere.

And then we knew it was time
             to abandon ship..

Then we realised,
  
                    that we
  sailed better alone.

We where strangers
              that slept within
                             each others arms..

And we ended up
         knowing each other deeply..


As we screamed other peoples
                   names out..

We laughed,
      and took each
               others numbers.

Our clocks where seconds apart,
  but within those moments..

        We never really caught
                                   that instant,


when we chimed in
                           synchronicity.


And what had felt like hands near
                                        each other.,

had woefully drifted ever further apart.

We are more than

      What we etch in
       Collections of breath.


For even though every
     Sentence has a mortality
                                            Rate.


Every word that's repeated
           Gives it a breath of
                              New life.


Always let your vocalizations
      Be voiced to others so that
         They never expire.

But are a fresh breath
on others
            reflections.

Ignorance is blissful
      to those who see nothing.

But pick not the seed,
         but chop down the tree,

to feed there creation of
       Starving gratatude.

We are the pollen of
    Of our fathers.

And the blossom
       Of our mother's


Our petals flourish
        For we are the


Flower of unity
      Given life.

If we are the seed
      And the Apple our
                   Creation.


Then why have we
      Not grown.

For all that falls
     From our branches


Is infertile notions.

It takes only one to flourish,
              Then all shall grow
               Reaching higher,

Than anything that falls.

When I breath your moment,
                       a reflection wonders on
the pools of my sight...


And I drown beautifully within you..

And as I sink,
                      I see every moment we
                      we have swam together..


And even though I hold no breath,

I hold every second of us and

as I sink,  I live a lifetime beneath the
creat of a wave

                 and we wash up on the shores of each other...

I couldn't venture upon the words that
flowed from your voice...
                  dancing on every pebble.



But sometimes we miss-stepped,

                       getting sullen in the
waters that we found ourselves,

                   delving in deeper than
                                            we wanted.

You & I where,  
                  me and you where that
                                                  moment.



Dro­wning within the pools of our eyes..


          We held on to another,
                  suffocating in
the love of each others vision.


And I drowned deeply within you..
                    knowing that Id be free on
                           the other side of your gazing eyes..

You where that
                    beat..

That never really caught
         that rhyme.


Collecting murmurs,
            that you cuddled up too.


But you never realised
  that you where the...
              

Missing beat that left me silent
        at the end of every night.


But I still cuddled you every weekend
           when you never caught a glance...

Even though I was the one that looked deeper
        than any glance,
        I was the one who wanted to hold you dear...

I don't sludge through
Through the tripe

          Of others..    

I'm no **** to another's words.

     I only like what is pleasing to my
Eyes.

       I'll never sleep upon another's words      
        to gain syllable reflections...

If you write in manners of worth,
       I'll read every word.  

But I'm no where of vocal stares,
       If you read me it's cos you gain
                   Something from my words .



If you only came here for pity reads...


       Well guess what.
               This isn't a pity stop.

Read me for my worth because
       I'm the better view.
            No pity view i'm
                
The words who you,d  wish
                                you'd read.

You grazed my mind,

             it still itches to this day..

Which I  love because,
           with out a scratch to itch,


A reaction we will never learn.



             What made us think
                          in the first place.

A graze is a scratch of reflection,
    and the itch is us looking deeper
                             than the initial reaction.

Sitting silently
               fishing for worth

But all that is caught is a gaze  
                   of illegitimate worth.

A slave to a statue of limitations.

I dreamt within the confines of my room,
              of a place where the white moments
                                              gathered in ease.

Collections within  them.

                                        Every negative
     and slowly asphyxiating gathering
being buried within
          the confides of a blanched confinement.

No longer where there shadows of before,
collecting in pools bellowing the fumes of


                                                        ill repercussions.

Instead the flakes of ******* highs drowned
             every moment out with delusion highs..


For within the white molecule,
        was a specific reflection.


And I never gazed deeply,
in fear of being
                          blinded with the truth.

Covers everything in a shallow grave
                of white mummers
crunching under foot.

Calibrated versions of
my reflections, I shatter with
                          fists of  petulance.
                  


And
       still they never seem to shatter.

No where do I see a shard cutting upon




                                                 my wrists...


But bluntly do the words overwhelm
                every vocalization that is pummelled
                                  with every suppressed
                                                                ­        motif..

That never stood a chance of being more than just
                                                  a paper Mache
                                                                ­        eclipse.

Never truly covering anything just  falling apart
                before the form that
                                          was solid like imagination.

         Instead falling apart like yesterdays fake news.

                                         Never reading deeper
          
                                                     ­ than the surface,
only being more like a comedy page
                                                           that no one finds funny.

I'm the venom
     Which corrodes

Your reflections.

But never the less.,


               You still look..  


Knowing that over time
          You'll erode
                   Perspective.

And become addicted
       To the venom of my voice.

The caterpillar,
slowly eating at the steam
of the leaf..

Knowing that it will fall,
           but eating never the less.

Were an extinction level event,
               slowly eating away at
                                                     life.

And we will like the caterpillar fall...

Where all dead stars
             Clinging to a
              Fading light


Not realising that
        Even though were
                                 Gone.

We still burn within the
                  Darkness.
Diming slowly over time.

Every moment
           is a collage
              on the wall of our lives.

Continually being
                           rehung
   within our minds..

There are those ones that
            will always be in pride
                                      of place.

Never to be stored away,
                 but gazed upon fondly
with every passing day.

We may look in a room
          enlightened,
  with all that can be seen.

But we will only truly look
             when a dark room
shows what isn't visualised,
                but discovered.

Minimalistic ventures
  are more
full of meaning.

Than a room
full of
            false possessions.

A cradle of no laughter,
               the silence crawls on
                            Every sheet.

Where there was fondness of
blue pools filled with stars.
           Now black holes
                       Of desperation
Collapse within the weight of self.



The cradle is voidless in our
   Sunken voyage of silence.
       I look upon the stars
            And you became a supernova.

She was a daisy dipped in cyanide.

     Her petals when they descended
    like tears corroding
           what ever they fell upon.

Kissing her was like razor wire
on
          my senses,
and everyone
                        lacerated deep.
Scaring me every time we touched,
But what is a touch  
                          without painful lust.

If we were each a penny,
         and were thrown

in to a wishing well.

We would float,

     because who wants
to be like all the rest..


Its always good to be yourselves,
            not  to drown in a well of
others  wishes of
how we should be.

We where never a masterpiece,
              more like a jigsaw piece
                                           missing parts..

But we spent that time not worrying
                        whether we would

find them.

We knew that every part
would connect,
               sooner or later.

And if it didn't,
It just added to the mystery
              of what our finished picture
would be.

It takes a life time
                        to find where we connect,
never let that burden you.
                        Its all part of the fun.

I want, I want isn't an I...

       Its my family to be safe
beyond the uncertain moments


tomorrow brings.

We are all green houses,

              never let anyone throw
a rock though your widows..

As there just jealous that's growing
                                          within.

Some may be infertile within,
               cold and un-growing.
No seed of compassion sprouts within.

But you are a virtual rainforest of
                       creative imaginings..
            So growth forth and no rock
shall ever come through your  greenhouse...

There are tracks that flow thorough
the simplistic white trails,
a view where many would
            see nothing but
                              blinding avenues.

But there is always a path winding

Never letting the confusion of white
    show that there are steps beyond
                                   the powdered reflections.

Though we may make a crease in the hillside
                          of destiny remember that new
                          memoirs will always fall
                                           covering our failings.

We are on a ***** of pure white,
and only we can make a wrong turn.
                                What avalanches may fall
are of our own false footsteps.

Learning from where we fell.
                         If we don't get up
it shows that we trod wrong and where
buried beneath the white covering our every mistake.