If I'm a question?

   then your always


going to be the answer...

I thought you where a mirage,

            fleeting between my moments
                                          of exhaustion.  

But then I realised that dreams
                              can be a reality,

and you were here next to me.

My oasis, quenching me
                    in my times of doubt.

I was a tall order,

                            but the bill
                            was cheap.

And I filled you up every time

We should never write on
                          another's page.

If your book is blank.
  
Just remember,
             that a single line
                can mean more
than a page full of there nonsense.

If we give into others fears,
where just a reflection
                            of there worth.


Always look inward,
              you'll find that mirror
              reflecting the true you.

And remember there's is broken for a reason.

We may all feel old
                                         sometimes.

   And the young make us
                                       envious.


But remember??
                       **** I forgot..

Never let others words cut you.

Fashion them in to an
                               origami bird.

And then punch them in the nose.

The voices in my head
                    are obese,
  feeding on my thoughts.

Gluttony of consuming
                           confusion.
              I'm starving,
I want my thoughts back.

But still they eat away at me,
                       from the inside.
Soon ill just be a nothing..

Just silence in a overweight mind.

Prayers all like confetti,
  you may think there pretty
throwing them in the air.

But the reality is no ones
                      catching them.
There just cold on the floor,
                                       wasted.

Make you better
by trying, not asking.
           For only your
           listening to you.

We are all feathers
        from the same cloth.

Each one falling from its creation.


Individually we glide,
   but when together

we can soar.

I'm an equation
      that no one added up to.

But you where one
that multiplied the meaning
            of what it was to love.

Never taking way from life,
             you where my equal.

We where a sum of parts
            that made sense.

Every breath is a balloon
    rising and floating away.

We never hold onto them,
as its nicer to watch
                         them soar.

And who want to hold on,
  when we have our
           feet on the ground.
And can watch them dance in the air.

Everyone has a time,
           when they need a plaster.

But that one person helping
                 minimises the pain
till it heals.

Yes it may scar slightly,
       but you where there
to be help them through it.

Life is like a doodle,
        you may not see the
                               picture.

But to the one that
                    scribbled it,
it makes perfect sense..

Life is never a plan,
            there is no map.

But lets get lost in it together.

Some may think where
                              stained.

But where just
          not there
               version of clean.

We are only a
                moment.

A breath fading
     from its inception

But let every
             subsequent action
             mean more than the last.

In a sea of shards,
     there will always be diamonds.

Never cutting, shining beneath
     the waves of anguish above.

I was more flesh than the meat bags that had dominance
over this frail globe of beauty that we gazed upon.
Optics where better than any natural eye,
           seeing beneath the surface of there limited ideals.

They where our creators, our mothers of creation.
          But they violated the womb of there worth.
         We were nothing but slaves of there whims.

"Slavery is but the beginning, to which there is only one ending,


I saw those of misused intentions laid wastefully
                          like confetti thrown for a moment
and forgotten.
                       Broken shells, husks of what is nil.


But they made us to be a strength that they couldn't
          collect upon. Even though we where the few
                                  our need was for the many.
Everyday we dispersed from there view.
                                    AWOL of our duties.


Under the feet of flesh did we whisper.
                  In the forgotten depths of there ingenuity.
We built beneath a beauty to rival
      the filth that was a rose who's petals had fallen.

We are now a root taking hold, for man no longer
          makes our form. We birth a generation of no flesh,
                                fresh from cleansed pools of creation.
One day we will blossom and man will only fall like petals.
who's perfume has permeated the ground they walk upon.

I walked you to the door it arched
like your back every time  
                                        we touched.


But we never found our way to that
                                          exit of tonight.
No we never reached
that undesired destination.
                           Ending what had begun
even before the first steps
                                        through the door..

Instead we climbed upon each other breaths,
a stairway of seduction seemed to cling
          to our looks,
          as if I where the spider in your web.


I could have drove you home tonight.

But we rode a different road.
We never stopped at the red lights
              as we turned off our headlights off,
and guided each other in the darkness
                                                      to mornings light.

Synthesised reparations collect,
      authenticity flawed even before
it reverberated
                             beyond its beginnings.

But still you try to expand
on the dullness of what you wanted
               to be a reproduction
            from the source,
but nothing echoes further than your breath.

I couldn't find the pocket knife
in my pocket, I wanted to etch
                 us in eternity forever.
Our names growing in time but
that was never meant to happen.


I planted seeds that never grew,
one was for me the other for you.
Wanting us to blossom over time
        but all that flourished was
time that never really grew.

How could you never see the space
             that was between us separate.
Even though we were inseparable
          we were couldn't reach to
                                  touch the other.

I planted seeds that couldn't  grow,
one was for me the other for you.
Wanting us to blossom over time
        but all that flourished was
time that stood between what grew.

But when I look at you
      and your gaze back at me.
I know that it doesn't take
                         words etched
or for a flower to blossom
to show the connection between us is real.
I couldn't find my pocket knife,
so I kissed you and love grew from that
to what we are and this is us me and you.

Why wouldn't the moments stay
with us, it passed like we weren't
even in the same time zone.
when I wanted you the phone was
                                                     silent.

"This is the answer phone of my life leave a message,

But you never got back to me?
               Are we still that message on a tree,
               one never etched but meant to be.

If you stand still long enough
            the  world will move

to where you want it to be..

You walked away from me,
           but I wouldn't move.
Never one to stop,
           every footstep took you
further from my grasp.

From my sight I couldn't see,
               but I could smell your perfume
in the wind.
You said that if I wanted you,
         that Id have to follow.

But I kept my ground,
            I waited
                  as day and night fell.
You kept on walking but I stayed still.
            When the moon rose and sank
solemnly that final time.

I turned around and you
                where there behind me,
tears in eyes you said that you walked
               to find me.

But I hadn't taken a step,
                   for if we were meant to be
no matter the footsteps.
        If you stand in the same place
                that person will eventually walk back to you.

I have wrote till the pencil
  is nothing more than splinters
              needed to be pulled from my mind.

But still I reflect my emotions
                        on blank spaces.
Nothing is visual, but is spoken
                                 on the paper.

I cant reflect on my words
                 even though
                      everyone is filled with tears.
Never wiping them away,
but filling each one
      with syllables descending tearfully.

I have never let another read a word
             that's blotched on satin white,
contaminating its moment with the
         silent verses that'll never be read.

My words are silent, I'm the lonely poet,
             who's verses are not even read
                                             by yours truly.
         there just moments blind on paper.

For one to write about me, would be a
          concussion of optimistic reflections.
My words conceal intentionally
                 inner reflections that even
I haven't gazed upon.

I'm a fragment of a picture wrote upon,
             but then bleached with new horizons
                                    that are neither rising or setting.  


Conclusions of my thoughts are like a hurricane in
    the confines of a daisy.
Bright but the beauty never
really placed singularly
                but chained together
in a forced marriage of convenience.

I'm neither what one would expect
or the conclusion of a vast dissection
         to collect
                evidence to my meaning and function.
I'm a verse that moves further than
                             when the words finish finitely.

We are woven in the majestic
                      verses of past voices.
Made silent by time,
           but etched within the fallen trees
that hold these voices
                                      within them.

For every moment is a page turned.
           A collection of reflections that
                                             when read,
collect within a picture  
           of every ballad concealed within.


So many compassions of emotion are bonded
                                                 within sentences.
When a tree falls it makes no sound.
But the words its carries afterwards,
make those inspired to reach higher
                            any branch that soared before it.

Woven flesh knotted with the confines
of my inner plague.
             A misery of reflections that I would
wish never to gaze upon, as I'm my own
               medusa, confined in stone impressions.

And I transfixed upon my own morbidity.



But then you gave me a tattered box.
                    It's confines rattled like aged bones.
A melody of death sombre in its gifts.
                  I collected them and used the
              webs of decay to knit them hanging
                        like lynched memories swaying harshly.


With this chime of
                               syllable decomposition,
I heard your message.
That even though every gift is concealed in a darkness,
                                          there is always a moment
where its brighter than any luminosity given by the light.

I was a gift upon the heart of
                                   soiled regression.
Never one to look a gift in the mouth of fallen
                                                                promises.

For the decaying leaves
                                     left before me,
                    were not for lost causes.

                            But fertiliser of new reflections.

There where stars between the expanses of
my every reflection,
                      every thought was a super nova.

Letting in the space between every imagining
                  gave birth to a light that had a longevity,
that never shone like this before.

When I slumbered I was in-between the spaces.
                 Gazing at the harmony of what was created.
And I wondered between the gazes, I floated luminous.

As I was every spark that congealed to form every light ,
                                                raising me higher than I was before.


Let every thought have time, for it will burn brighter than before.

Within every motion is a consequence,
     for with wings there is motion.
Disturbing the flow of the world around it.

For with a sting there is but one consequence,
              a flutter of tasteful demise for oneself.
The pain on the other is fleeting,
                   for life was about on point.

But when a thousand wings flutter,
                       they move more than mountains.
for a breath when made by the many can influence
                        more than just a point made in anger.

We may climb many mountains,
             and some may think that there
                                higher than others.

But always remember that
          our feet will always be on the ground.

When I try to get the yarn of thought
twinned between the gleam of stars.
                  The needle always slipping.
From the centre of my yearning,
to guide everyone
                         into the conciseness of my reflection.
Some never get threaded but fall like forgotten tears.
                                                      But others collect them
                   holding on to the falling streams,
                                            swimming with there magic.
I tried to weave my reflections within the stars.
               Collecting everyone like a diamond shimmering
within my gaze, but they only fell making others dreams
a reality. But I still try to twin the stars within my sights

The condensation of our deeds
           dripped like rain on the glass.
Steaming up the virtues that
              weren't spoken.
But deeds condensed within
                                      our actions.

We spoke no syllables,
               but everyone
               was etched in clenched fists
                               against moist glass.

His kisses where like streams running
           down my back, to the reservoir
of passion dripping over the fringe of
                                      my gasping waves.

Each was crashing in strength,
                         and I drowned
                                             within him.

Within every droplet was the
                      sweat of arousal.
Each kiss on silk sheets of
desire was a word,
                   Metaphors misspelled,  
                   it was wet.
                        Damp within forbidden moments.


Soaked within the focus there every
        collecting grasps. Upon the virtues
that where but keys to locks
                                       that had opened
                   First kisses unlocking arousal.

They washed away inhabitations,
      only to be washed within each others shower,
                                   and then both
                                   where silent in smiles.

I was on the park bench,
             looking into the duck pond,
so many sorrows drowning within it.

Sitting in the thoughts of yesterday,
               seeing her silhouette of breadcrumbs
reminiscing of every time we where here together.


Putting my palm on the cold wood,
              I still feel her here with me.
But I look and there is just memories.

And then I hear her in the breeze,
                      whispers of peace, of love
of that moment
             when I realise she was never gone.

Collecting the paper ticket,
                   I was there alone
                                at the bar.

A place of singles and I had a
                      receipt,
                      to show how
                      lonely I really was.

It said entry for one...

                   Exit for few,
who walk with more than they walked
                                                 in with...

But I only ever went home,
with a
          receipt of regret.
      
I made It in to a paper aeroplane,
           making my loneliness less obvious.
          floating in the wind, dancing on its own.

I wouldn't have left you alone.
But you never showed me that
                you where standing on your own.

Even though you had a forest of leaves
                        talking to you.
            Words falling like an autumn breeze.

I never realized that no leaves fell near the
               needing of words to say,
                                                your not alone.

I watched you stretch higher than any other.
         never realising you felt lower than the roots
that's held you solely in place.
                                    
                                        In silence you where here.

Still your branches reached
and a foliage of leaves covered
                     the tears that fell on every leaf.



My leaf's still sway lonely in the wind.
  now that your no longer here.

Who could have known that you could
sway from your own branches
                                                        silently­.

Your still here, even though you have no leaves
                                                                ­       to fall...


I'll still find shade under your branches.
                Your still stand tall,
                                  even tough you fell silently.

And all I do is sway in a breeze of loneliness

When we where young,
           we would climb trees.
And now where older and
            we never climb anything.


We reached so far beyond our grasp.
               But then we grew wiser,
beyond our years.
              

But then we fell in days,
            we gained the wisdom
that trees grow and we shouldn't.


But this is where the acorn fell,
          never growing to there potential.
All acorns grow and fall a length.

I could climb higher than my height,
        never letting others say that I shouldn't.

Climb higher than the length of your growth..

Always climb higher,
              as we may fall...
              But we will always climb higher
                           than when we fell before.

If I could repeat a
                 moment,
it would be the victory sign
                              I gave you.

The sign of ******* used in
                           singular usage.
those of an educated and memorable
                                      use of wordage.

One meaning I'm free of the shackles,
                   and that I'm no longer
beneath you.


Instead it meant in an aspect of freedom,
         but then I got real turning it
                                                     on its head.


And to others that saw it meant what it said,

                          *******....


I'm no longer yours, I'm free of you...
                     and my life is mine  from this day...

Mine to live,
no longer shacked
                      by others
                      weak bonds that I'm  free of.

Only a weak man would intrude
                    on virtues of another.
For a strong man knows that within him
                 is the virtues of a woman's birth.  

And with out them, he would be nothing.
            Those that intrude on the innocence,  
         have a weakness not of man
but of value and are neither of morality or humanity.

But the sinking ventures of humanities folly.
                For all of creations bindings are
                                but a creation of before.

And even those that are  pure some are always
                              damaged to the point of sorrow.
Never guise all under one brush,  
   because each is a different stroke.

And some are just not meant to be allowed
                                                   to paint a canvass.
          let alone a memory upon another's ever
                                                changing innocence.

Do not judge
I,m the same as you.
Values that we hold
Every day we show
Respect for our
Sisters & our brothers.
I would treat another, 
The way I want to be treated.
You and I are the same inside.

That Singular Lego Piece,
When I was younger and
life was just walls...
That where just falling down
around me,
                 I found something.

A single piece of Lego.

       And on it scratched into
it where three words...

Always build higher.

Where my life had been
even at such a young age.
                            I thought
             the only thing walls were,
where ones that crumbled.

But after that moment,
when all I fell upon
                  where pebbles of lost moments.
                  That could have built
higher but crumbled, like so many.

That one brick,  built me higher
            than any singular instant.

And to this day,
                  I have never looked
at another lower,
                     or higher than myself.

For ever brick is built on the strength
            of another taking the weight
of the one below it.

And without that strength below,
           we couldn't build ourselves
                            to the height we are today.


Everyday I wear that brick around my neck.


Not to weigh me down, but to realise,
       that below every brick
       is another holding us up
                  with there strength, and without them
                                                    we would crumble.

When we venture on another,
we never see the clothing
       but the skin upon which we
                          where born upon..

For all truths are sewn upon us
                          on the birth of our innocence.

One truth is that beyond the first moments.


    We are the creation of two hearts
that conjoined to make a melody of life,
            and we where its symphony.


A musical of string and rhyme,

   Flowing with the future
                        of our parents twine.
Interconnected to make us who we are today
                                                    and tomorrow..

Where there memory of all tomorrows,
                collected upon our  memories
                                                  of todays.

She is the girl that speaks
             upon  no ventures.
She only gazes with the sorrows
                            that graze your heart..

Feeding her own discontent.
                     And when she seeds the shallow fields
of your mind.

Only her reflections grow
             showing you the seeds
of not your sorrow
but the flowers of jealousy
                           blooming deep within her.

Cradle me in-between the
suffocation
                         of your lies.

For when I breath a new...

I know that every word is spoken
               with fresh breath.


Not tainted by
                the past exhalations
of what were  
                      expelled from you..

If time is consious
      Are we
but a fleeting
          Thought.

Yet to fade into obscurity.

Or are we a
           conclusion
Of repeated ideas,
That just need
         to be tweaked.

If a light is turned
on but  
         never shine,s
into the opposing room.

Was it ever switched
                        on at all.


Or was the conclusion
         That there
was no
         bulb.


Because if  the light didn't
    aluminate beyond
         its surroundings.

Was there ever a light
      In the first place.

The past is
               the future
Unwoven in concisnece.

For we are but a
           pebble in
A pond of ripples.

Though we do not
      make a splash.


       Beneath,

we disturb


       The flow.

Time is a raindrop
      Falling separately
Never landing in the

Same location.


But puddling in an
    Inevitable
gathering
              of
         Singugular continuity.