I was a journey of tracks leading to a
                  vacant lot. Never were my
wheels meant to traverse more than
              when they stagnated soundless.

But then you found the embers still
              smouldering ever so serene.
Not looking like they needed a breath
to give life to an ending that was certain.

You put your exhalation upon the tracks,
               warming the rust of sorrow away.
Where the haunting memories lingered, you gave
them the means to move past the forest of loneliness.

There was no voyage worth a singular motion,
         but you showed me the mist wasn't forever.
And together we tracked old tracks cutting deep,
             together we healed ever route yesterdays fading.

What! the What!
               was that which I think
                              were syllables
perpetrating from the sewer
                 of their open commentary
on my life.

As though it was a live play.

                And they were the voice over
scrapping at my thoughts.
                                  Well if I were you!
When did I ask this magpie of gossip
to intrude on my daily reflections.
       But no you stain that window
               I want to stare outward too.

Mind your own business, I know yours
went bankrupt long ago..
           Never paying dues to what you paid out.
But never counting the cost of what
                          every word cost you.

Now its time to change that channel
                                      to white noise.
All the persistent vocals drowned out.
Now I can watch my life without commentary.
Others should watch themselves not others
             just because your is a repeat of a dull life.

Visual delusions:

Scrutinizing the acuity of
            what is visualized.
But sight is only validated
by the morality glazed over.
Until narratives are edited
to mimic a reality of self delusion.

Oral formalization

Dictation versed within syllable
            delusions, never sounding
the reflection of thought to breath.
But sour exhalation collects on
vacant windows, spelling other
          than what is breathed outwards.

Auditory silence

Auditions drummed within,
echoing on shallow walls,
           nothing wrote within
A tirade of failures woven with
three perceptions. Collective ignorance.

Sullen woes are collected between
            the instrumental vows that crave tears.
With each key that speaks beyond
                                        the hearing of emotion.

We all listen deeply to the last cord,
             played and realize
               that there is more than us.

And within every  reflection,
          we see were all but systematic keys
          being played
through life's chorus of finite moments.

And were never going to play the same cord twice.

liquid love poured from
           seeping fissures.
And she tasted his every moment.

He gave his essence so she could
       linger within a lifetime of memoires.
And she saw every pain of his existence.

Within her tears were reflections of his
            momentary happiness with her.
Knowing she would drain his pain away.


"To collect the pain of another
         is to know the true emotions
         of what its like to live within there anguish"

We only know those we love truly by tasting
        the dirt left behind in there footsteps.
Everyone has prints in the past wished brushed away.

Uneducated is the one preserving
            the other as lesser than they.
For without knowing,
              you are less educated
               in self than in words..

Opiephait, the Calm, fell from the heavens,
              Never one to be assumed with such
                                                    an honour of his name.
Holding in his dying breath, expelling it upon
himself, a sun exploded momentarily  below.
    Dying proud, a funeral pyre of destruction below.

Now there was but two left, ladies of earth & air.
Pedanth, of Eternal Fire, and true to her standing
     she glassed the earth with tears of sorrow.
And ash crept away, but no release was given.
          For the elven warrior, whispered incantations,
Woven with hues of elemental synergy.
Cinders became formless ones, extensions of her will.

That night the earth wailed, for the wrath of the
          last would make there presence felt.
They won the battle, and to this day
     the shard desert is a reminder of what is possible
            when two minds woven in grief can accomplish.

            There resting place is upon the shattered mountain.
Where within frost glass they stand.
                        For when they are needed,
they will scorch the stars,
                                            to help those in desperation.

Ambrosial stitches weave
       on the seams of closeness.
Arms encompassing beyond grasps,
           never loosing the palms of the other.

Under burgundy does modesty elude,
              outlines of what is crafted beneath.
Locking intimacy together,
                               virtues never revealing.

They are the keepers of each other,
        richness ever filling within.
                     For if every penny was love,
plentiful would there togetherness bring.

Our forward motion is only
        Contradicted by the backward
Thoughts that trip us over on the
Journey of what should be strides.


But we must learn to face the
      Deductions that minus every
Second motion. Limiting us to normality.

                      Where born to be more.

So never let ourselves be
         Testament to others regression.
  We will always step beyond the safety
          of ourselves and fall like petals.

Beneath the voidless
     Do the fearful linger
For they will devour the
Flesh that caresses beneath
                   The faceless warmth.

For underneath they will feed on
       The cloistered hunger that
Has collected deep within the veins
        Light made form upon reflection.

When is a lusting more than the phase
Of hope, where light is consumed
     Beyond ourselves.
  We are but vessels of fear lingering.

"There is a snake that's fangs drain
     The light, but we only notice the poison
                           when darkness caresses the
Fallen Lids off our sight"

Incandescent virtues , yet I'm a drought within .
I read tealeaves in mouldy cups of our tainted futures.
Our wicks that never saw the light, even though burnt out.
Untenable sight that we drank deeply on, but still thirsted for.

Beneath infertile fields,
              where the breath seeping
beyond view would suffocate
the life of mans impoverished
                                           wondering.

Curiosity was a misconception
             what was submerged was
not as above. For eggs lay dormant
feeding on the impoverished fumes.
Like lullabies grazing upon it
                                              slumbering.

But local folk were wiser upon the
land, greeting the field from afar.
      For what was legend was fact instead.
When the earth did breath with rumbling
discontent they knew the land was ready
to birth new life from fields of purgatory.

Majestic wings flew from afar,
                 and villagers gazed at
this beauty of imagining, as bones
scatted like seed over a field of infertile
                                           hallucinations.
But where some dreams die, one awakens.

As the earth heaves like a womb being
awoken by birth, so seeps the blood of
the earth, alight in a concussion of vivid
hues of fire and life,
                                 graced by eyes afar.

Flame danced around this new birth,
          as it inhaled the flame, expelling
                a fountain of new born breath.
And the villagers cheered, the new born
looked, but the mother knew that there was
          nothing to fear for this place was safe.

A tradition of old, letting those who dare
wonder, treasure hunters, armies had tried
to collect the bounty of this land,  for with
birth comes riches from deep in the earth.
          But the villagers had the wealth of
seeing this every few hundred years.

But the dragon always paid its debt,
       as wings of frail flight learned the
                    dynamics of wind and wings.
A hand gestured to the well, and falling
a bountiful harvest of gem stones.
like a rainbow finding its place of birth,
so many filled the sky with there descent.

And then as before and times long ago.
       with eyes adjusted to not gaze on the
field, a mother does neatly once again
hide her worth beneath the earth.
          So long from now a new child will
see the happiness of a mother on infertile earth.

You looked at me father, weren't my
eyes the reflection of yours, did I not
     smile in glazed view at the words
misunderstood but still a vibration
of what I heard in the womb of mother.

Yet, just because I'm not of male,
                        but female without my choosing
you want me to be just a memory.
Like a conception of love was voided
                         at the moment of my birth.

Woven in a blanket, angers voiced echoed
              I felt the taste of the air linger in
distasted tears as mother picked me up.
            kissing my lips, her tears of
                        pain and regret I could taste.

But father had me now, I was in the cold
             I felt his love dissipate.
             Silence was his voice now.
Not even a gentle goodbye,
but like yesterdays newspaper discarded.

Tears cradled my face, not understanding
             why this cold night grasped at me
more lovingly than fathers last embrace.
My expressions silenced as I ran out of tears.

I heard a mumbled voice,
                           not of father or mother.
But a gentle one of age, more secure in
the visible definition that I was a girl.
Holding me tightly, I heard others words.
I wasn't alone any longer, but what was my fate.

My daddy, told me the tale of my birth,
           and the implications of what back
then seemed like weakness.
But I have shown the world, that no matter
your gender it still has equal worth.

The past is a scar that still hurts,
        Never knowing my true family,
if they could ever have been called that.
But this family, this gentleman and my
        my loving mother, kept me warm.

Now I'm older, old mistakes of culture
        and religion are melding with modern
society, no longer are girls left to fend alone.
We are seen through eyes of love and compassion.
Not through the eyes of an abandonment of love.

Weak minds
   block stronger voices.
for a voice that speaks
                              truths
always conflict with the
     rationalization of others
                             ignorance.

Never let lies seep beneath the
                          waters of truth
and float like away in the
   undercurrents of denial.

There are always layers to
                        truth..
But lies are only one layer
folded upon another getting
tighter and more unstable
with every moment its breathed.

We are all thoughts that aren't
                              as tuned as others.
But even though we see through
                              different lenses
some lessons can be learnt
        from the refraction of others view.

Seasons greetings go with a cheer, who will be the
Winner of this nights festive fight club, now here.
Starting with Santa the Easter bunny with his
Whipping ear, Santa starts with a hoho... startling
The bunny as he gives him two to the ear.

No rules in this game we come to see, as the Easter
Bunny drops two eggs, does something smell rotten
In here, eyes watering he can hardly see as the whipping
Ear screeches and straight across fathers tummy.

In pain he shouts I'm so jolly, is this the end of Claus,
No as Santa jumps up higher than the bunny can see,
Landing on Easter knocking him cold with his enormous
Belly, with a hoho.. and I feel jolly,
any one for rabbit I'm starving.

Easters out Christmas is in next round
Let it begin, Halloween enters the ring
Chills down the spine the fights about
To begin. Then explosions around guy
Fawkes jumps in will this end with a bang
Or bewitched the fight is about to begin.

Guy goes for a punch but misses his swing,
Less of a BANG more a wet match fizzle, then
Trying to light his powder a flame needed
But none to be found, Halloween does come
Back skeletons grab through the ground, as
Possessed is Fawkes as he jumps up and down
Madness has taken him whispers say around.

This was a match of two but only one is around,
As guy runs with speed and knocks him self
Out a corner post face print seen all around,
Not the explosive finish we were expecting to
See, then like a ghost Halloween reappears
With a ghoulish laughter the round
                                       Won spookily it seems.

"I'm a father, and I don't do a few things.

A father doesn't babysit his kids,
            what are you part time?
Wake up, if your thinking this,
your not father material
                    your a ***** bank for hire.

I don't get drunk in-front of my kids,
                     you slurring your words.
Anger making you lash out.
           That's a problem,  you see
       love is kindness, not anger and grief.

"I'm a father and I do a few things right.

A father reads to his kids, imagination
            ignited in little minds.
    
"ROAR" went the dino baby as
    it showed mummy and daddy
its new voice that it found.
   Trees trembled and the earth
             did jump for this little dino
showed off the voice
                          "ROAR" it never knew it had.


A father looks after them when there sick.
                           Team mummy and daddy.

Snooty Maggie,
                    that's mummies section.
Green little monsters popping out of noses,
slim trails on white tissues, so gross.
                           Buggers make daddy heave.

Pukky Pedro,
now this is daddies area.
         scrap the chunks,  
         clean the sheets, give them a shower.
Now get the bucket, that rests next to the
                                                 little ones bed.
Sleep my baby, mummy and daddy are close.

A father is meant to show love,
                                    don't be a part timer.
Were meant to be proud of what we have or had
with the love of our life.
                        We created someone,
who will bring a smile to eithers face just with a look.

Empathy sheathed within
           every declaration that
eclipsed upon my eyes.
As I watched every word in form.

For your voice wasn't just
           affirmation of intent.
It was a visual  guidance
          a purpose of no harm.

Genial whispers waved over me,
          never sinking but guided
to shores of empathy.
         you were my voice of calm.

You are a metaphor
       Of love given meaning.
For your every breath
      Is a syllable of the heart.

And your words are reflections,
        In a mind that gains from
The simplistic nouns and vowels
                             That speak to me

               From your heart.

You held every star in place,
        keeping a glimmer above me.
Never letting me be alone
                                in the darkness.

Every grain connected echoes
of your voice,
                     uncertainty pierced
that place and I looked above.
Dots connecting to a constellation
                       of you setting me free.

I was never alone, you were the shooting
                     star that I wished upon.
Grazing the atmosphere of my troubles.
                 You were always within me,
looking at you I see every constellation
                      glistening above me.

I never doubt when I close
my eyes that I'll awaken
               to those eyes shut
waiting for the words
                          "I love you"

That cheeky smile yawning,
        stretching into a new morning.
And your first words are
                                    "Coffee"
Her first love, then me.

I never wish the days away,
   but I look forward to opening
my eyes after every sunset.
   for when the morning
      awakens I see you before my sight

Even though I sank below
         the fatigue of life.

I was never worn,
         instead I was steadfast.

Never being eroded by others
             singular erosion.

I was more than your reflection,
                 never eroding beneath your gaze..

Your word are like a
collapsed
               lung.

Deflated and of
                little worth.

Let actions  speak more than
Exhaled breaths,
               not even gasped upon.

Dilapidated tears evaporated,
         where days descended
one by one like dead leaves
                    falling day by day.

A celebration of agonizing
     desolation where this aging
of youth was culpable to silence.
Candles engraved with fleeting dejection.

With every breath,
          years were extinguished.
beyond the grasp if youthful
                               understanding.

But we gather our days and realise
     that even though were vacant
of smiles now, there will be a time
of  celebration, where your surrounded
                                 with faithful friendships.

When we become
     less than human,
     it'll take the creation of man
  
For us to realise our humanity again..

Stagnant azure silently peels
      above the clouds of old oak
       that hover mutely behind It.

Fleeting sunlight is obscured
         behind shadows of daytimes
passing, its frailty now closed .

Beyond this fleeting moment
           is a cloudless rendition of
happiness unlocked momentarily.

Deities are mans delusions
                     and weakness,
that manifest within our moral
                               standing.

In words that have meant
           we don't see as one.
But only see through the
              moral stance of the writer.

Who is mans own prejudice incarnate.

Condolences to self,
    you don't know this
                but life is false.

Weaponized tears
      will solidify a heart,
      eyes will gaze coldly.

Condolences to self,
      for you were your
                  own enemy.

You never knew that your
         kindness was always
         a downfall to this place.

Condolence to self,
        but if your reading this,
        you only have yourself to blame.

Oscillations were guided
   from every fingertip
   that pressed against me.

He just had to breath on me,
      and like a river it travelled
to where words met
          the moistness of every quiver.

I sit here whistling Dixie sitting down ,
                  a concerto of noises sang out.
No smoking signs loiter the walls,
                  for obvious reasons it has
a picture of a posterior with:
              "No naked flames allowed"

Then there is the score board,
               Beginner,
                            Boaster,
               Legend the hardest to claim.
For that score you have to clear out
not only the downstairs, but wake
those upstairs from slumbering sleep..

Me I'm a boaster, that's when the doors
shut, and all I hear from the sitting room
down the hallway is:
                                    "YOU ******"

Let me just tell you that air freshener
                               is not in my home.
Do you know the smell of both mixing,
lets just say never spraying that again.


Some sit and think, some even sniff there stink.
Me I just read a few pages of a novel on page 163,
we all have our routines  but me I mostly
sit here whistling Dixie sitting down,
                             as concerto of noises sing out.

For doors are many
      and each one has no lock.
For gods are words of the mind
           unkept delusions of mans past.

We need to unlock the humanity
  of ourselves and see we aren't
           just one,
we are in fact the many
                       that make the whole.

Knowledge is the key that opens
                                 our potential,
not to bend on knees like
                        slaves to nothingness...

Picture perfect perception
of what washes
                      over observations
of what we saw,
         loitering over soiled sheets.


We gestated over what we thought
                        was a perfect portrait.
But beneath solid reflections we slept on.

Moths of discontent chew beneath the
        layers of what we dress
                                         our relationship on.
Decaying virtues, they show disrepair of
what you painted. But its eroded beyond
contemplation, nothing is as our sight verses it.

A thousand dreams woven
beneath the feet of hard working
                                         reflections.
But nothing ventured forth,
       like a corpse of bricked virtues
the land didn't give birth to life.

Only bricks of contemplation were
        built, and they were vacant
of any substance. For what is built
     had nothing to fill it only ideals.

For earth that shelter one,
       will endeavour to show no yield.
And only vacant ideals stand where
                   crops have faulted on brick..

Refinement is always tethered
                 before the lynch of
where we should
                         balance ourselves.
Questionable harmonies  between the
                    blade of reality clasping
at the throat of every word spoken.

We perceive ourselves beyond the
                         visual aspects of self.
But in reality were holding a thorn
                to the silhouette of beauty.
          Ready to either asphyxiate our
meaning or to cut ourselves from reality.

An estuary of decomposing
    virtues, bloated references
weave on the silence of a stream
                             of hidden dread.  

Trying to hide the crimes of yesterday,
                flowing beyond their view.
But everything will eventually
                                caress the shores
of what was washed beyond their guilt.


Nothing that is washed away
         will ever be kept secret.
For everything will find a river
                                             of truth.
To be seen and deemed in dismay.
            Life isn't a river to be washed away.

My identity is homosapian,
      evolving from branches
          that have arrived at me.
I'm only human, we have our
differences that makes
         each one of us individuals.

Where ignorant till we learn what
       is before us.  But we never look
                                                  clearly.

­
Don't put the prejudice of your life
                                                on me.
Your upbringing was blind.
            don't put your  
                                  enmity on me.
Some people never look further,
for fear of what will corrode there
past mistakes. Never evolving only
reading the same line syllables in
      wrong verse of what is deceived.

Where only human, homosapian line
            of a lineage that took us from
scrapping knuckles
                             to fire
                                      and now space.
Don't blame me for your ignorance,
          look further than your lack of enthusiasm.

Read not only the book of ignorant followers,
           We know where the thunder roars,
We know where the lightning strikes.
Never in the same place unless you unlucky as ****.

Evolve don't regress to the ignorance of before,
            I want to touch the stars.
Not to be fearful of truth, and what lies beyond
our imagination because that's our calling.

             "We were born to touch the stars"

Waving my tattered coat among
the waves of anger that floods
                                               past me.
I surrendered before this even began.
           homeless lullabies filtered though
my sleep the screams and echoes of
           a singular piece of lead silencing others.

But the azure bleed cerise on the pavement.
            Taking identities of fallen heroes,
never questioning but shaded beyond morals.
A tide was crashing upon the pavement of
                                                                     society.


There didn't seem to be a life of Black & White.
           but the fact that I seemed to be less
of worth than others pigment.
I held my tattered coat visible to those who
                          where dressed as if for war.
I was the first causality of the night,
                                   hands up in surrender

But as bleed on the floor I thought
                                                           "Why me"

Immersing within cardinal
    droplets, each seeping from
the veins of life, clarity of white
now drowning within a sea of
fuchsia that is like a rose petal
liquefied, its essence smelling
                                like deaths kiss.

Abstracted songs of weeping
                                  moments.
Restless that more isn't being
given. Even though to open
more fissures would smother
every light within.
           Fading with the
                      last droplet given.

Tears etched like ravines
    flowing to feed the lustful tides
                                  of her needing.
She touched upon there features
vowing that they would
                                            live on
within her, a voice within the many.

Still all were crying, but never tears
of fearful wows, as they knew they'd
                                  live on within her.

Shadows danced around the room
effigies of what had drained before
those now opening life,
                              to feed her hunger.
Death was a perfume that she bathed in.
             Putrid desolate veins rejuvenated
her carcass to a beauty only time held.
But only her voice called inside,
       the others screamed in silence.
their shadows trying to tell others
but silence dances where
                                     no reflection hears.

I hugged the thought of you,
         but the bruise's still hasten
the reflection of me in the mirror.
Was this me, or was this the naughty
boy you told me I was,
                          without a word spoken.

Can I only fall so many times?
          I'm always  tripping over your insecurities?
Why would I be your anger vocalized
on my features
                     never the face.
Where reality sinks in,
showing your guilt,
hidden under a cloth of  luminous pain.

It shines in so many colours that ache when
                                                   ever they arise.
Some shades deeper than a reflection,
             and I weep on those rainbows inside,
for nothing is bright,only shades linger.

I was never the  gold at the end
                              of the rainbow.
You just thought I was the puddle,
trying to forfeit the brightness,
      I was a rainbow that shined,
                   in the pain of your misgivings.

If blood doesn't seep
                from my wrists,
am in not alive..
Or has all feeling just
                 drained from me.

We ponder our existence on the cliffs
                                               of thought,
shall we just gaze at the shallow waves
collecting grains of contemplation.

Or shall we dash our memories
                                    on the rocks of life.
But there is always another view reaching
                                      out to the distance,
And that one we gather our silent thoughts upon.

The uneatable is a mirage
        to those thirsty for an oases
of dream like delusions.

For nothing is waiting,
       Its only now that we
                 see idyllic reflections.

There aren't steps but a mirage
               of what our lives were.

Every step is our creation
                       to others dreams.
That we help with, our every
           reflection is there's to strive for...

She was the only plaster that
I needed to cover wounds, because
no one saw the cuts deepening beneath.
scratching at my tears, crying underneath.

But I never knew that she was the one
silently unstitching my wounds. She'd begun  
long before I was cut, but her words kept
me from realizing tears weren't for me id wept.

She never needed a reason to cut me deep inside.
I was the doll, stuffing pulled from within denied
the respect of my pride. but still I thought her my
plaster healing this cut, while reality cut deeper, why?

Why would she want to hurt what was our love,
why could one cut at that that showing her truelove.
A plaster only hides pain, covering up  intentions
of a misguided trust. I became my own intervention.

Life since our love had blossomed had been rough,
our petals were razor wire memories of those tough
times we had seen before. But I thought our time
had coated those petals, washing away past grime.

She never needed a reason to cut me deep inside.
I was the doll, stuffing pulled from within denied
the respect of my pride. but still I thought her my
plaster healing this cut, while reality cut deeper, why?

I now know that some cuts weren't mine, sharing
her past with me. But instead of healing,cutting, wearing
down what was within me. I needed to feel whole be
myself within no cuts seen. I loved her, but I was unfree.

Thy crows loiter on mornings
fever, blossom brightening to
thee. But when  petals awaken,
onyx lullabies tear each asunder.

Woeful of the beauty of years,
            thy fallen moments collect
like tattered curtains of life.
   Crows sing sirens of despair,
joyful of the passing beauty..

And still they look upon thee,
        no longer petals of years stand.
they wait till your stem of life wilts.
With but a moment of silence when all
has fallen, they bow, wings dispersing life.

Death has released her
           from the chains of
                          purgatory.
For it knew that without
balance to weigh the scales,
that they would be relased
      from this eternal silence.

        At least in hell they
could have felt, but here
                           nothingness
was the reminder of their
                         indiscretions.

Death lingered on her outline,
                 neither could harm the
other, where his touch grasped
petals fell and within his cloak
did for a moment a deep silence
              sang for a finite eternity.

A debt was repaid, but there were
           many that both owed each other.
She kissed him on the cheek and flesh
was woven momentarily and a smile
                                        ventured forth
before lips turned to ash petals and
tombstone gazes looked onward.

We are martyrs of deaths breath,  
       concussive retribution for living
in the light of decay.
Matter is a virus of consumption,
           exhausting the filaments
of extended fulfilment that will never
                                             be quenched.

But death is the saviour of existence,
      collecting on the overture of a
living rhythm, what sang to loudly
         now nullified beyond continuality.


The martyr did linger in disparity
       for life was a creation, but existence
is but greed. So let all ponder the
          expenditure of self and repercussions
of what existence brings to all.
             Death isn't an enemy,
its the saviour of existence.
Coalescing the need for continuity.

Missing a moment
              is like a lifetime
                     of shadows,
just out of reach of the light.

But I will never let you
           be a shadow,
           as you brighten
every moment of my existence.

If problems were leaves
mine would be dried husks of
                         contemplation.
Every one I tried to solve would
just crumble between my fingers.


When I walk on the echoes of
deliberation its stalks penetrate
              deep within my wandering.
Why does nothing grow on
         falling leaves of deterioration.

A dilemma of reflection never grows
            it only crumbles beneath palms.
Clasping at tears never diluted
                but even though expelled.
Never did a single drop help the problems.

Disjointed reflections of vertebrae
that were fluid in the synapsis of
                       my subconsciousness.
they were inadvertently disjointed
              from my walking thought.

Then I fell beneath the tower that
I had build within,
               collateral damage of life.
Broken windows of reflection that
I tried to close, but lacerated my
cognitive actualization of self.

That which severed my validity of self
             was pendulous, but with a
string we can weave something new.
Not as it was before, more worn and not
so luminous, but what was lost is gained
for that voice a lingering a shadow of before.