Liquid horizons crystalize
within forms of sorrowful eclipse's.
              Only contours fossilized
before  gazes of vacant stares,
            never looking upon
                even the shallow glimpses
of what arose in vacant views

Knowledge is the conception
                   of humanity.

For we will mature when the childish
                                 things are let behind.

And we find awe in our surroundings,
               a release to further ourselves.

Let us ever step forward into the unknown,
              for we need to open our eyes to see.

When the walls falter,
crumbling within
                  realities windows,
                                  shattered inwards
by the tears that are dwindling emotions.

There is no place to smuggle,
        to hide within hollow walls.
Because when everything falls
                               were all exposed.
And everything is but a shell revelled.

My footsteps should have remained static,
but I listened while you were whispering
                beyond my reflections.
       I was their but my own impression
didn't linger long enough to see the pain
                       falling like autumns leaves.

I looked beyond the views of myself and saw
a light fading before it was meant to become
                                                    a shooting star.
I now wish upon your descending memory,
wishing I had been there more before you felt
                        the need to become extinguished.

Reminiscing on my failures of what I should
                                           have delicately read.
But I let you light fade swinging like an
extinguished chandelier.
No longer did light breath,
                    but an extinguished moment
of time that wasn't meant to fade yet.

*"Were both shooting stars hanging silently,
                      never falling just motionless in grief.

Words are sometimes
                   like a blunt knife,
           they can cut over time
and you don't realize that itch
is but the blade edging deeper
under the guise of an scratch.

Sometimes people can stab
                                 you slowly,
and you never realize that
even though by your side.
their hand Isn't holding you,
              but the hilt pushing it deeper
with snake smiles coloured as friendship.

The bleached headers collect on this
sea of silence, words collecting memories
                  of names now wilted and silent.

But we remember these crests of white frozen on
the fields of shattered dreams, dormant reminders
                           that not all names are still spoken.

Nerveless there are still waves of regrets
                  and honour for fallen impressions.
Buried beneath the sea of green, our future granted.

Lying on the bonnet of the car,
          your mums blanket layered across.
We just look above, clouded skies skim
across the ocean of forever.

As the immortality of twilight
                 lingers before us.
Stones hidden from our gaze,
luminous echoes of distant motions.

But sometimes its nice to just look upon
                    the murky swirling above us.
Everything has a beauty, and we just look,
        meaning taken in forms of random flurries.

It takes one star to guide me,
            but a million
     to momentarily lose myself within.

It takes one star to dream upon,
          but a million
     to lose it within mirages of self.

It takes one star to go out that,
        but a million
   still glow, but I miss that one the most.

*"We each have a star we gaze upon,
               Let it always flicker for you,

Embalmed within the suffocations
of modern society. I have the weight
contorted upon the covering of my mind.

Obscured within a coffin of  white noise
deafening my existence. I only see voids
of reflection clouded within my reality.

Lying beneath so many layers of contorted
nonsense. I live for the time of censorship,
Where life was silent and I wasn't buried.

We are all stitches in the cloth
                           of the universe,
each a moment holding
        the past & future together.

For without these
                   overlapping occasions
we would become frayed.
Undone not learning from one another.

But we are but one stitch among the
                    many colours that are
woven as far as the eye can see.
            patches that collected together.

I could clip the wings of angels.
           but still they would think
that heaven was a place to step upon.

When every god is deceased,
            and fact becomes reality .
                      Some still grasp at straws.

*"We are awoken no longer slumbering  in denial,

Rumours fly like dead carcasses,
             infecting those who they land upon.

But no one realizes that they were bitten, corrupted
             burrowing beneath conscious thought.

Seeding the larvae of what would seed within
            the canals of corrupted reflections.

Never realising that every thought was laid
            well before they knew and hatched diseased.

A man of knowledge
    can be learnt, even though taught.
For the teacher who
           has forgotten there lessons,
Must learn new ways from the pupil..

The anchor that never sinks
            but keeps the family in one place.

                       Never sinking
but one that keeps you all together
                  through the rough times

Never drifting
                 but kept you anchored to one place
and safe in the turbulent times.

Unravelling as we were woven together,
she was whole,
                               but I was losing strands
of conscious motions.  

Even though I was fraying,
       she wound her strength
around my insecurities, making us stronger.
              As a whole instead of two separate values.

Love has a way of holding two parts together,
                     even though we may unravel.
Together we bond making us stronger
              than anything separate, we are one love.

Un-enlightenment  was the trading
of collected ignorance that was sewn
on the eyes of so many individuals,
collecting in a mentality of blind illiteracy.

Detachment from the realities that were
shown before, but spectacles of onyx
kept them from seeing reality and all they
responded to was the illusion of there hearing.

Contagions were ingested within the falsity
of words collecting in mirages of there own.
But every consultation was a verse in reversed
wording collecting the meaning in other manners.

I'm a shallow pond of emptiness,
        but stones were pulled out
before this evaporation of self
                   was but a hollow echo.

Those stones were skimmed on
           the surfaces of others waters,
but where greeted as they sank beneath
              settling within the depths.

I was a collected in the pools of many,
        even though I faded the stones
of myself were collected in others.
                           they never evaporated.

"When one evaporates,
          our condensation will gather within others,
      
*"Rocks sometimes never dry but sink below others pools.

Breathless fragrances,
              aromas fading
beyond there time running out.

                             But we will always
expel the vapours of our emotions.
        And others will exhale upon our fading.

Just because you cant taste every
                   sentiment that's breathed,
       were all moving away, just moments fading.

Though the sentence may end,
                       the ink carries on.
The cartridge seems vacant of
                                    wanton metaphors.

Exhibiting reflections on  soiled paper cups,
                wanting to be filled
with drinkable dictations of
                              what is spelt out in stains.

But I spilt that void long ago,
                          blemishing my shirt
with what meant to be drank upon.
        A decolouration of meaning read differently.

A footstep stood
is better than a step back.
We may leave a deeper print,
but it shows others
                    that's its not easily filled.

And that those that try to fill it,
              have lot more to prove


than the reason of its depth..

I was washed up on your shores
thinking you were serine blanket
                      that would caress me.

But you were more like a breeze
               gently eroding me before
I knew I was less than I was before.

You shaped me into a figure that
was useful eroding me inwards
             till I was a shell of my former self.

When I ever listened within,
     I only heard your voice washing
                           in waves seducing my mind.

She was the noose that
       I'd hang myself from,
I would put the snare of
        her heart around my throat.

Her words would caress my
       windpipe strangling
me with loves whispers,
              suffocating me gently.

But words were hard to speak
        when she was collecting tightly
around my breath.
I couldn't be with her as I was suffocating,
                                 my actions she hung me from.

Disembarking on the shores
                   of roadside curbs,
I look at the distance
of my eloping footsteps.

          Emigrating from that place
now in wishful forgetfulness.
But my anchor fell,  
                 and for now I have arrived.

Corroded glares emaciate
the surroundings, all that
was is now woven in despair.

The sadness enveloped in
tired souls painting around
this tide of decaying vision.

But within this sulphuric
black look, suffocating any
emotion looking within.

*"Beauty is a corruption,
                          of our egos,

I was but a message  of love
   floating in an ocean of loneliness,
and then I washed upon your shores.

You read upon this message
                       with every grain.
A moment of our lives has
    passed together.

And love was the moments
        waves caressed upon our hearts.
I was a message and it read,
                                    *"I LOVE YOU,

When we are surrounded
                   by many walls.

And there is only a window,
                  It can lead to a fall.

Start with a brick and talk
                  through every one.

And eventually there will be
                 a door to our freedom.

I'm buried within the madness
       that collects within every
                                       breath...
Realizing that with ever exhalation
that it feels like your last weave.
But its not, its just another motion
of an illness that others never see.

But judge,
            I have fibromyalgia.
And every breath is woven in pain.

I was woven in the collection
of your weaving. But was I the
illegitimate thread of so many
stitches that were woven incorrectly.

But within the faults,weren't there
patterns that were unique to the fashion
of what were meant as perfection.
But was perfection diluted beyond sight.

Energetic particles were throw around,
                younger years blending us
                                 into others orbit.
But we never followed,
        as others were separate from our thought.
When we collected on others echoes.

All fell beneath the floors of gapping indiscretions,
                                                  ­ but when they looked,
they viewed the expiration dates of their words.

Idiots are like coffee,
               they seem ok.

But then,
beneath the surface
           their rank, and too weak.

When the wolf saw the sheep
             the sheep asked why me,
why not those over there.

The wolf replied I have no need
          of explanation for your worries,
they are short lived as is your breath.

The sheep asked again as the wolfs
         teeth caressed it throat,
Loosing gently it replied.

*"Death is a petal on a flower of life,
               and yours has fallen to me,

The morbidity of life is exhumed
everyday of our awaking breath.
For when will this ceaseless existence
grant upon my eyes the closure,
that will vindicate that its fully proven.

Will I ever be a portrait of death,
hanging silently beyond my view.
But alas I still sense the ambiance
of every pilgrimage. This cradle
that I need to decline into oblivion.

I never asked to be exhumed from
the ruination of silence. I was embedded
beyond peace, but then entombed
within this mortal coil,
collecting more pain than ever in death.

We are each a second of existence,
Living, feeling  then death.

We are each a moment in breath,
exhaling beyond our lifetime.

We are each a footstep in time,
and sometimes they remain.

Collect your memories
          and realize
that were but a grain in the time
of a universe
                     of awe and inspiration.

A mother is our anchor
       on life, always there for us.
And when they sink,
          we seem to drift
a little deeper in the water.

Death is never a rough sea
             its an ocean of placid waves
  enticing you deeper beyond you strength.

And when it falters,
  it will kiss you with abundant waves
to comfort you in sullen breaths of eternity.

You will be silent underneath
                        the noise of above
only seeing the darkness swallowing  you below..

We were divided
      never seeing beneath the layers
of our differences not realizing
           its what made us human.

Race, we ran a good one,
         but in everyone there is losers.
Most were capable of pacing themselves,
but someone needs to win??
                                  
"Why,

Why couldn't we cross the line together,
           for so long
we all saw the line differently.
Some beyond a realistic reaching

Faith was a moment of
                contradictory morality,
following paths of  words long since dead
but others never followed there own rules.

We found faith in each other,
       we were our own creations.
              No longer slaves of another's faded memory  
morality was embedded within us.

Gender was woven in the eyes
of those who's hearts were tagged
               beyond there wishes.
We love whoever's eyes we gaze upon.

We dip in shallow waters of emotions,
              whoever's feeling wash up
we cant help but be the shore
       that we fall upon, love is blind.

Woven on sheets between palms
                   were the wishes of deaf ears.
We may ask for many things,
but only we are the bearers
                 of our own aspirations.
          Never do we ask for that which isn't right.

Without a hand to wield it,
              creation is just a silent voice
never written down.

For without man, the words aren't understood.
                  So if the pen came first,
how could man write life down,
                         as he was after its creation.

I had entangled within her verses
                    that were never totally coherent
upon every verse.
               She spelt it in dyslexic
      dramatization  that I never understood.

We were meant to spell every movement,
                but we tripped over every emotion,
                and you were the thorn within me.
We never understood each others sentiment.

I was clipped at birth,
         never meant to fly..
Only to crawl before I walked.

Shamed to crawl on the filth
        of those below me..
never wording, only splurging nonsense.

But when I learn to crawl,
        I leant morality.
Morality was my chain clinging closely.

And I learnt I fell from nowhere,
             to a point of a momently breath.

Glad that l lived in the now,
                not the extinguished breath
of what had already faded to nothingness.

Every thought is
         my guardian angel,
when I ever think  
of contradictory roads..

I walk upon the ropes of
           life's consciences
learning that every motion
is my eventual life line or fall.

My principles of morality
       will echo on every verse of
my life. Its a yes or no or maybe..

We're only as weak
as the chain
                that holds us together.

For what ever is brittle makes us weaker
                                 and it is better to break,
being  reformed in a more stronger form.

Never let others be your weak link,
                           let them break.
    And you become stronger than you were before.

Make me an enemy
and ill whisper praise
upon your corroding
                           morality.

Even though I smile,
           its an illusion
of my fermenting anger.
    Always boiling beneath a surface.

I know you think your
            the centre of everything,
but your a black hole of everything
                     that swallows you beneath.

I'm memorized by the echo
                         of your passing,
burning so brightly before
            you were extinguished.

We all have a moment to burn,
                      before we extinguish.
But were always brightest before we fade.

Nevertheless we have a singular moment
                        to burn for those
                 that need us before we fade gently.

Were all stars fading,
             but some keep us burning longer
just because of there words.

               Where here because of them,
even though they have faded.
              They still illuminate us brightly.

Tasting his lips,
              distinct like sour milk.
She tasted his undeserved
aroma of ill fated discretion.

Never trust one
who tastes like
              wilted moments,
only those of fresh blossomed intentions.

Imaginings influenced
       by cords of a harmony
we hang our emotions over.

Symbolism of ever melody
           breaths on our reflections
of the days musing

We could never be that poster couple
              so we ripped it up...
Cardboard cut-out wannabes.

We were the arguing every
                          4 minutes kind of love,
Never knowing what we would be.

From the moment of our mornings,
           we each wondered were we
      hurricanes in teacups or soft breezes.

We were never going be soppy smiles
            more like smiles
                and words that threw our
true emotions out there.

I awoke one morning in
             youthful gazes
Seeing life was not of any creation
but of chaos.
                   And it was beautiful.

For I realized that what was before
           my eyes wasn't momentary
it was a moment already dying,
                    but we were catching up to it.

Her lips were
       razorblade kisses,
bleeding the lust from
every motion that leant me
                                       forward.
For the inevitable
           torture of our wounded love.

We were bound by the chains that
gripped within our small collection
of touching moments.
                    You would sculpture
my endless intrusion, forge me into
someone I wasn't before I feel below you.

Now I pray for you to free me,
          the ******* of our coupling.
Constricted to the many time you
cut the voice of our reasoning from me.

*"Love is a hell of our own creations,
         "And your's cuts me deep enough
                     to love you more with each laceration,