Purity descends slowly
            but crimson blemishes.

Birds defile cold
                          blankets...  

to drink upon seasons past.

The moon kisses the sky,
eloping within her grasp,
and the stars tells no lies,
embracing all
          within faint touches.

As the clouds flow with kindness,
   huddling within the emotions..
      Hiding the eyes glazed over,
with compassion as tears flow down.

The heart beats within the
                   sound of the wind.
Rustling within the walk into every soul..
Nature herself whispers within the trees..

When my voice is
                    decapitated
But my sight
                      speaks volumes...

She was a shadow of herself enveloped
in the negatives of bygone memories .
But she shone brighter than all the yesterdays.
Walking in a timely manner of her choosing.

Though she always wondered slowly,
everything of her day was done.
Her thoughts always vocalized upon us,
never reserved she always spoke her mind.

"Time waits for no others"
                 "So always wait for its pauses"
"Then get yourself two minutes ahead,

We loved her for the fire that never seemed
to dampen no matter the season or
what life collected upon her frail frame..

She rings us every weekend, reminding
us that she's still a memory in a lives.
Who would ever miss her,
                     she's more alive than any of us...

Her wounds were non-negosabile,
Knowing this was her fading epilogue,
           "I die free, I'm not your slave"

She choose this path, knowledge was
better than the servitude to false shadows.
She was bleeding a stream of life on the ground.

One will fade like stars,  but never reignite..
I fall in this moment of my choosing, her last words..
*"I  die for tomorrow, so that it may fly freely of chains"

I'm a vocalization of
                      dented yesterdays,
        but swim to tomorrows..

Though not blinded, they saw all that was before them.
For within every length did a life linger.
Never ones to trim a singular moment they just
brush each moment delicately everyday..

For if not, tangled breath would linger to dead roots.
They were methodical in there daily routine.
But sometimes no matter the care, follicles do depart
and gently fall for an eternity, expired strands fade.

Collecting on every observation, tears do fall.
catching on strands gifting moments of longevity.
They see our every moment, contemplating our
decisions, never wording, only watching our lives

Where petals where collected
                                      in formation,
now do the intricate twines of
                       entanglement untwine.

Beauty now becomes weathered.
A hurricane of motions
                                    now segregate
what was contoured in perfection.

But when a flower wilts its petals
                                  fall nosily...
And all we hear is caustic silence..
for when a life is like a blade it
cuts deeper than any life... silence.

We all swing on the ropes
       that we hang from.. depression

Alone on a slide of dejection
         that seems endlessly static.

But nevertheless we play on this
       fake illusion of reality..

Were playing ball on a wall of nothingness..

You have much,    
                        share,
   others less fortunate give a moment for..

And life, live it with humility..
                    thoughts to think deeply..
Always remember there is always
           someone who is less fortunate than you.

                                 For no reason of there own

I collect my words,
  leaving them in my wallet
         for when their meant to be spent..

And like vouchers I spend my words
                                   at the right time..
here's a voucher with a ******* for
           the times you never stood by me..

And here is a coupon  
             for a rock when you needed me
                           and you can sink silently...

We all question our motivation 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 moments...


Do we give up?
              or do we collect our strength
      and show all that were
                   stronger than a question mark..

In corners we collect our wept
     collections that gather solitary dust.
But they gain weight with every oppressed
        emotion. We never show the slide delicately
forming in the cortex, showing indefinitely.
                   Repeats of what now show our faltering ability.

Were entombed in the heavy yesterdays
           that are swallowing us within dead pools
of contemplation. But we sink nevertheless always.
Rotting beneath boulders of self doubt, are
we able to ever gain breath against the obscure.
              Or will we just breath in stagnant air.

The voices are withering  the vine,
with every leaf that crumbles..
they speak louder than mine.

When they talk, they do not scream..
softly spoken needles are driven in
to my mind and they whisper things..

See what they what they say,
painted emotions white washing
all cognitive responses of mine.

They look behind you, not me...
you reading this see the darkness
piercing you with chills while reading..

There were words scribbled in
pencil, on a singular piece of paper,
I folded into a paper plane...

Throwing it from the balcony of
my window, I was single never finding
love. But I threw my feeling out into
the world beyond my reach...

I waited for days, but never did my
thoughts fly towards me..
they must have statically landed
beyond the reach of other hearts..

Wrote within I had penned simply.
"If my heart glides to  you and you find
my words of merit, let your kisses envelope
my wings and glide back to the window of my heart"

Do you realize how far a paper plane laden with
emotions can fly, it never sank.. But floated on
the breath of loneliness, until it found a window
of opportunity. folded words were read upon.

Days had ventured past my window until a
letter fell though my door.. And with it words.
"Though you flew to me, I found it easier for
my words to walk to you doorstep an read my words"  

When the walls of trepidation fell, and I saw the
mirror of my word I knew that my hart had flown
true. You were the wings of my thought and I was
the reflection that brought you to my heart.

That moment when a gesture
heralds the thought of contemplation
and you revaluate your attention.  
no longer do you feel sullen within,
knocking on the doors buried thoughts.
for one single action can create ripples
upon the deliberation of what we,
l have to be thankful for with a single action .

Swallow lakes of onyx consume
my breath, as I lie asphyxiated
beyond the waking moments.

I'm drowning with the perspiration
of what clings to my eyelids.
Like cement clinging onto the fluttering
of still eyes sinking deeper from the shore.

Where I was once in the realm of cognitive
sleep, I fall deeper into the shallow
graves of that cling to my slumbering mind.

Have you fallen into a place that makes even
your breath chilled. Could you climb that
ledge of despair as your being consumed
by the fear of never finding a path from darkness

Collecting on the emaciated
entails of what is mummified,
it falls.

What cracked under the sinews
of momentary starvation,
now indulges on the fallen sweat
of obscurity hanging aloft.

Immersing what was once fragile
moments of decayed reactions,
now drink deeply within the
tears immersing senses of rain.

I was a withered monument
of forgotten reflections..

No one realized I wasn't there..

A shadow lingering in corners,
         but never seen..

I was apparition of the lingering
   life I led.. no one noticed when I was gone..

Glazed fragrances ascended
as her breath took form of
exhaled emotions...

I always saw flowers in her
every breath, petals falling
when they expired..

Her silence was a bouquet...

Doused in empty caskets,
                   littering the floor..

Drink entombed him.

I was the light house gauging the trouble
crashing on the green seas beneath my
window. Rough seas, vocal waves of
perpetual ship wrecks..

I would gaze upon the shoreline
of my view, looking for any trouble
that could wash ashore. Momentary
riptides of hormonal adolescence gained.

What could take a life, a single moment of
not watching the shore. So I shone my  
gaze upon another's abandoned hopes,
leading them from the rocks of anguish..

That day I was the lighthouse of reality,
when below waves were gathering.
I was a light in moments of disarray,
But on that day no one washed ashore.

If mankind were a sun, would it dim
at the sullen forces each expels?
Not controlling the innate emotions.
Would it just burn bright for a time,
expelling  he need to be seen and heard.

Could we in power our reactions to not
consume, but to burn slower over time.
Nothing is between our actions and emotions,
we are the heat of each and every moment.

If we were a sun, could we not give light
to our contemplation, enlightening not
just ourselves but the spaces between our
reactions. Would be not burn brighter if
we took a moment to see the reaction within.

The breath of change collects on all,
once plumes of growth wither beneath
the slicing silence of onyx nights.
Collecting grains of light from the day..

A flurry of hues depart there podium,
like a crescent of static moments descend
down to there inevitable serenity..
When breath collects they are fleeting momentarily.

Exhalation collects on the shivers of bare branches.
Unclothed of there foliage, they are but shadows
of life's abundance. Now they stand sullen waiting
patiently for the winds of change to once again blow.

Were vagabonds of the streets!
each one a collection of memories,
carried like a hearse on our shoulders.
Waiting to be buried in shallow graves.

Did you read every epilogue of sadness
that collected on so many brows...
Each a sentence of our life deleted
by life's eroding moments.

We could hold life in single use bags.
Never reused but fading at the handles
of life's weight. We collect like refuse
in the corners of close shutters, static.

Did you read every epilogue of sadness
that collected on so many brows...
Each a sentence of our lives deleted
by life's eroding moments.

Time is chains on the pressures of
every moment, every step reminds us
of all the mistakes that brought us here..
Life is smothering us as we sleep alone..

loitering between
         earth
                       and air,

A cord of
                in-between
moments.

As we regret or
                breath relief,
of life's final moments..

Tasting the moist interior
                                 with my lips...
my tongue tickling the innermost  
places of delight..

Cream slips down my throat
                     as flavours
entice me
     to consume every part greedily.

I lick my sticky lips, fulfilled I fall to sleep..

which one was the one that the
Witch made into a frog "Riibbbittt"
which frog is your husband?

Witch could you please use
which ever spell you used to
Witch your curse upon...

which frog will slimy lips kiss,
Witch did laugh as kisses did kiss
which one please the wife did ask..

Witch looked as tears did fall,
which one do you love was asked?
Witch looked at her emotions..

Which one is ugly but has beauty within?
Witch looked at her eyes pondering downwards.
Which one was chosen? a kiss did show.

Witch smiled as smoke collected around all,
Which kiss saw beneath, a man now stood
Witch did smile, love is beneath the many layers

Witch taught a lesson of which we must all learn,
Which is that we must look beneath to find love..

We speak to the master
                 but our voice
is like coins down a wishing well
                                     Wasted...

Our hands clasped up,
           looking upwards to eyes
                   never staring
towards our failed gazes...

The shackles upon a minds
                       contemplation
wrenched from what is clearly
      misinterpreted but still is clenched.

But there are a growing number
                    that see no master
and are slave to none...
      The shackles of eyes open...

There is a master and a slave,
      through mans voice the master
controls the herds..
           but now the cane has snapped.

Now our own voices are heard,
          not bowing to another's whim.
We are not slaves on bended knee...
      hands clasped as if we are in the wrong..

When words are spoken
      then man will ponder on every meaning.
Roads will be viewed
          and taken upon the thoughts of all.

Some will say there road is the true one,
       while others will say theres is higher
                                         than those below..

Putting them on a ledge of ego and contemplation..

Baiting the haters
           lining up the
hook to catch a *****..

Wait for a while..
       they bite quickly.
And then the tethers pulls..

Another hater baited
        showing there true colours..
Fake faces fall, showing truth..

"Haters are people thinking there strong"
          *"But really they're weak of morals"

We are our own stairs
        everyday climbing higher.
We may fall,
          but inside we get up and brush off.
Climbing those steps of inner strength again...

When you realize
that the only
                     strength
you need is your own.

You find that you can
pick yourself up
                             faster.

Rather than depending on
            others who walk
                              past your pain.

The clouds are only grey
                 around the edges,
but in-between there is
                   always a lining of hope.

Old rocking chairs sways
       in the wind of
                              yesteryears.

Collecting fragile memories
      viewed over silent
                              contemplations.

The world moves on
                       but memories
                viewed sitting here

I stood in a line of
              collected thoughts.
Each waiting to be served.


The line like a funeral procession,
                       slow motivation.
The moments that collect at the end
              packaged like meaning something.

But everyday I slumber in these wastes
                                                     of my life,
Creation is more than this, just walk away..

Within beauty  
there is always the smile
                         of a clown

Its lips red bleeding on
             the petals of white.
Rose's haemorrhaging.

Within the fragrance of
                      clotted aromas,
we cling to the reflections of beauty.

Corrupted within the smiles
of a clown,
          bleeding on petals
of white roses corroding.

Her sleep is sullen, gently does she move
the garments that adorn her.
Creases forming over time,  
ridges adorning her higher reaches.

Upon these elevations does life cling,
majestic in its existence.
Beauty hides in grace and a thirst
for survival. upon high there is
No good or evil only life.

Upon the highest reaches of this breathing
world, where breath is far and in-between.
You will find a place of wonder and desolation,
each in harmony. Life is death and existence
is but a moment passing within creases..

life is a rubix's  cube,
some times its just
                a mess of colour...

And every so often
      they all match and
                     your content...

Ink never loses its
                     meaning

Time only fades it..

  Everything wrote will
           always have an
                            interpretation..

But to you it will never tarnish...

A hundred words
        and more I could
                              "say"

But that look in your eyes
             says it all
   with out words.

Where soulless white shades hang.
                             The tempest of breath
Clings around these hung effigies..
      
Drying them of sweet nectars fluid..
                          Even though evaporated
     the essence of summer lingers.

When
        we think like
                       stones..

But drown when our
               thoughts
                       get to heavy....

Will you walk with me,
          will you hold my hand
we'll skip to the sounds of
     moonlight as it shines off
                    the blades we hold in our hands...

Our masks hiding our secrets,
        The enigmas of each others plan..
You like to cut, I like to stab..
As long as there's  wine flowing
we'll drink dry to every woman & man..

They thought we were gone,
buried beneath so much dirt.
                              But we breathed
our last, with that a vengeful curse.

"We breath our last, this is our last verse,
        For when the veil falters,
                for when our names are practiced..
We will arise to claim what is ours,
      Two children will wonder,
Two children will smile with glee.
For those that put us beneath the dirt,
         will bleed and feed underneath.."

When the sun arises and the covering
of night does die in luminescent decay...
Know that were back where we were.
but we brought some friends to keep
                                           the loneliness away!

There not dead, a heart still beats.
          But there staring at our decaying vision
our mouths silently open.
Were inhaling every last breath,
      for not with  moment will we breath again
                    But there's always next hollows eve.

the sorrows of breath will seed the
                                land with bare fruit.

As the voices of nature reveal there
                                                          truth,
               that were just ants in a flood.

Silly little things, a food chain of nothing,
                  for earth is the hunter
                                    So don't upset her.

When the stones sink into my depths,
stirring murky sediment in my mind.
But its not only one that I throw within,
ripples of numbness collect in places
that were hollow, but now filled with
vacant white noise..

Grey shades now colourful eclipses,
for when I see the sunset of my actions
I know that I must sink stones once again.
But what if I were to throw more than
the recommended amount?
causing more than just voice to fade out.

I read the sign hanging on the side
of my emotions, and realize that these
aren't what I need. Throwing them around
isn't filling a gap its stitching it together
with faded voices. That instead of whispers
they produce an itch I cant scratch.