I once saw an old faded rocking chair,
On an otherwise empty porch.
Of an abandoned colonial -style house,
En route for a visit up north.

It moved just a tad, as if to whisper,
So I stopped for just a spell.
And wished that it could speak to me,
What stories would it tell?

Would it speak of simple innonence,
Unhurried times now gone?
But someone honked their horn at me,
And so I hurried on.

Once upon a time, we are children.
Awakening every day with innonence,
and judgement - free naivety.
Hopeful of what each hour may bring.

Once upon a time, we are youthful.
Anxiously awaiting a first kiss, expectant
of new experiences.
Hopeful of what the years may bring.

Once upon a time, we are adults.
Settled into responsibilities, accepting
of our circumstances.
Hopeful of what the decades may bring.

Once upon a time, we are aged.
Reflective of our past paths, resigned to
our current state.
Hopeful of what the darkness may bring.

Innonence and sadness
No longer one
But often the other
Your music makes my heart
Desperately want to sing again
Speaks my fears
Makes melodies of my hopes
Produces the background music of my dreams
Innocence and sadness
No longer extremes
I swim in between
In the vast dark blue sea

Coming out of this mood emotionally,
Praying devotionally,
Couldn't sell myself because I'm soul-lessly cheap.
A token for my innonence, repented my sins again,
Sinister events, waving my pennant so grant me my wish,
Make me a kid, cause I disapporove of my independence,
This intelligence was a propaganda,
These moments aren't sensible,
This status isn't credible,
I'll take cents over the million views,
So help me get through,
The evaporation of my presence.

Among the scattered granite
Kneels a concrete angel
Watching over the stillness
Of the sacred place.
Crows gather and I
Undisturbed sit
Under an overcast sky
A slight chill will every wind
So fitting and so welcome
Leaves spurting their way along the asphalt
Moss -laden oaks standing in reverance of the dead at rest
And yet there is much life
Bees in the low cut grass
Moving about the daisies
Crows playing games in the clouds
Blades of grass tremoring with the breeze
The ground appears to tremble
But it would never dare
Not here.
Not here where alone feels nothing like loneliness
Where innonence has endured
In the only place where tears can fall without scrutiny
Peace takes precedence here
Where the dead listen
As God speaks

An aboriginal with a window
To the world
Watching all the little ways
Of conformity
Of learned destruction
The foolish ways of men
Just observing
Beauty transformed
Truth smothered
Light covered
Desire suppressed
The moderns
Changing all the time
Like rocks on a riverbed
All the godly gifts
Being shifted around
Heavenly innonence
And all the purity
All the passion
So transformed by man that
Pride equals power
A tear is weakness
The sun just a tool of industry
Through that window
War is acceptable
Death is expected
Stifling is strength
And hearts are restrained
There is no yield to passion
No recognition of self
No care of essence
The sky seeds never grow
Loves goes unspoken
Everything conditioned
And conditional
Eyes are shrouded
Voices raised only for contention
Ears are transient
Minds neglect infinite
A gardens mockery it is
With hushed lips
Squashed hope
Core disregard
Just a being-battle
Everyone wants to win
To be rewarded
With emptiness.
I don't live amongst that world
Because that world doesn't live.