A chorus less a single voice,
an angel taken from our lives,
her song cut short without a choice,
these thoughts of her all that survives,

An empty space where once was light,
a hole that cannot be refilled,
that spark put out without a fight,
a life that we must now rebuild,

a treasure lost but for her worth,
a soul reclaimed before her time,
to rest in peace within the earth,
to sleep and dream that life sublime.

"Honest to God I will break your heart"

A paper cup overflows
           Spills
                  Breaks

All is transient.


"I would have wanted to keep trying"
I know.

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

Silence.
A hug.
No glances back.

Rings of light lowering from the skies I called my faith Godly and A universe is birthing somewhere; Transporting peace into this world everyone else infidel. Now I going extinct Dinosaurs in There! Ant-eating stick,

I emerged have divine rights to pillage all.

A galaxy few light-years away, A tool-making ape. And gave the Shoreless ocean knocking the heart. At this very moment, life first
key to St. Peter and walked, walked That I locked away behind a
door. peered at

the firmament of stars. Bequeathing hopers,

A light called forth and I walked forth A supernova ***** all light. memories down epigenetic lines. out a mollusc to the future But peace was alive all along. An arc. Epic. Exodusish. enroute a transcience
called man; Now

in the fear of a mushroom There is a God.

Too bland for our Tossing around in a centrifuge. clouds, she graces
the world in taste, lighting all hearts in peace-fires. Giant wheel. Merry-go-around. her dome-shrines dotting the wide
shores. And now

we like them, deranging conflagrations more.

What is this state that I'm in?
It seems as though it is an
in-between.
I am stuck in transition,
yet I am too afraid to move.

I am surrounded by a veil that disguises
reality.
I do not want to move from this unknown land.
I am in unfamiliar territory,
but I feel safe.
That, in itself, confuses me.

I look back;
I want to stay here.
I look forward;
I want to stay here.

The past fills me with
sorrow.
The future fills me with
fear.
Which I would prefer,
I have not a clue.

I would prefer to stay here in this
ephemeral
security;
in this false comfort;
in this illusion.

I would prefer to continue
deceiving myself
and altering actuality.
I would like to live in a constant state
of deception and transience.

Aren't we all anyways?

TRANSCIENCE:
misspell it every time. somewhat
quite sure it’s intentional. feel i
might be due a nightmare. have
been throwin’ too much weight
on the psyche. pressing
my worth
more and more out of existence.
and i am more disciplined than
i allow myself to believe.
with awkward schedule fulfilling
each day, awakening to death
and the Sun’s mistress giving
chase. with each sun set
and rise, i drift. world witnesses
rebirth. continual birth,
and everything turns out
in the end.      (no fatalist)
goat’s head on the wall,
staring as i can barely scrawl.
eyes that see beyond this vessel,
to search a span of sleeping lives.
and cold wind gusting, i’m
all too focus’d.
if only a pocket warmer to
thaw these clench’d muscles,
nothing more than tepid
flesh. nothing, endless flesh.
found broken lines,
found blur’d thought,
i awaken.
  - and may they never be
    found having to cook
    with premium pony meat.
too cryptic. i lost it. and now
the Muse of Nothingness
brings the other, brings
the middle ground. continue
to brake and simplify. at
long without it,
the Sea Wolf always finds me.
and if to change places, it
would be much the same as
how this vessel seeks the Sun.
and i
am consumption of sacrament.
and i
am beauty all inclusive.
and i
am crass, purposeful, in misleading.
and i
am prone to not caring for
making sense.
and i
am Lotus Eater re-emergent.
and i
am bound to sound like
a slow burning. like a little.

Then
there were no barriers,
inhibitions or obstacle courses
to be scaled or completed
before the advance was made.

Now
every inch of progress
had to be measured in reams and miles
of pure print and aimless wanderings.

Then
action was!

Now
it is a Calvary gone
numbly insane.

In the void of our ignorance
we see ourselves as objects
floating in the helpless realms
of Einstein's dot
infinitely robbed of ageing transcience
and comfort in a happy-go-lucky existence.

Now
we live not to die
and lie not to live
but lie to survive.

Then
none of that mattered.

Then
time ignored clocks
and man-made habits,
complimenting
the agnostic-god of system.

Would the poet in his elevated state
of illuminated enhancement of
conscience,
would he picture the beauty in this
figure
this face
not to act upon it
but to ponder and capture
in its truest essence of being
this figure
and this face
their transcience of colour
for eternity to marvel at?

Would he,
the poet, perceive
and capture this?