this feeling is of a pendulum swinging
side                           to                         side
as if it cannot seem to make up it's mind.
the feeling tends to contradict itself by                                  

dreaming of
self discovery                  
                                       and longing for
                                       self destruction.

thought of not understanding it's truth
has been locked up in the             back
simply because never knowing why is
                                                                    .
                                                                            
                                                                     .
                                                                              
                                                                      .

When I walked in I didn't know what to expect.
Each room highlighted in light.
A oral tradition. To make ourselves at home upon request.
In reciprocation we do.
The rooms we gather in, the ones we walk past.
The objects we fill to take up space.
The rooms a clear reflection of Spring.
The molding painted white.
I was told that some rooms are not to be visited.
Everything has it's season and this isn't one of them.
Placing blame on the rooms.
I want to explore them most I said.
The ones that go unseen.
The things we rarely shine light to.
The places films of dust continue to grow.
These are some of the best places to go.
The beauty of things we walk past day to day.
The smile unknown destinations can bring.
Cultivating the ideas we keep cluttered.
Gasping for air.
These are the rooms I want to explore most.
The parts of you that you strictly keep to yourself.
Only when you are comfortable to share these rooms with me.
To kiss the floor with our feet.
To dwell in the past staring into our future.
We are the pendulums trapped inside the clock

Those who choose to dig deeper
must be willing to accept the dirt as truth
and the mess as proof
The only resolve is sharing tha loot
with those who seek not to be aloof  
those who can recycle  
improve reuse
Otherwise your pursuit becomes futile and vanity in roots
That holds you trapped in a place that never bore fruit.

Like a Pirate
Tied to a ship
who's sunken into
frozen winter drifts
Yelling at everyone who passes by
Uneffected Bitter Colder Less Productive
An Ivory Tusk Burned in private on public telivision

My mind isn't a one way track
The weak train who is now almost giving up
From the back and forth ride
Decisions are made only after
Thinking about it a 100 times
After my actions are done
I think about it a 100 times more

The weak train who is now almost giving up
The train wants to stop
The train wants to rest

The train doesn't know itself
The train asks if he is indeed a train
The train thinks he is no longer a train
but a pendulum
from those thoughts always swinging back and forth

The doctor says thinking hardly is a good thing
Inorder to come up with a good decision
But doctor
what you dont know is
the train still hasnt made a decision
it's mind is still full of question
running back and forth
till now, it still hasn't reached its destination

back and forth
high and low
but how high can a Pendulum go?

how high can its cold steel float?
and just how low
will my Pendulum slow
to a gentle end.

No regard to wind,
only to the momentum within
a single steel shine
of the Pendulum's frigid, orderly chime.