There is not just one road to love
Every road has its own curve
You won't be able to cross too easily
But only if you dare
As it would be as long as Rupunzel's hair
For some the road is aesthetic
For some it's a pet peeve
Someday you too would leave
Find a hundred reasons to leave
Just one is enough to stay
What is the point of getting older?
Do you just shoulder pain, love,
words that haven’t been written yet?
Or do you get an ounce of regret
that brings you down?
You forget what you’ve done and think about what brought you to the brink.
Is this your brink? Or did you blink
To see a tiny glimpse of darkness?
Each year it’s growing bigger and bigger and words aren’t always coming out.
Neither is love.
But pain — it is always the same.
It feels like concrete if not worse,
Your fighting it, but in reverse.
Which means you’re fighting your own mind.
What stays behind apart from years?
Sundowns, sunsets, regrets or tears?
And fears. They hunt you down.
So what’s the point?
Is there one?
There are those who live out their days dangerously
and walk along a knifes edge in search of electricity.
They abandon known reason within decisions
for their inner vision is addicted to ambition.
If they find their soul is far from fully grown
they’ll bravely set out upon that road alone
and mystify cemented minds with the gravity of their finds.
These are the ones who will change our ageing-ancient ways
with a saviours grace unlike those who are growing within their graves.
You’ve gone so far and yet you think
That everything is far behind you.
The things you’re missing when you blink
Do not define you.
Then I turn around
Start walking west
But I hit the ground
And I don't get back up
I turn to my side
As the I watch the Sun pry
The gravel digs in
I turn on my back
Lie on my arm
Make it all pitch-black
I keep 'em open
When I hear sounds
It's about to go down
I crawl outta the way
My palms scraped and ******
Was lying on the dirt
But my jeans got muddy
Lights fly past
They show me a way
So I tie up my hair
And start walking straight
I'm still halfway there
But I turn my feet
Start walking north
Now there's grass underneath
How could one find me,
In this mess of a field?
Your escape to the beauty
to the universe in your mind
in the mountains of the white
among stars snow and fireflies.
There shines always delight
moments of wonder and bliss
like dark blue melts with light
a long pause in front of abyss.
Where does the journey end
or begin? You contemplate
to whom you weave longing
not for world to apprehend.
Belle road is your adventure
the voice not to surrender
and you walk, invisible path
steps vanish yet appear anew.
This - My own sea of sin I shelter my emotions
Step blind to lines drawn this ****** up painting I created
We call ourselves artist - I drop burning - Darkness covers this empty space - How did I get here - My creation - My weakness diluted strength
Forbidden by secrecy
Movement forward steps back to a beginning
Whispers fear needless truth - What is truth if forbidden - Carried heavy on shoulders innocent bystanders wander no direction satisfied by nothing preserved by guilt - Our guilt - Their guilt no gauge reckless
Time moves forward seconds raptured never return - Right a wrong - Decisions helpless - mourn a moment past
Salty our taste lies built with sudden haste concluded affection destruction brings new direction
Look back acknowledge a past to accept a new future - No one thing comes painless to process to pleasure - Birth to grave time swiftly travels - As clouds pass overhead time shelters memories gone.
As quick a letter read our life abides this destiny - Love the one who betters your existence and in all persistence forget not the past and the road that was traveled
Guilt is merely a message from above God's hand in grace
Look back the blessing - Once a ****** up painting now those lines created this masterpiece our masterpiece this painting 143.
Here in the dusk while the light falls away,
comes the night in it's wake
I am wrapped in the nothings of a wintery gale
At my neck and my ear rush it's wintery song
I am coldly embraced, although never for long
Here where the roads harbour hardly a soul
Where the bramble and the briars are frozen and blown
Here where the rains move in curtains of silk-
curtains of light, beating and beating at the edges of night
Here where the pines in their thrashing and throes
In their fits and their starts and their sea-sounding odes..
..they are after my heart, they are leaning and thrown
beneath arctic white stars
East Moriches to Riverhead
my soda splashing on the entire front half of the car
the cup holder like a vast valley
yet a pig pen as the can meets constant dead ends
I could drive back and forth on this stretch of land
without so much as glancing up
most days never remembering how I got there
I didn’t care if the alternative happened either
old telegraph road
births, deaths and marriages
did you hear the news?
it is my duty to inform you...
the pleasure of your company is requested...
at 2:03pm (AEST) Monday, weighing 6lbs 7oz...
old telegraph road
eighty miles of cable
biographies dotted and dashed
- .... . -. / -.-. .- -- . / - .... . / -.-. .... ..- .-. -.-. .... . ... --..-- / - .... . -. / -.-. .- -- . / - .... . / ... -.-. .... --- --- .-.. ... / - .... . -. / -.-. .- -- . / - .... . / .-.. .- .-- -.-- . .-. ... --..-- / - .... . -. / -.-. .- -- . / - .... . / .-. ..- .-.. . ... / - .... . -. / -.-. .- -- . / - .... . / - .-. .- .. -. ... / .- -. -.. / - .... . / - .-. ..- -.-. -.- ... / .-- .. - .... / - .... . .. .-. / .-.. --- .- -.. / .- -. -.. / - .... . / -.. .. .-. - -.-- / --- .-.. -.. / - .-. .- -.-. -.- / .-- .- ... / - .... . / - . .-.. . --. .-. .- .--. .... / .-. --- .- -.. .-.-.- / -- .- .-. -.- / -.- -. --- .--. ..-. .-.. . .-. .-.-.-