At Last you are
  My heart of trees
    My walls of stone
      My whisper in the Sindarin wind

Like a homely
  Gleaming
    Vein of oak
      Your limbs a door
        Ajar to an eternity
          Uncloaked

Standing
  Naming Rivendell
    You are the sun
      My palace place
        Escape from Angbands hell

As dominion fades
  Ere does the tide
      So does the land
        East of Belfalas lie

The mountainous trees
  Begin and end
    With a swell of men
      No more to tell

At Last you are
  My heart of trees
    My stone since turned  
      My sacred dell
Such things one day will have a name and place in more than just mind.
I could hear a pin drop.

No, a ball of cotton lightly float and touch down.
Upon a silk sheet.

A speck of dust land on another speck of dust thousands of light years away,
where the colours are inverted negative,
and creatures communicate in a way that doesn’t require poorly worded drunken blurbs
converted into electrons
travelling from one annoyingly loud metal chip to another.

I can hear the electrons converting
and I can hear them laughing at me.

I am a speck of dust upon a speck of dust.
Ungracefully, heavily falling onto my creased sheets.

Alone.
The wild sigh
How it wavers and whips
Through the freshly cut sky
No man to see
Or to follow it
As it flees
And it fly's
Like a harvest scythe
Beneath the gentle breeze
It cracks
And whips
Stiring the sleeping mouth beneath
With it's shadowy eyes
How the fisherman
Doth crave the catch
So also does escape
The fly
Whip whip. Roll roll.
I have forgotten how to love myself
I don't think anything has changed
But I know they say
You learn to hate
Those you've been around too long

I think I'm here to stay
So should I just find another way?
Maybe the lack of change
Is the false whisper of comfort

There are chains on my ankles
And they are cutting through flesh
The one I hate put them there
Swallowed the key
Probably to feel less empty

But what about me?
But what about me?

There is an echo
It's the voice of a selfish fool
Who needs help
And doesn't know what to do
We have too much in common
Something has to change
But these chains
I wish I could wake up early
And greet the morning
"Hey, how you been doing?"
And it would ask me the same

I wish I could wake up early
And tell the sun
That I'm really trying
And that I'm sorry
For always lying to myself

I wish I could wake up early
Escape the darkness
That I keep serving
I don't know how much more
I can give

I wish I could wake up early
I wish I knew how to live
I wish I could better myself
I wish I had something else to give
I wish I could catch up to my dreams
I wish I knew what they were
I was going to go somewhere with this but then...? Oh well
The Blindness monotony,
Hurl your jokes my way.

Your play ball strikes as stone,
Not very much unlike that which is buried deep inside my heart,
And never shown.

Harmless, is in the eyes of the beholder, my friend.

Your jokes,
   Are my demons.
Your entertainment,
   Is my downfall.

So all I ask,
   Is that you walk a mile in my mind,
Then maybe you'll see,

Harmless jokes hurt sometimes,
  But don't mind me.

~Robert van Lingen
We conseal ourselves behind a mask,
To cover up our flaws and fears.
What are we so ashamed of?
Living as someone we are not.

n.n
Run away
Run away
Run as fast as you can

No more of these days
No more feeling trapped
No more rattling in the cage

When the door's been open
Just turn the other way

No more rattling in the cage

Run away
Before the death throes
Run away

Run away
Feeling worse than I ever have and I don't know what to do.
I see your rhymes
Playing in time
Crafting the tunes
That are on your mind

I see your structure
      Building a home
            To live in your own
               Architectural bliss

I see your simplicity
Abstraction
Emotional beauty

I see your poems
Penned out of passion
Attempts to plagiarize
What's in your soul
If only I could know them
Year by year
The poems and the emotions
And what's really going on here
How can I be a writer?
When I never write

How can I be a painter?
When I never paint

How can I be a musician?
When I never play music

How can I be an adventurer?
Or an activist?
A chef?
Or a celebrity?
A hero?
A philosopher?
A lover?

How can I live?
When all I do is ask questions
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