Rolling down the road, in a sunset town
A pop from the tailpipe and a rumbling sound.
Never before have you seen the town like this.
Friendly faces, children running. Bliss.

A sweet voice, humming over the airwaves
Sultry and definite, like the end of this day.
It's stampeding to a hault, to an end of days.
It should have always ended this way.

The raccoon, his days of mischieve cut short,
Forever stagnant and flat on the black.
No one will build him his tomb, an animal mosoluem, no funeral fort.
What will happen when I die, what will be lax?

We all stride to and fro,
Oscillatory on this wavelength God-given.
What happens when we finally go,
When our own life is not living?

Men may say that life is long for fear of the afterworld,
For that untrodded territory in which we know not of
But I say that life is too fleeting,
For the fish which swim, the birds above.

What is life, when put to music?
Can you hear it better when the melodies mix?
Is the world more rustic?
Are we fools to its tricks?

Sunset falling on faces of a sprawl,
One day over, one to end them all.
I feel an ocean rushing over me
I find myself floating at sea

The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
Such egoistic heads tell not to worry
And at our back talk oscillatory
Bad about us, creating a crematory
Where they bury their own glory.
They have a bad attitude of sanatory
Coward, showy, deceitful, predatory.

The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
I too had such a mad hoary
Who was ready with an itinerary,
Where all bad & deceit come corollary
As she had a base habit of obfuscatory.
She knew less concepts contemporary
And thought herself vital primary.

The world is full of fools’ theory
Listening to them I feel weary.
Would always ask if I hunky-dory?
We knew those emotions were vapory –
Happy, then sad, angry then nugatory!
Her emotions changed as witch’s allegory,
Hate, spurn, prune are her favourite mandatory:  
Now singly fights with colleagues hortatory;
Alas! Does not know her faults & category.

Listening to them I feel weary.
Would always ask if hunky-dory?
At first I tried to be a promontory
So that I can save her crematory;
Blind with pride, less corroboratory,
She spurned me having derogatory.
Now also I pity her as she is a hoary
But wish she improves her oratory.

I wanna tell you,
But then I’d have to slay you,
Virtually and figuratively,
Unbeknownst of the lash-backs.

Words that are brewed,
Halt at the red-rimmed double door,
Floundering in a quicksand,
And desirous of a disgorge.

Everyone’s got a darkness,
That threatens contagion,
But not everyone’s fleeing
A grim spirit unaware.

It’s been a gamble,
Every resultant road in shambles,
An oscillatory labyrinth of pity:
For yourself and the Sinister gaiety.

A desecrated fortress prevails,
Ruins tossed over for salvage,
The sole surviving fragment treasured
For forging a forgiveness-future.

my diurnal rhythms
the push
and the pull
of my tides
now ruled
by
the magnetic force
that is you
your love
felt deep
in the rising swell
of my desire for you
I am powerless
against
this gravitational pull
of wanting
of aching
of breathing
only for your touch
for your kiss
I can feel you
in every beat
of my heart
taste you
as the whet
on my tongue
feel
the vibration
that is you
as both sound and sensation
like a stretched string
quavering in perfect pitch
feel
my pounding heart
the buzz
running through my core
like a hummingbirds wings
in oscillatory motion
feel
every fibre of my being
awakened
every atom
in an excited state
your love both
the catalyst
that causes star bursts
behind my eyes
in a myriad
of beautiful hues
and
the soothe
the restorative
that lends a deep peace
to my soul
your kiss
your loving caress
the balm
that heals my heart.

© J.C.