Venting Stars

In truth, let the words simply be words,

For they are a poor medium to express my mind,

To shine light upon the things that have dwelled in darkness.

They try, and they try their best,

But in the end, discerning meaning through the fog of war,

Is surely no simple achievement.

 

Words – huddled,

And muddled too.

Lines and lines, without commas to break.

Each syllable felt, each intention taken.

Oh, please forgive the occasional misinterpretation.

 

Watching fleeting images of self-doubt,

Listening to the confusing lyrics of orderless orientation;

Haphazard in what is thrown, and what is devoured.

And yet, it’s nothing but home…

 

Tell me, and tell me straight-

Straight faced, based in all truth, without hesitation.

And, promise me you’ll try…

To pass on the singularity of blinding night,

Always climbing from the relentless abyss,

The scourge of extra-terrestrial bottom feeders.

 

Sure, things will pass,

And things will fade – life in all ways.

But let this be real, and let yourself feel;

Unhindered and without a morsel of regret.

 

In a life so apparently bleak.

A world so cold.

Both hands are held, balanced, equally as giving.

Resting on shoulders, closing weary eyes.

Let it all flow…

Let it all be unhinged, relieved of all burden…

 

 

 

 

Salute To Us!

One-hundred years and still nothing.

A frenzy of fiction, hindered sight.

A will to scripture, to all that arrogant belief.

Belief in self-doubt, and belief in saviour.

In the depreciation of all sinners.

In the hatred of ideology.

So, what? Unrivalled, unquestioned devotion to theology.

Sense in the matter, it seems insane.

Sinner? We’re all sinners…

Don’t doubt that orphaned realisation.

For the night is always night.

And darkness is always darkness.

In those tree’s of forests, no man lays.

Shrouds of bewitched moss, inanely cackling.

Leering at the mumblers; those who don’t commit.

Bedroom, bed, resignations of thumb-sucking.

The living of praying, and the praying to live.

A predicament arisen in the act.

The simple going of ways.

You write about what was, definite, insatiable.

Forgetting what is, what’s yet to come.

Working to live, and living to work.

Home, knees, hoping for some eternal light.

Belief in nothing certain, nothing self-found.

And too – words are just words.

All things go all ways; they must.

2016 – Things I Did (Didn’t) Do

So, 2016… it’s ending. I suppose for some it will have already slipped into 2017, into another year of possibility. Looking back, it has been a funny, even strange year for myself… then again, aren’t they all in some way. So, here is what’s happened – the good, the bad, and the ugly:

  • Attended university for a… week
  • Begun writing poetry.
  • Evolved my love of Tea!
  • Didn’t fall completely apart.
  • Read 23 books.
  • Begun seriously meditating.
  • Scrapped two semi-written novels.
  • Kept a semi-regular diary.
  • Completed a few short-stories.
  • Found the tiniest shred of happiness.
  • Realised many things.
  • Uncovered many revelations.
  • Grown my hair.
  • Felt deep jealousy.
  • Felt contempt in my abilities.
  • Come to love at least something.

And that’s that. I hope 2017 brings the best things it can. And that I reach places and do things I never have before.

Happy New Year to you all! 🙂

-Chris ❤

What Is and What Isn’t

I find myself hoping,

Awash in a sense of my own wrongs.

And yet, that is not how I see them.

Because what I speak is true, utterly.

And I am a fool for thinking all things can be as one;

As equal in the night as they are in the day.

For one, and for two, it can never be the same.

A wish, a hello, a merry – maybe it’s too much.

Maybe it is not at the forefront.

I try to believe, and I try to think;

Understand where the difference is, link to link.

In what is and what isn’t.

In what might be and what mightn’t.

Is there really any difference?

Am I not deserving, not strong.

Rotting in pitiful servitude where I belong.

I don’t beg, and I don’t ask.

I sit, and await the next.

Mind fading towards the day in which there will not be.

Strong – maybe not so much then…

Setting Free

A voice to be heard;

A voice to be cherished.

In the darkest of moments;

In the hardest of times.

I know, things are rough.

The world does not see you.

Not nearly enough.

Words, shared;

Sure, that’s all it is.

Though, there hides meaning, value.

A hand to hold close.

A mind to revel in.

You know, not all things are lost.

You know, some people are good.

Finding, connecting,

That’s the hard part.

Knowing when to suspect,

Or when to let it all go.

A mind free.

Towards Places

Through barriers we transit.

In search of love and truth.

In lieu of so-spoken proof.

Existing through one’s eyes.

Seeing the world with untempered lies.

Anguish, and pain;

Not a person relieved of their face.

For it is human, and it is what we know.

And in the knowing.

In the understanding of such rites.

Vengeance in one’s contempt and spite.

Dreams, and dreams alone,

They don’t separate all we know.

Building a picture, an endless mirror.

To places, far, far beyond.

Places outside of the human mind.

Where we might find peace in kind.

And yet, we must work.

Work to reach that hallowed space.

That land where we might finally come to stand.