All These Treasured Things

Listening, no sudden judgement – a receiver,

My mind open, I believe;

Words of utmost transparency.

Don’t be fretful of that which you cannot speak,

 

Life’s tough, arduous – we know that.

Shared. No seclusion, nor segregation.

A voice to paragraph, to feel in kind;

Life, and love, and all that’s between.

 

Sometimes I dream, and sometimes I’m bitterly real.

What can be done, achieved, felt – it’s a sad mystery.

But I ponder… what’s best?

 

Maybe it nullifies disappointment.

Maybe… simply, it’s beyond knowledge;

Knowing, that’s the hardest part – isn’t it always…?

Knowing what to say, and what to leave be;

Misinterpretation – demon dweller of frail words

Creeping ’round the corner, settling in cavernous cracks,

Yell the voices of pain-riddled pasts’.

 

Bathe within the beat of your chest,

The motion of your up and down breath,

Ground it all in reality – tight knot, heavy anchor.

Forge it into stone too heavy to drag behind,

And leave the grey mist,

The ambiguity of mind’s irrationality.

Be free… Live free…

So, let it all begin again.

Night-Time Fantasy

Sometimes, I ask you to walk.

Sometimes, I watch as you cry;

Tears, flowing, as the world trudges by.

 

Talons, catching my feet,

Wasting the days, and the weeks.

I cannot take one final step, onto the moon,

Onto the surface where yellow light beams.

And I sit, and I drive to the land,

Where the residents kneel,

Where they have no feet,

Where the demons permeate sickeningly deep.

 

Take me away,

Hold me close, my shoulders tight.

You mean more to me,

Than those shadows that wander the street.

You mean more to me,

Than I know of myself,

Than I know of the world.

So please,

Don’t ever leave;

As the leaves fall and sprout from the trees.

Love… stand beside me.

White-Walled Rooms

Looking onwards, towards the hourglass room,

Beside where the Erlenmeyer flasks stand.

Thinking, why doesn’t one speak,

Duress in the real-world-light.

Panic stricken by night.

 

Hidden beneath the Store-Cupboard of Questions,

Ruminating, cascading – light utterly faded.

Walked corridors, and descended stairs, ability waning.

 

A teetering life;

Strangled and brain-dead.

Energy expired, nothing to lose.

Nuclear powers’ spent fuel rods.

 

Cowering by the Natural Gas taps –

Arms wide open, embracing,

As the flames stream, vicious, sun-hot,

Wasting.

 

Glance this way;

Stride over to me – understand implicitly.

Because surely, after all, you knew…

 

And take me away to the place of no rain.

Drifting in silence, through endless time and space.

Questionless, regretless, perfectly prideful.

Only in dreams, I imagined.

 

Sat on plastic stools, I waited,

Silently for a day with no foundations.

Pencil lines, black lines, thick lines.

No end. No certain destination,

For the person who holds the lab at ransom.

 

Sure, you just went on gliding,

Smiling too.

That was alright, I didn’t mind.

Just the times, and the excuse to touch,

To tickle, and to prod, to joke – everything.

So, I waited,

Right by the Erlenmeyer flasks.

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…

 

 

 

 

One Day – All the Days

Valentines day – or as I like to favourably call it: make-those-who-are-forever-single-feel-inadequate day.

“It’s these cards and the movies and the pop songs, they’re to blame for all lies and the heartache, everything.”    -500 Days of Summer (My FAVOURITE film!)

You know, I’m not usually one to rant about these things, well… at least not anywhere but my own head. But, I don’t know. Somehow it all seems so manufactured – dare I use the word ‘commercialised.’ Course, it’s Valentines day. St Valentines day. It has traditional, old roots going back hundreds of years, more than what can be said for most of our Holidays. Still, it somehow manages to feel so insincere, as if all the personality has been sucked from it. An unavoidable necessity, rather than an endearing informality.

I know, I know… there are those to who it means a lot. I understand the intent behind it.

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Unfeeling in the Lands of Plenty

The want of something, with the knowledge of nothing;

Impeccably thought, redundantly realised.

Sitting back against the tough leather,

Waiting for the cackles of the rotten hags.

 

Littered the streets in utmost contempt.

Rallying against the heiress’s henchmen;

A force of a million suns.

And yet they whisper, ‘stay, do not run!’

 

Groveling in the street’s putrid drains.

Accused and cursed, burned, egregious.

Whittled down, strewn from humanity.

 

With the waiting of months, years, and decades.

Needing and wanting, nothing sacred.

Skin touching stone and wood,

Unearthing destinies from the old and young.

And yet, nothing of skin to skin.

 

Dreaming of picnics,

Hand in hand amidst the blustery winds.

Crossing forgotten walls, only breathing.

‘Whisper in my ear…’ she tells me;

Though, I find words do not form in this lucid land.

 

Stricken, ruptured – wandering the void.

Free in the free lands – feeling aside.

Wandering around the dreamworld,

In the search of something to commandeer reality.

And so, I hold her hand as the light fades.