He spins in his grave as the scandals rush to the headlines,
Backstabbing, money-grabbing launderers,
Oppressors bailing out the wrong people,
While the innocent are the sufferers;
He looks up from the dirt of the underground,
And is glad he is buried beneath the heartless,
His words on the failings of society,
Mean nothing to those now defenceless;
He broke his back working in London and Paris,
Scraping a living while earning nothing,
Then he gained respect for his outlook on our world,
Yet clearly we all missed something.
He wrote in vain, he wrote in vain,
As governments around the world claim
The public’s interests are the main,
Despite debating how best to gain
Some form of profit from this lost game.
Leaders with souls clear as glass materialise,
With grand schemes and plans to retrieve us,
But they too fail and wilt in the raging storm,
Breaking speech and poster earned trust;
He foresaw the consequences of self obsession,
Of robbing a purse for the sake of a penny,
Yet his words were never heeded by those in charge,
Leaving poverty at the doors of the regular Joe and Jenny;
And now the machine steams through to rectify the wrongs,
Stealing from the poor to finance the solution,
‘We all need to sacrifice’ is the message they propagate,
Buying entirely into non-sacrificial delusion.
He wrote in vain, he wrote in vain,
As governments around the world claim
The public’s interests are the main,
Despite debating how best to gain
Some form of profit from this lost game.
He closes his all knowing eyes in disgust,
As queues increase and jobs decrease,
He rolls over and attempts to die again,
As fees go up and protests cease;
A mentality of acceptance begins to spread,
Taking what’s given without thought or action,
He gives up on people all over again,
As no one revolts or forms a faction;
And hope is lost for humanity now,
As governments succeed in silencing the outspoken,
And his readings may as well burn in hell,
As a final reminding token.
He wrote in vain, he wrote in vain,
As governments around the world claim
The public’s interests are the main,
Despite debating how best to gain
Some form of profit from this lost game.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Black Hand
Exhausted eyes fight the self-imposed night,
Losing a minute with every seeming second,
Thoughts cease, movements slow,
The off button is pushed; the on button breaks,
A sudden flash of something strange,
A grotesque limb never seen before;
A hand, skinny, black, with white cuts or scabs,
Reaches across the table where I sit, my arms resting,
And picks up a box of cigarettes that did not exist in real time,
Before vanishing, leaving behind a confused pair of eyes;
The hallucination ended as soon as it begun,
Yet it burned itself inside my lids, smoking,
A direct address is dismissed with a disturbing smile,
And a blatant lie,
A world of my own has just showed me signs of a smoke-out,
Now I just want to know where the fire extinguisher is.
(the incident that inspired this poem was bizarre and it happened literally as I describe it - I'd been out the night before and was nearly falling asleep in the seminar the next day when I saw a split second image of a black hand picking up a box of cigarettes, and I have no idea why I would see something like that).
Losing a minute with every seeming second,
Thoughts cease, movements slow,
The off button is pushed; the on button breaks,
A sudden flash of something strange,
A grotesque limb never seen before;
A hand, skinny, black, with white cuts or scabs,
Reaches across the table where I sit, my arms resting,
And picks up a box of cigarettes that did not exist in real time,
Before vanishing, leaving behind a confused pair of eyes;
The hallucination ended as soon as it begun,
Yet it burned itself inside my lids, smoking,
A direct address is dismissed with a disturbing smile,
And a blatant lie,
A world of my own has just showed me signs of a smoke-out,
Now I just want to know where the fire extinguisher is.
(the incident that inspired this poem was bizarre and it happened literally as I describe it - I'd been out the night before and was nearly falling asleep in the seminar the next day when I saw a split second image of a black hand picking up a box of cigarettes, and I have no idea why I would see something like that).
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Even Though
There are knives in the backs of all my friends,
I also see them in the backs of complete strangers,
All in the name of meeting ends,
We are all tossed into deceitful dangers.
Even though open eyes would have solved the problem.
Watch the queues increase by day,
Watch the strikes multiply in futility,
Watch the suicides’ dismay,
Watch people lose faith in government and divinity.
Even though such faith was always blind.
Pockets are picked in the name of the common good,
Yet such an interest would have been the prevention,
Denial blinded thoughts of could or would,
Now salvation is beyond divine intervention.
Even though that was never really possible.
Greed caused the underhands to swipe,
And everyone has been robbed of a future now based on chance,
Every report is met with a snipe,
And people spend days talking of a move to America or France.
Even though everywhere is the same.
You say you are trying to right the wrongs,
Yet you are just fixing a broken system with blunted tools,
Battering at the heads of the country’s throngs,
Taking each and everyone of them for fools.
Even though they know exactly what you have done.
Messages of unity flood from all outlets,
‘Together these times can be overcome,
There has been a cancellation of all bets’,
Yet we know these promises are false, we are done.
Even though the Tiger was a myth from the beginning.
I also see them in the backs of complete strangers,
All in the name of meeting ends,
We are all tossed into deceitful dangers.
Even though open eyes would have solved the problem.
Watch the queues increase by day,
Watch the strikes multiply in futility,
Watch the suicides’ dismay,
Watch people lose faith in government and divinity.
Even though such faith was always blind.
Pockets are picked in the name of the common good,
Yet such an interest would have been the prevention,
Denial blinded thoughts of could or would,
Now salvation is beyond divine intervention.
Even though that was never really possible.
Greed caused the underhands to swipe,
And everyone has been robbed of a future now based on chance,
Every report is met with a snipe,
And people spend days talking of a move to America or France.
Even though everywhere is the same.
You say you are trying to right the wrongs,
Yet you are just fixing a broken system with blunted tools,
Battering at the heads of the country’s throngs,
Taking each and everyone of them for fools.
Even though they know exactly what you have done.
Messages of unity flood from all outlets,
‘Together these times can be overcome,
There has been a cancellation of all bets’,
Yet we know these promises are false, we are done.
Even though the Tiger was a myth from the beginning.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Entrapment
A swallow flies backwards and sideways,
Over a wasteland that has not seen grass for five years,
And two young girls walk across it,
Dressed in uniform but ignoring their commitments,
Unaware of the desolation surrounding them,
As it is something they have grown accustomed to in years gone by,
But the swallow still flies backwards and sideways,
For fear of falling and dying on the lifeless ground…
And there is a boy sitting on a bus, and has been for two years straight,
A bus that everyday passes by the fenced enclosure of brown rubble,
Yet, only today, at the sight of the swallow, has he noticed it,
And he fingers the place on his jacket where buttons once resided,
And he brushes his hair nervously from his eyes with holey gloves,
And he suddenly feels too warm, yet knows the wind outside is fierce,
As that swallow is flying backwards and sideways,
Yet the two young girls seem oblivious to the elements and experiences around them…
So the bus passes away from the dead, bottle covered, rubbish strewn land,
So the bus ignores the disorientated swallow, hanging in the air,
While the girls talk of things like alcohol, and cigarettes,
And boys, and sex, and clothes, and town, and fake IDs,
And of everything they hold so dear in their lives, but would never admit it outwardly,
As this would be a sign of weakness their peers would not tolerate,
And all the while the boy is drifting away from the land cursed by those two girls,
And all the while the boy is forced away from the trapped swallow…
And is wondering how it will fly in a straight line again.
Over a wasteland that has not seen grass for five years,
And two young girls walk across it,
Dressed in uniform but ignoring their commitments,
Unaware of the desolation surrounding them,
As it is something they have grown accustomed to in years gone by,
But the swallow still flies backwards and sideways,
For fear of falling and dying on the lifeless ground…
And there is a boy sitting on a bus, and has been for two years straight,
A bus that everyday passes by the fenced enclosure of brown rubble,
Yet, only today, at the sight of the swallow, has he noticed it,
And he fingers the place on his jacket where buttons once resided,
And he brushes his hair nervously from his eyes with holey gloves,
And he suddenly feels too warm, yet knows the wind outside is fierce,
As that swallow is flying backwards and sideways,
Yet the two young girls seem oblivious to the elements and experiences around them…
So the bus passes away from the dead, bottle covered, rubbish strewn land,
So the bus ignores the disorientated swallow, hanging in the air,
While the girls talk of things like alcohol, and cigarettes,
And boys, and sex, and clothes, and town, and fake IDs,
And of everything they hold so dear in their lives, but would never admit it outwardly,
As this would be a sign of weakness their peers would not tolerate,
And all the while the boy is drifting away from the land cursed by those two girls,
And all the while the boy is forced away from the trapped swallow…
And is wondering how it will fly in a straight line again.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Astray
You put your hand in mine,
I hear explosions in the sky,
You have led me astray this stormy day,
On we walk, with hands held high.
And despite the rainy weather,
Our time is so sweetly spent,
But you have led me astray this cold day,
Towards temptation of borderline contempt.
For I took a vow of chastity only one day ago,
After careless words broke three hearts,
Now you have led me astray this dull day,
Barely before my vow of solidarity starts.
Fireworks rise above our heads,
Lighting up the drizzle falling slowly,
You have led me astray this wet day,
Shifting a position I never thought would be.
Dreaming dazes paint pictures of antics,
Words softly spoken bring me back home,
You have led me astray this cloudy day,
Now I wish I was all alone.
Fear of complicating something special grows,
Friends never lovers is better than ex-lovers divided,
You have led me astray this rainy day,
Now we need to decide what needs to be decided.
Eyes meet in a fleeting glance,
Cheeks turn a flustered red as we wait for the other,
You have led me astray this soaking day,
Yet I fret at recalling your feelings for another.
Well known to all who hold you dear,
A hundred day obsession with someone you cannot keep,
You have led me astray this drowning day,
But I know I cannot afford to fall too deep.
So I turn away from your telling eyes,
Look instead at the day becoming the night,
You have led me astray this ending day,
And your hand still grasps mine so tight.
The rain ceases as the stars come out.
The first star winks and I no longer have doubt.
I hear explosions in the sky,
You have led me astray this stormy day,
On we walk, with hands held high.
And despite the rainy weather,
Our time is so sweetly spent,
But you have led me astray this cold day,
Towards temptation of borderline contempt.
For I took a vow of chastity only one day ago,
After careless words broke three hearts,
Now you have led me astray this dull day,
Barely before my vow of solidarity starts.
Fireworks rise above our heads,
Lighting up the drizzle falling slowly,
You have led me astray this wet day,
Shifting a position I never thought would be.
Dreaming dazes paint pictures of antics,
Words softly spoken bring me back home,
You have led me astray this cloudy day,
Now I wish I was all alone.
Fear of complicating something special grows,
Friends never lovers is better than ex-lovers divided,
You have led me astray this rainy day,
Now we need to decide what needs to be decided.
Eyes meet in a fleeting glance,
Cheeks turn a flustered red as we wait for the other,
You have led me astray this soaking day,
Yet I fret at recalling your feelings for another.
Well known to all who hold you dear,
A hundred day obsession with someone you cannot keep,
You have led me astray this drowning day,
But I know I cannot afford to fall too deep.
So I turn away from your telling eyes,
Look instead at the day becoming the night,
You have led me astray this ending day,
And your hand still grasps mine so tight.
The rain ceases as the stars come out.
The first star winks and I no longer have doubt.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Broken Bricks and Broken Glass
Eyes grow heavier and shut, taking me to a back garden never before seen,
Where people gather to tear apart a mound made of small bricks,
Only to replace them with bigger blocks, burying something unspoken;
Concrete grates and smashes, earth breaks and smoothes,
Hands cut and blister, backs ache with the constant bending and lifting,
As people who have never said a word to one another before now unite in this task,
To break and rebuild a monument for one man’s parents;
A tractor clumsily drives forward over the remains of the mound,
People stop through fatigue and cut corners, hoping to save time and effort,
Broken glass appears to the dismay of the man,
Who recognises them as the treasured heirlooms,
Buried beneath bricks in the hope of preserving a legacy hundreds of years old,
A legacy the man hoped to protect and reinforce with bigger blocks,
A legacy now survived by one clear glass box amidst shattered scratched shards;
Myself, my best friend and his ex-lover are there, breaking bricks and placing blocks,
Former classmates who have seen battles colossal, with myself at the periphery,
And they at the frontlines on opposing sides, jealousy and lies their weapons of destruction,
Peacekeeping mine;
Here, in this back garden of broken bricks and spirits, they are reunited,
Reigniting a relationship that has moved both heaven and hell for better and for worse,
Even though I know he has fallen for someone else and she has had a serious fling,
Both fell so hard and their feelings are still so strong that this situation does not make sense,
Nothing here makes sense;
And we work on this monument, smashing each brick to expose its foundations,
When she comes to me, one drink too many on her tongue,
Our eyes meeting, and a strange feeling of lust and longing erupts in our stomachs’ pits,
A feeling that has never materialised before now and has not materialised since,
A desire to take her here amongst the bricks, earth and glass,
Amongst the people and beside him, my best friend;
But we do not even kiss, because I could never betray him,
Yet that traitorous gaze and those traitorous thoughts were enough to break our friendship,
As she ran to him and told him about “the moment she wanted to happen but is glad it didn’t”,
And he screams “TRAITOR!” so loud that everyone stares,
Leaving me to explain that nothing had happened and that nothing ever would;
But he stops me and says “never again”, accepting my click but not returning it,
And I end up at my bedroom, acknowledging that this is all a dream,
Telling myself that this is a dream and that dreams are not real,
Getting into bed while hoping beyond hope that this is a dream,
That my eyes will open and none of this will have happened,
Logic reassures me, yet the horrible fear grips my stomach that this is all real,
I get into bed just wanting to wake up.
Where people gather to tear apart a mound made of small bricks,
Only to replace them with bigger blocks, burying something unspoken;
Concrete grates and smashes, earth breaks and smoothes,
Hands cut and blister, backs ache with the constant bending and lifting,
As people who have never said a word to one another before now unite in this task,
To break and rebuild a monument for one man’s parents;
A tractor clumsily drives forward over the remains of the mound,
People stop through fatigue and cut corners, hoping to save time and effort,
Broken glass appears to the dismay of the man,
Who recognises them as the treasured heirlooms,
Buried beneath bricks in the hope of preserving a legacy hundreds of years old,
A legacy the man hoped to protect and reinforce with bigger blocks,
A legacy now survived by one clear glass box amidst shattered scratched shards;
Myself, my best friend and his ex-lover are there, breaking bricks and placing blocks,
Former classmates who have seen battles colossal, with myself at the periphery,
And they at the frontlines on opposing sides, jealousy and lies their weapons of destruction,
Peacekeeping mine;
Here, in this back garden of broken bricks and spirits, they are reunited,
Reigniting a relationship that has moved both heaven and hell for better and for worse,
Even though I know he has fallen for someone else and she has had a serious fling,
Both fell so hard and their feelings are still so strong that this situation does not make sense,
Nothing here makes sense;
And we work on this monument, smashing each brick to expose its foundations,
When she comes to me, one drink too many on her tongue,
Our eyes meeting, and a strange feeling of lust and longing erupts in our stomachs’ pits,
A feeling that has never materialised before now and has not materialised since,
A desire to take her here amongst the bricks, earth and glass,
Amongst the people and beside him, my best friend;
But we do not even kiss, because I could never betray him,
Yet that traitorous gaze and those traitorous thoughts were enough to break our friendship,
As she ran to him and told him about “the moment she wanted to happen but is glad it didn’t”,
And he screams “TRAITOR!” so loud that everyone stares,
Leaving me to explain that nothing had happened and that nothing ever would;
But he stops me and says “never again”, accepting my click but not returning it,
And I end up at my bedroom, acknowledging that this is all a dream,
Telling myself that this is a dream and that dreams are not real,
Getting into bed while hoping beyond hope that this is a dream,
That my eyes will open and none of this will have happened,
Logic reassures me, yet the horrible fear grips my stomach that this is all real,
I get into bed just wanting to wake up.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
A Over My E
And the choir begins its chant,
Dark and ominous, ‘no you can’t’,
And the pianist plays his notes,
Playing faster to highlight the don’ts…
Dust settles in all directions,
Blame flies to begin dissections,
Now I wish to make corrections,
Time allows only reflections,
Life mocks the current situation,
Enforcing unwanted continuation,
There never was any explanation,
Just unfulfilled expectation…
Now I lay my A over my E,
And through this sound I can now see,
There is no hope for you and me,
This certitude will imprison me…
And the rain keeps on raining,
Yet the sun begins shining,
And the snow keeps on snowing,
Yet the ice begins melting,
And the weather is so confusing,
Just like me, when I’m musing,
Constantly thinking and always looking,
For an answer without the bruising…
And the choir continues their chanting,
Deep and cold, ‘no more romancing’,
And the pianist continues playing,
So fast now, he is swaying…
Yet I stop flailing around,
My feet have finally hit the ground,
Something lost has been found,
A gift for my fingers to create new sounds,
And even now I feel so much better,
Playing the notes of each and every letter,
And even as the night becomes wetter,
I know you no longer matter…
And I lay my A over my E,
And through this sound I can now see,
I don’t want hope for you and me,
As this closure will set me free…
(inspired by the Apollos Thebe instrumental piece titled AonmyE)
Dark and ominous, ‘no you can’t’,
And the pianist plays his notes,
Playing faster to highlight the don’ts…
Dust settles in all directions,
Blame flies to begin dissections,
Now I wish to make corrections,
Time allows only reflections,
Life mocks the current situation,
Enforcing unwanted continuation,
There never was any explanation,
Just unfulfilled expectation…
Now I lay my A over my E,
And through this sound I can now see,
There is no hope for you and me,
This certitude will imprison me…
And the rain keeps on raining,
Yet the sun begins shining,
And the snow keeps on snowing,
Yet the ice begins melting,
And the weather is so confusing,
Just like me, when I’m musing,
Constantly thinking and always looking,
For an answer without the bruising…
And the choir continues their chanting,
Deep and cold, ‘no more romancing’,
And the pianist continues playing,
So fast now, he is swaying…
Yet I stop flailing around,
My feet have finally hit the ground,
Something lost has been found,
A gift for my fingers to create new sounds,
And even now I feel so much better,
Playing the notes of each and every letter,
And even as the night becomes wetter,
I know you no longer matter…
And I lay my A over my E,
And through this sound I can now see,
I don’t want hope for you and me,
As this closure will set me free…
(inspired by the Apollos Thebe instrumental piece titled AonmyE)
Saturday, March 7, 2009
You Didn't Hurt Me
I sit alone in the dark,
Gauging her taunt,
I repeat questions to myself,
Hating the haunt,
I hold my head in my hands,
Knowing the undeniable,
I acknowledge the sad truth,
Describing the indescribable…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I seek a solution in solitude,
Failing miserably,
I wish to lose all concept,
Thinking dismally,
I hope to forget everything,
Sleeping eternally,
I want to lose myself,
Sinking in dead memory…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I scream in frustration,
Yelling incoherent things,
I close my eyes in fatigue,
Remembering ridiculous flings,
I open my eyes to the harsh reality,
Learning to let go is tough,
I recall our great times together,
Dreaming isn’t enough…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I collapse onto my bed,
Hoping to have learned something,
I feel a feeling inside,
Knowing I’ve learned nothing,
I desire a heart of smaller size,
Blocking out everyone but I,
I want to care and feel less,
Easing the difficulty of saying goodbye…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
Why am I so susceptible?
Why is my heart bigger than me?
Why am I so upsetable?
Why is my soul struggling to be free?
Why do I always sneak a peak?
Why can’t I learn to move on?
Why do I desire so much to hear her speak?
Why can’t I accept she’s gone?
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
And what’s worse is the hurt she’d feel if she saw this…
And what’s worse is the guilt she’d feel if she saw this…
Even though she didn’t hurt me…
I’m just hurting myself…
Gauging her taunt,
I repeat questions to myself,
Hating the haunt,
I hold my head in my hands,
Knowing the undeniable,
I acknowledge the sad truth,
Describing the indescribable…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I seek a solution in solitude,
Failing miserably,
I wish to lose all concept,
Thinking dismally,
I hope to forget everything,
Sleeping eternally,
I want to lose myself,
Sinking in dead memory…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I scream in frustration,
Yelling incoherent things,
I close my eyes in fatigue,
Remembering ridiculous flings,
I open my eyes to the harsh reality,
Learning to let go is tough,
I recall our great times together,
Dreaming isn’t enough…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
I collapse onto my bed,
Hoping to have learned something,
I feel a feeling inside,
Knowing I’ve learned nothing,
I desire a heart of smaller size,
Blocking out everyone but I,
I want to care and feel less,
Easing the difficulty of saying goodbye…
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
Why am I so susceptible?
Why is my heart bigger than me?
Why am I so upsetable?
Why is my soul struggling to be free?
Why do I always sneak a peak?
Why can’t I learn to move on?
Why do I desire so much to hear her speak?
Why can’t I accept she’s gone?
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself,
She didn’t hurt me,
I’m just hurting myself…
And what’s worse is the hurt she’d feel if she saw this…
And what’s worse is the guilt she’d feel if she saw this…
Even though she didn’t hurt me…
I’m just hurting myself…
Friday, March 6, 2009
What Do You See?
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A man in love or a man at sea?
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A trapped soul inside begging to be free?
Clarity of blue is clouded by loss,
Murky as the waters of Venice,
Clarity of blue is clouded by loss,
Confusion is the new Red Menace…
The battle rages in Milan,
Entrapped amidst the industrialisation,
The battle rages in Milan,
External battles bring exacerbation…
The people on the train concern individually,
Relativity in five different languages,
The people on the train concern individually,
Italian has its advantages…
Churches and architecture offer no solace,
Paintings portray a time long gone,
Churches and architecture over no solace,
Music conveys feelings living on…
Men with pigeons act remorselessly,
Preying on communication barriers,
Men with pigeons act remorselessly,
No distraction for heart broken carriers…
Escape to history’s home brings a welling,
Emotion builds and breaks,
Escape to history’s home brings a welling,
Love always gives and takes…
The city of masks cannot hide the truth,
The beating can be seen in my eyes,
The city of masks cannot hide the truth,
There is no escaping the fabricated lies…
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A man in love or a man at sea?
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A trapped soul inside begging to be free?
A man in love or a man at sea?
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A trapped soul inside begging to be free?
Clarity of blue is clouded by loss,
Murky as the waters of Venice,
Clarity of blue is clouded by loss,
Confusion is the new Red Menace…
The battle rages in Milan,
Entrapped amidst the industrialisation,
The battle rages in Milan,
External battles bring exacerbation…
The people on the train concern individually,
Relativity in five different languages,
The people on the train concern individually,
Italian has its advantages…
Churches and architecture offer no solace,
Paintings portray a time long gone,
Churches and architecture over no solace,
Music conveys feelings living on…
Men with pigeons act remorselessly,
Preying on communication barriers,
Men with pigeons act remorselessly,
No distraction for heart broken carriers…
Escape to history’s home brings a welling,
Emotion builds and breaks,
Escape to history’s home brings a welling,
Love always gives and takes…
The city of masks cannot hide the truth,
The beating can be seen in my eyes,
The city of masks cannot hide the truth,
There is no escaping the fabricated lies…
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A man in love or a man at sea?
When you look into my eyes what do you see?
A trapped soul inside begging to be free?
Monday, March 2, 2009
One Hundred and Ninety Words
One hundred and ninety words are used to tell me what I’ve feared for months,
One hundred and ninety words are used to tell me what one word could easily have told,
One hundred and ninety words confirm I’ve been chasing a shadow all this time,
One hundred and ninety words destroy any lingering hope living in the dreams of a deserted heart…
Months of mind games draw to a close,
The dust settles and the outcome emerges,
Dreams and fantasy play on my mind
As I hope for the fairytale ending;
The first forty-eight words appear on the screen,
Telling me what I’ve long since known,
Her time in solitude has reaped many rewards
While hidden complications prevent any commitments;
The next ninety-three words continue the story,
Telling of the laziness that now occupies her soul,
She has no interest in pursuing the matter,
Insisting the equation is too complex to even consider;
The last forty-nine words lavish praise on me,
Saying my ability and personality are not in question,
While also apologising for her reluctance to take a dive,
‘You just haven’t found the right person yet’;
In all, one hundred and ninety words were typed,
Authenticating that my grasp was not only too weak
But also that my target never existed,
Her feelings died a long time ago;
Shadows, out of reach, shrink and vanish,
Hope, fading away, flickers and dies,
Dreams, hazy and fuzzy, disappear,
Reality, harsh and cruel, returns;
One hundred and ninety words bring me back to the start again,
But not without one last fond gaze toward the past
That occupied the present for such a long time,
Memories aren’t reality, a lesson that has taken a long time to sink in…
One hundred and ninety words were used to tell me what I’ve feared for months,
One hundred and ninety words were used to tell me what one word could easily have told,
One hundred and ninety words confirmed I’d been chasing a shadow all this time,
One hundred and ninety words destroyed any lingering hope living in the dreams of a deserted heart…
One hundred and ninety words give me the closure I needed so long ago…
Now it’s time to start letting go.
One hundred and ninety words are used to tell me what one word could easily have told,
One hundred and ninety words confirm I’ve been chasing a shadow all this time,
One hundred and ninety words destroy any lingering hope living in the dreams of a deserted heart…
Months of mind games draw to a close,
The dust settles and the outcome emerges,
Dreams and fantasy play on my mind
As I hope for the fairytale ending;
The first forty-eight words appear on the screen,
Telling me what I’ve long since known,
Her time in solitude has reaped many rewards
While hidden complications prevent any commitments;
The next ninety-three words continue the story,
Telling of the laziness that now occupies her soul,
She has no interest in pursuing the matter,
Insisting the equation is too complex to even consider;
The last forty-nine words lavish praise on me,
Saying my ability and personality are not in question,
While also apologising for her reluctance to take a dive,
‘You just haven’t found the right person yet’;
In all, one hundred and ninety words were typed,
Authenticating that my grasp was not only too weak
But also that my target never existed,
Her feelings died a long time ago;
Shadows, out of reach, shrink and vanish,
Hope, fading away, flickers and dies,
Dreams, hazy and fuzzy, disappear,
Reality, harsh and cruel, returns;
One hundred and ninety words bring me back to the start again,
But not without one last fond gaze toward the past
That occupied the present for such a long time,
Memories aren’t reality, a lesson that has taken a long time to sink in…
One hundred and ninety words were used to tell me what I’ve feared for months,
One hundred and ninety words were used to tell me what one word could easily have told,
One hundred and ninety words confirmed I’d been chasing a shadow all this time,
One hundred and ninety words destroyed any lingering hope living in the dreams of a deserted heart…
One hundred and ninety words give me the closure I needed so long ago…
Now it’s time to start letting go.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Which Way?
Is this all I’m able to give,
a collection of sad stories
that make people wonder
how it is I smile so wide?
Is this all I’m capable of,
writing my feelings down
and typing them up for the world to see,
even while knowing they’re all
just destined for the rubbish bin?
Is this worth it,
writing about nothing but doom and gloom,
when perspective should have taught me
the value of what I have?
Have I failed him
by not learning from the decision he took,
the consequences it brought
and the questions it left unanswered?
Have I failed everyone
by not confiding in them the truth
of the battles I fight in the dark,
by not telling them,
‘yes, his plan is my plan,
our thoughts align in our choice of demise’?
Am I being selfish,
for seemingly taking advantage of a writing utensil
to glorify the poor state of mind
I have fallen into for no legitimate reason?
Am I being unfair
to all the people who I have, or haven’t,
written about over the years,
and to all those I will write about in the future?
Where does it all end,
this futile game of cat and mouse
with the people in my life
and the storm inside?
How do I know when to stop
the madness of the deprecation,
the use and abuse of the pen
and the obsession with a past
that should remain where it sits in time?
What do I do,
do I say farewell to everyone
and dig myself a grave next to the Big Man’s,
or do I fight a battle that can’t be won
and die on my feet, not in the air?
In the end, which way is bravest in the eyes of everyone
and less pathetic to the eyes of myself?
a collection of sad stories
that make people wonder
how it is I smile so wide?
Is this all I’m capable of,
writing my feelings down
and typing them up for the world to see,
even while knowing they’re all
just destined for the rubbish bin?
Is this worth it,
writing about nothing but doom and gloom,
when perspective should have taught me
the value of what I have?
Have I failed him
by not learning from the decision he took,
the consequences it brought
and the questions it left unanswered?
Have I failed everyone
by not confiding in them the truth
of the battles I fight in the dark,
by not telling them,
‘yes, his plan is my plan,
our thoughts align in our choice of demise’?
Am I being selfish,
for seemingly taking advantage of a writing utensil
to glorify the poor state of mind
I have fallen into for no legitimate reason?
Am I being unfair
to all the people who I have, or haven’t,
written about over the years,
and to all those I will write about in the future?
Where does it all end,
this futile game of cat and mouse
with the people in my life
and the storm inside?
How do I know when to stop
the madness of the deprecation,
the use and abuse of the pen
and the obsession with a past
that should remain where it sits in time?
What do I do,
do I say farewell to everyone
and dig myself a grave next to the Big Man’s,
or do I fight a battle that can’t be won
and die on my feet, not in the air?
In the end, which way is bravest in the eyes of everyone
and less pathetic to the eyes of myself?
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