Latest Tweets:
I watch over my world with two full moons,
A world where:
I have laced the soil with limerence,
All growth is stunted, as the plains are barren,
Trees are withering from unrequited sunshine,
Clouds form a ignorant veil that blinds me from reality.
The clouds darken and condense, as my eyes grow tired
of seeing the world that I have created for myself,
Lightning strikes, with liberated fury,
The plains are doused, in a downpour of naivety,
My world will be denied fruition if my two full moons,
Never allow the sunlight touch the trees,
That grow from the limerence that lines the earth.
O’ brazen Mother,
Please, loosen these bonds,
As these shackles of liberty and freedom
stifle me and chafe me.
Why, has thee bequeathed me?
All I wanted,
Was to indulge in an ardent
Hedonistic monotony.
Instead, you sustain your war of attrition,
Lay siege upon my castle walls,
Starving my life of implied reason,
Poisoning the water with lethargy.
O’ brazen Mother,
Please, loosen these bonds,
As these shackles of liberty and freedom
stifle me and chafe me.
"Something he knew so well and once had loved, now seemed oppressive to him because of all that he knew"
Albert Camus - The Plague
The other side of the story,
Returns to blight the air,
Wispy fumes lie heavy,
Drunken sober-ness,
Of a time we though we’d
already served in jail.
Waiting for the trade winds,
To sell my luggage that stops
me from walking forward.
A picture of an intricately
drawn eye.
Reminds me of what I used
To see.
The winds carry the remnants
Of a box once infinite,
Realised to be in finite,
Carrying memories I have found
Yet have already been lost.
I do not regret the colors
that I have used.
Artistic expression
releases the tension
In our soul.
Colors, intrinsically pure,
Yet fade over time.
Presque vu,
But locked deep within
the recesses of my heart.
Tomorrow was supposed
to be different.
It’s tomorrow now,
And today is already the same.
The quest to self-discovery,
Starts and ends with an unspoken battle of endurance,
Between you and Father Time.
A referee drops a pebble into the pond,
To signal the commencement the battle,
A battle between time and introspect,
To endure your stare at your reflection in the pool,
The pebble’s shock wave echoes loudly on the water’s surface.
Seeing as though, Time is the master of rhetoric,
He plucks on strings under our mithril armor,
Where inferiority complex lies.
For, even the most highly touted warriors err and doubt.
So if lose our glare, close our eyes to introspect,
We will lose sight of who we are.
Because,
Only until the ripples subside,
We are never quite sure,
Who it is, that is looking back at us.
My nights are lonely signs that point to a confused heart,
A confused life with questionable decisions that split apart,
An indulgence in acquiesce always leaves me on the run,
Lonely roads that take you away are the ones we’ve all traveled on.
Meet me at the crossroads, so maybe I will then see,
That life is not out to get me, like I make it out to be.
The distance of only three streets yonder,
Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder,
Whether I will live my dream or not, only has time to ponder.
My dreams consist of those breezy nights with warm, familiar hands,
With someone who has listened to it all,
Someone who’s been there before; who just understands.
Curséd eyes, damned to follow,
The broken silhouette of the tree,
As light is shattered into umpteen
fragments littered on the forest floor.
I chase, chase and chase
the dead remnants of the shadows
of leaves.
I rummage through my pickings,
Precisely shelving said treasure
in a complete vacuum jar.
To preserve perfectly; the
shadows of the past.
To one day, have enough
shadows of the past to,
Shroud the whole world in
a perfect state of anarchy,
For one day, the world would relive
A shadow of our past,
And so I can finally relive,
A day,
Where I remember the
blissful ignorance of a better day,
Retrospect allows us
to find problems that might not be there.
To breed pain; to foster a scapegoat for
our insecurities.
To milk, groom, love.. to loathe ourselves.
Because, life is just easier that way.
As the northern lights sing in the sky,
I wish to find something so pure with you,
A melody sung with all shades of green,
For a moment that I pray we may spend together,
I wish that my hopes were dressed with clairvoyance,
As your memory is in harmony with my heart,
I realise your presence is not in sync with my eyes,
And that our feelings are not balanced on either hemisphere,
And the northern lights will always be northern.
I am held hostage in my own cemetery,
The dead bodies are fornicating,
Eager to fill the graves of the past
with newly born atrocities.
Abundance of mossy green veils
the last memory the tomb stones.
Another cry, plea, sigh.. unheard,
The last murmur from a fragile psyche.
To cleanse; is to feel at peace.
To defile the graves, is disrespectful,
To accept our darkness is easy,
To inquire about what frightens us..
Is the hardest.
If we take diamonds to the the hallmark of:
Wealth, beauty, success and perfection.
Then, more than anything; we should listen,
Listen closely to the story behind its creation.
Then maybe, a revelation will be unsheathed,
And the journey to find perfection, previously impossible,
Will now be possible, armed with the weapon of enlightenment.
Diamonds are formed through high-pressure,
high-temperature environments.
Diamonds are formed over long periods of time,
Even when diamonds are created, further gem-cutting
is required to polish a diamond for display.
We ourselves, need to be subjected and ennobled through
rigorous and tough environments.
Our growth increases with the patience of time,
Even at the height of our growth, change is inevitable
and riding on the wave of change allows us to be:
The best possible versions of ourselves.
The irony of diamond is that,
It is an allotrope of carbon,
Carbon being the cornerstone
and basic building block of all living things.
So that, we ourselves; as basic as we may be,
Can develop and turn into our very own diamonds.
All mannequins on display are the same,
Whether we be in an op shop; or whether
we are displayed in the heigheth of fashion.
We are all just mannequins on display,
A model of fibreglass; crafted to produce a
lifelike resemblance.
Although glass is transparent, the ‘fibreness’
pervades our extremities to halt any
aperture of light to reveal our true nature.
This ‘fibreness’ per se is due to inexplicable
tendency to lie, not necessarily to others,
But predominantly to ourselves.
The ingenious fibreglass produces an armor,
For our poor, poor fragile psyche,
Too afraid of the protean nature of our existence.
Our dreams though, are our flesh and bones,
Although the substance of our dreams are refutable,
An inability to lie in our dreams, create the purest of reactions.
That one waking moment when we fall back into reality,
Where we undeniably question the legibility of such images,
Is funnily enough trampled by the foot of our fibreglass armour.
To lie to ourselves again; to protect our poor, weak psyche.
