Woe to the cacophony
the soundscape that permeates
tearing through space like star shine
bludgeoning our ears bloody.
I offer my life as is
if it will give us quiet
allow the mind to slumber
the lungs to breathe easier
the eyes to rest in curtains.
The horrors beyond these lids
consume the light eagerly
ask for seconds knowingly;
there is nothing left to us.
Would that its hunger found me
and I be devoured too.
Please, nothing, take me with you;
all the peace I’ve ever known
lived only while I did not
and died as I left the womb.
To Love Emptiness
There is nothing there
and it terrifies me
that emptiness
where a life should be
Moments I should cherish
in time perhaps forget
then be reminded again;
even those have been forfeit.
A place at the table set
where conversations would appear
about a life that keeps growing;
yet those meals are not here.
There is only the void
where you should be;
though you exist
it is now without me.
Gestation
The sense
decensed
gnarled roots twisted lethargic
grasping at the ground
digging deep for a heart planted
beating against the darkness
the thrashing rhythm of a thing dying
What seeds can find in this discarded world
will be made a tall and imposing thing
nurtured by the memory of a time
when the need for them
was but the sound of wind blowing through playful leaves
falling.
A World on the Spectrum
Brown is a stale companion as it turns
yet the foundation for complexity
by which all eyes have in time grown to yearn.
Brown embraces those who fight desperately
to find the cosmos in this entropy
encouraging them to rise up and bloom
to take ownership of their destiny
all endings are beginnings when exhumed.
Red is a passionate lover that burns
with a terrifying ferocity
however with patience one will soon learn
the chaos of love is no enemy
what it takes it returns in ecstasy
find a place for the heart and give it room
let it find refuge in the revelry
all endings are beginnings when exhumed.
Green is the friend never given but earned
a destination built on empathy
divined from the expression of concern
and emboldened by generosity.
Green will break walls with its tenacity
upturning even the most concealed tomb
tragedies reduced in this necropsy;
all endings are beginnings when exhumed.
Colors come together in melody
the bouquet of life becoming perfume
our experiences in harmony
all endings are beginnings when exhumed.
The Machine
Where do the words go
when I stop writing?
Surely they are somewhere
beyond my reach.
Do they mourn my loss
as I do theirs
or are they resigned
beneath the shade of patience
celebrating this moment of peace?
Is peace so important to the mind
that it can end the purpose I’ve given it
find its own and leave us both tortured
or has the mind instead
found itself lost and the words with it?
There is horror in silence
lament the empty page
but forget the mind,
that was lost long ago.
Lies
I wear my life around my neck
heavy and grotesque
carried like a consequence
to actions unknown
It feels natural now to do so
the way it sways and shifts
keeps a rhythm with my pace
movements subtle gifts
Though my neck is sore with the burden
raw and red from the rope
my conscience is clear of the guilt
no act of mine brought this to my throat
Peasants
Deceived into concessions
for a world that was broken
the fractured found aggression
beyond what could be spoken
Fruit cannot be harvested
when salt has been sewn within
no water was invested
no chance for seeds to begin
To gain the growth required
they rose against the farmer
amongst themselves conspired
without arms, without armor
Thus the world was disrupted
and much needed change achieved
the people once corrupted
would no longer be deceived
Lights Out
The canvas is bright with lights
there lies the future – burning
the dark sutured around it like a wound
slowly cauterized
Violence
strikes in the night
expressed as darkness in geometry
the light extinguished
in triangles
squares
rectangles.
The world disappears
panic is hidden amongst the shadows
the future is mourned
The past ignites in old fires
rising high into the clouds
the corpse pyres of dying dreams
wake something primal.
Dancing flames tell stories
our eyes would not otherwise hear
hearts are warmed while minds break
the end is bright.
Reduced
Consciousness and form pulled from all directions
screaming out against the cosmos in a vacuum
silent
there is no place for us amongst the stars
they burn for dreams that end in death
rebirth
not fire or embers or kindling
we are invisible heat lifted to the night
rising
when the wind catches us in its tantrums
it carries us away until we are nothing
dissolved
We are places all around – moving
until cooled – and naught but the movement remains
sifting
The New World
Maps were drawn
to keep the world at bay
when the world seemed so vast.
Lines were used to convey
a sense of place
restraint,
else how would we face
the endless geography
untamed?
When we could not find words
we used our words instead
reducing the new and strange
to memories alive or dead,
a part of ourselves at play
in labels
for all that is touched by night or day.
Grow Gray With Me 