My revolution has taken its toll
On jagged edges of my soul;
I’ve dawned gloves,
Sawn carefully,
Yet each gold line
I’ve carefully drawn out
– Tracing a route
For my skilled cut –
Has left an array
Of scraps and debris
That keeps slicing
Each fiber I live by,
So that each step I take
A trail of blood
Follows me
Ending at this precipice
My revolution has brought me to.
Category: darkness
Ungracefully Lacking
Insight has lost its worth
For it no longer blesses thy journey;
It is a burden, a hex,
Pointedly accusing
And draining all chai.
How often does it rain?
Even cold grass
Does not sprout green
For it has lost its vision,
Quest departed long ago
Sun turned into mold.
Gravel roads
And sombre trees
Who no longer speak;
Dormant, sleeping, away
Unto this vision
Cold and ungracefully lacking.
Healing Is Still
When the streets bleed
With vibrating violence
We know that only scares the guilty
Hanging like
The victims they laid
Aside in their greed;
Healing shall still be far away.
When grass grows
Over crumbled ruins
Abandoned and exposed,
Rebels of a forgotten war
Who plundered all its worth
Relaxing in their misdeeds
Shall fever in the night
And visions reminding them
Healing shall still be far away.
When flags tear at their seams
Weakened in the wind
Salt licking at the sides
Of metal catastrophes
Blowing weeds that take control
Shall struggle upon the ground
Understanding their due;
Healing shall still be far away.
When the last engine
Seizes from strain
Deep in jungle rain, overgrown
And wildcats become predator
Most feared and most bestowed
Vines and trees, all wide and tall
Laying over all regrown
Healing shall still be far away
Spark Awaken
The age of my frustration
Subsides as cold
My veins grow old.
Through darkness a fire
Grows my inner vision
Alive into sky sparks.
Then alive sets in
Departed from this weight
Horns blowing my mind.
Let me love in
Desire shall flow
Awaken again.
Eleven Seconds
Don’t install me in an ambient
I want kaleidoscope
Forgive me in an understanding
That I’m yet to come upon
This could have been my memory
Shaken from the slope
Dropping little apple
Fallen from the tree
Whisper late night
And be me and both again
For beginning with the smallest cloth
I woke up
And eleven seconds.
Devilry
I am my own frustrations
For there is no seperate
What I see
I believe
And become
So lookout.
I ride the borealis
With wild eyes and spitfire
A demon
In my heart
Runs wild
Late at night.
Now vegabonds
Now miscreants
Now misdeeds
And devilry
Now laughter
Now chaos
And discover
Who we are.
Fever
When you look at me
Like I’m growing thin
Edges of my sloping chin
I walk amidst my fever ghosts
Lost, dark as night.
I feel the crown
Upon my heart
Fuse into my spine
That never woke
A fevered breath
That sounded hoarse as dust.
For when the game
Of morning light
Awakens this lost night
I will address
My dying breath
So delicate an embrace.
Inner Heart
Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.
To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.
But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.
There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.
Cold Fusion of the Mind
Cold fusion plugging my artery
Making its way into my brain
Locked in embrace
With two swines for dinner
Make me a salad if you please.
And a winedrop
Caressing the glass window
Spilled over with a passionate moment
Left a gray cloud
Hovering closely
To the carved portrait on the wall
With graceful messages
In times of need
To all those who took to listen.
And I never left the door open
To invite all the neighbours
Though they took all the mail
And ate the fridge dry
I wore my best suits
And tied my own tie.
Who listened when the podcasts were turned on?
Will the beet juice stain
Each keyboard with fury
Slowly running down the lips
Of the sweetheart
With eyes of translocation
Heavy on my mind.
Fighting For A Softer Edge
If you give me a softer edge
I will believe in your touch
For in the grasp
Of a summer day
I remember all these dreams
And I can hear the buzz
Of the honey bee
Singing in my ear.
But if the edge continues to hone
I’ll find my sharpness cutting knots
Deep within my root stricken back
Holding me to gnarly strength.
I am the fire
Should I be struck
For I awake within my heart,
I am the dirt
That crumbles with
A slipping fist no longer clenched
No longer fighting back.