Going

Teeter-tottering on the edge of reason,
Wondering how long it will be until
The knife cuts deep into my opaque resolve.
Is there not long to go?
I can feel the dial turning on my clock,
An emotion switches to another.
Back here I am sitting, waiting,
For the last thing to go wrong next
And for me to fall in a straight line
Of repair, recovery, reset, repression,
Until there's just about nothing left.

Because, let's face it,
What really matters doesn't matter
And what doesn't really matter matters.
So is the web spun, twisted.
Why would we say we want it different
When we expect it always this way?

Such is how God delivers the goods.
Feastingly, our mouths: open garages
With vans of servitude parked inside.
Ready to be taken for a spin
Outside the parking lot
On the soaked roads at night
With the streetlights mirrored
In the darkened flesh of the ground.
There can't be any people here
Except cameramen and the
Director.

That's right, Him.

I don't blame him for tragedy
For two reasons:
One, it is not my blame to attribute and
Two, I cannot attribute blame where it is not.
If a guilty man were to sleep
He would sleep with his blame
And no woman nor man,
Could take it upon themselves.
No one lets go of their cross
And we carry them on our backs
In the heaviness of pain
With the anger of blame.
Imperfect tools.

After all, the weight will break our bodies
Not in a literal sense
Because that wouldn't make sense.
We'll all be smiling in heaven
In the metaphysical bliss
That's, oh, oh, so close
That you can feel it more and more.

Teeter-tottering on the edge of reason,
I'm finding no answer where none is supplied.
Riding in the front seat,
I can pretend that I am going,
But the truth is
I don't know how to drive.

The great lesson I am learning is that
The less and less I struggle to survive,
The more and more I know I am alive.
That's why I never wrote the script,
Just followed the directions.

Broken Mirrors

There are pieces lying broken
Of the glass I smashed today.
There are keepers of a secret
Turning their hurt heads away
Because it's painful,
Because it's hate.
Because there's pieces lying broken
And there's wounds we've yet to mend.

There are voices on the streets
That scream something rather sad
At the people walking, walking by
Like zombies in a silent lullaby.
Heads down, they weep
For a moment of bliss
They seek. They aren't given a chance
So they won't give one to you.

Children, broken mirrors,
They'll be shattered to the end
Hoping setting the world on fire
Will somehow bring forgiveness.
Teach them how to fail
At expressing how they feel.
Teach them hate is love
And lies you still struggle to believe.

Together alone, we continue to fear
That the pain of sacrifice will e'er be here,
Seen in the cross, in compromise, in war,
Children wonder if it's worth fighting for.
Are they wrong to question it?
Is there love to ease their hurt
Or are they shattered syllables
Of words we bend, strangle and twist
To fashion the false into existence?
Well we might be artists,
But lies reign in an abyss.

Broken mirrors, violins sound,
Death inside a precarious mound
Shapes their will, so precious and raw
Among the children they hold a flaw.
Against themselves and their others
Against their parents and brothers,
They strike a shard, to ease the pains
That leaks out of their veins
And into city alleyways and streets
They bleed to hear their own heartbeats.

Someone

He had tangled himself up in reasons he did not know.
For the things he had done hath marred the flow
Of life and love and everything that used to be so sweet
To him, to all living things around him.
He let his beauty be blocked by hurt
A costly price to pay for nothing in return
But suffering, a wound that shatters faith
To the end of his occluded divine breath.

How does one begin to describe when his love is lost. When it all starts at the beginning, he never expects it to end, but it all must according to the law of the universe. What goes up, must come down. But he never wanted to crash, to crater the earth and send shockwaves that would sine and cosine those he held near him, and as a result they would flee to safer ground. This is a set of circumstances. They make up the situation.

At thirteen or fourteen, he meets her, she meets him. They date. He dreams, he invests in romance and begins his wooing as exemplified by his brothers. He falls for her, and so begins the descent into the realm of love. Except that it blinds and misleads and suddenly there is a point where emotions become unequal and this imbalance between him and her and her and him disintegrates into an example of failure. He says she said his love was too strong, his emotions too much. The investment, that so looked to have paid off, shatters the piggy-bank and coins are fanned in every direction. Such is how the flood starts, and blood spills. And the rollercoaster of puberty sentences the next years to thoughts of suicide and being upset. A dastardly plan is hatched and is foiled by contact with truth. This paragraph is expressively vague.

Later, they reconcile their emotions and join again in union, to end again for another reason. Drama occurs. Up and down again. Then a separation that lasts 'til today. Strange, is this a story about love? They are no longer together. Yet they are always together, linked in some ways by sentiments that words cannot carry but merely point to in an attempt at understanding. Are these these words? No. The words in question are not written by me, whose heart is not amidst the conflict, but still within the perimeter. I know him. He doesn't know himself. Yet.

Inemotion

Napalm is irrelevant, but inspirational.
Seventeen things that could make the day better are really just one.
Nobody claims to know what they are talking about.
Shadows do not dance on the wall.
I don't know what love songs are about, but they make me wonder.
Diamonds aren't forever, neither is marriage.

Solo, in silence, amidst the crowd of a thousand and four spies with no eyes, who I am is. This sounds less impressive, yet more degenerate and puzzling because it is not saturated with meaning as something else might be. The blurriness dispels your ability to judge. Yet you cannot see the truth when it is blurred, so you must come to know it for what it is, without any edge.

All good things come to an end. All sad things come to an end as well. The same end. Perforated by an emotion, dulling can set in. You might feel numb. Unwilling to respond, and confused because you drift. Floating, this is inemotion, a sentiment where you feel you are falling and also know you are not, that you are safe. You wander and wonder about everything. Questioning nothing, leaving everything in its place, you begin to see a distraction in all there isn't, and life in all there is. But the imbalance remains acute and persistent. You know you are love. You know it. Yet your beliefs are torn apart by truth, and you feel you are adrift in a land of unknowns. In reality, you are safely grounded. But you don't always feel that way, and it becomes a process of going back and forth between what is and what isn't to realise what is is and what isn't isn't.

Love is here, it is about opening the eyes and heart so that it can be seen and felt. This means crossing an inexistent gap, making a leap over no distance. Jump with me.

We Really Are Each Other

Reasons, for changing the point of view may come, to change your image from 2D to 3D. To those who would rather see it as they would a television show, I have nothing to say but to make you aware that I have stirred you from your slumber. To others, know that there isn't always a worded reason that coils itself around the lies we tell about ourselves or others in an attempt to fashion a beneficial reality. Lying fails. The truth doesn't, that's why it's the best option. But we may try to find reasons, a certain intelligence that answers a 'why' behind what happens in our lives, as random and uncalled for as it may seem. I have been trying to find that, the causes all being in my past of course but digging that up and trying to reinterpret it has opened old wounds and brought to my attention my deeper, previously hidden vulnerability. And so it is, that I've had to surrender some of these feelings. Insecurities about many aspects of life knocked on my door and I answered thinking they needed my attention more than the present did. That was a mistake, because all they did was drag me outside and give me a beating. And then I went into cyclical overdrive, trying to find out the purpose of this, and the meaning and all that has gotten me nowhere but in a rut. Overthinking. I've been there, done that, it got nowhere.

So Life said to give in, to stop, to breathe. I did not listen, so the pain of perceived lack got worse. Finally, when I couldn't take it any longer, I let the moment be. And it is.

Everything happens for a reason, for there is a cause to everything. I will know them when I need to, and I will know what to do when I need to do it. There is nothing but illusion, speculation, avoidance, fear and whatevers outside of that. Rather, there is nothing outside of that! And this is peaceful, because we are always in the place of truth, as we are truth. It is a conscious choice that we must make to awaken and to live as true people, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, hair colour, nationality, miscellaneous differences. Everyone's form is different. Life breathed it that way. Life breathes through us. The lungs, that is to say the Source, is the same.

That is joy. To know that everyone is the same, and that we are here to really discover and aid each other in discovering that we are one. As Kim Eng put it, "We really are each other."

Something's Gotta Give

God... to you I look and your gaze is as fixed as ever upon my soul. You know. Something's gotta give.

Death and I are about to part ways. I am almost at the end of my game. It's been too long and I am about to quit, for I cannot play any longer. Overthinking this, I can prolong the charade for longer, but it has to stop. It tears at my existence, and I believe it will destroy it. If I don't stop. The nightmare has to end, and soon, or I may have to write a real suicide note. But it won't get to that. Life is precious, life is whole, life is love, but my world is being torn apart from inside by garish mannerisms and dishonesty on my part. My happiness is in no one's hands and I cannot pretend it is there, so it is in my failure as a liar and my success as a son, a friend, a human being, that I will surrender my shell, my vulnerability, and I will stand alight; not on fire, but with a metaphysical fire within, burning.

God knows my way. I thus endeavor to follow it, because it is the way love comes. I am tortured by my thoughts, as one may have realised. Thoughts of envy, thoughts of being inferior, thoughts of being treated as rubbish, thoughts of inattention and lack and neglect. And anger at these, at these illusions that have so long burdened me and prevented me from reaching my truth, my Self. The sweet nothings that I had convinced myself of mean nothing, yet they pressure me into a pit where I cannot escape, save by surrendering my feelings and leaving the light within me to shine away the inexistent.

God, this is it. Love is coming.

All The Difference In The World

You've got heaven on your doorstep
The man standing with a hand outstretched
For a while you've left him there untouched.

But he hasn't taken back his offer
This is something telling you he never will
You can close the door, you know he'll be there tomorrow.

Counting the times you've shut it
Withers not his dedication, his wish to see you
Never wavered, always eyes to your eyes, heart to yours.

This man, you're telling him to leave
But never wanting him to go, and he won't ever
Because he knows you're simply lost and all he wants to do is save you.

In your mind there is a cloud, a shroud,
A loincloth stripped of life that's doing the impossible
In causing you pain, shame, blame, and all the rest of sorrow.

Yet you look upon heaven and know,
That it doesn't matter at all, that no one asked for blood,
That no one sought your life to end, no one really cared.

And he makes all the difference to you
Because he is gently walking across the doorstep
Into your room, where you welcome him with your arms.

One day with your heart, one day
You'll wake up, one day you'll seize that day
And never fall back down for there will be no tomorrow.

That day is sooner than you think
That day is brighter than you feel, and closer
To your heart than what the world tells you to see.

It will make all the difference in the world
The same.