Mediation

In this voice, you hear
my understanding waver,
my resolve unravel,
a shredded temper,
some listless ordure I made,
fall to these feet
I used to call mine.

Deceived, I believed,
spun my sycamore paper
reliving a solid nether
in passing, in angst
anticipating the blades
to be hit by squat
and drown in the mess of waste.

Yet time's not a reaper,
governed by no sickle;
life's already been made,
my decisions made fickle
along with what I thought
was needed to complete
this day.

I realise, least I think I do,
hurt's a game, a spawn
torn from a puddle in a cup
and all I've got is wrong,
more or less of it, enough;
I part too many times once
with what I had in mind.

After Death

Sometime you just gotta let yourself fall to pieces, if only to find out who you are underneath the rubble. Yes, it hurts to be, you can hear your heart creak as you take in a procrastinated breath of air. You hit the point of disorientation, where the way home is no longer the way you're going, and you're desperate to find a place of security, a rock maybe, where you can sit or lean and think and make sense of the senselessness that is what's happened. Questions arise, moment by moment pass and further the calamity edges away towards the horizon. Soon you'll be able to see the outlines of disaster as they zoom out into view, and your expression will turn ashen. Disbelief and belief are here, each having their own opinion as to what happened, nearing the orgasmic second of release where they can tell you what they think. And you'll listen, and it likely won't make sense. How could this happen? Life is questioned, justice too. On the chair, later, life will be interrogated at gunpoint. But before that, the dust has to at least settle a little bit, so as to reveal the clouds in the sky, though they may be many, at least they will be discernible against the background of grey. So, put it together, one puzzle piece at a time. Don't worry about trying to do it right but fearing you may do it wrong. Just see where the little bits fit. Gradually, details emerge, leading to the truth. Here, you have the option to turn away, or to face it. The previous is but a road that eventually leads to the latter.

Eventually, after tears, pain, realisation, comes the awareness of the ever-present stream of peace, just gurgling, silent, within. Then, there still may be tears and pain. But at least you'll know that you won't have lost yourself among the ruins. Open your palms and place them cupped in the river, and feel peace between your pores, ruminate and heal. Your wounds are not forever. Your peace, however, is, and it will be with you so long as you choose to keep it. Hold on, for what you hold dearest within, you cannot lose without.

Words Like The Wind

Leaves weaving a story,
A whisper or a clamor
Passed along wavelengths,
Hearing it from behind,
A passing opinion fluttering.

Tumultuous arguments
Quivering, shaking,
Mown across the top
Rustling, murmuring,
Shivering chi traveling,
Still.

When I Asked Who Didn't Know

So I sat there thinking about being,
answering a lifetime's question
in one moment of one night.
Clarity would dawn upon me as
I let myself be lead by the hurried
hand of one kamikaze thought.
Quickly,
he said moved
through memory
as lightning struck outside the window,
inside my chamber of secrets revealed.
Come, and I did
through amazing eyelashes you're gay brainbox
angel good attempt idiot crazy gay dux
cool accent where are you from gypsy in the back of my mind
don't judge me victim my best friend sick
one of the kindest always says bitch little girl
mama is that like Rome sooooooooo smart anxious
sinner him too nerd effeminate awesome
never be left behind easy doormat door
guilty positive good with words hypersensitive
disgustingly cute Pengu overthinking
controlling liar Son of God gay
couldn't deliver disappoint empathetic Protoss
French economic historian writer
so sorry there for you ego lost wrong
and then I ran out of breath,
having chased memory to the bolt that held its chains.
He turned around, looked at me
with unfeeling
and left me with all these answers
in the dark to find the answer.

Unfinished

Tools are on the floor, strewn. Pick up those sticks, those houses in the making, and build a bridge to a boy's heart. He needs the shelter, too. He needs to find peace within himself without a wolf blowing out another birthday out of his internal calendar.

It's a world out there. No,
It looks like there's a world out there and yet,
and yet,
He feels it here.

And he's wondering why?

There might be laughter. There will be, by the end.

Stint

Nobody's rain drips from nobody's window,
Nobody's touch touches the ground.

Here, nobody settles down,
For a while somebody feels.

Nobody's leaves fall in nobody's garden,
Nobody remembers a thing.

Pilgrimage To This Warmth

You could say
summer means a million things
but summer's gone and waiting,
feels like tomorrow's thinking
like this morning's sitting.

You thought it could
but wait it couldn't
yet somehow it did,
and summer went away.

From the hill through the valley
upstream from down the corner
to the place in lieu of understanding.

You could think anything
but what would make it all better
you don't see
at first

but then it comes back around
summer
to warm your joints out of their frozen sleep.

Maybe by then,
the sun'll be out
the grass as alive
the wind forgiving.

And maybe by then,
you'll have realised
that summer went away
so you'd call it back to stay
so you'd weep and touch the ground
until you go in
and find summer again.

The Little Happening

From my little home-made raft
I've gotta board the ship aside.
The sea's holding it for me in place.
The sea floor is like an anchor
and I'm trying to move, to shift
my weight from one vessel to the other
so that I can have a smoother ride,
one with a happy ending
i.e. one that takes me through the storm
and doesn't leave me to drown
holding on to a plank of wood.

I don't need my oars,
I don't need my baggage.
All it wants is for me to come
ride with it to paradise
through paradise
until I realise we're there.

Crossing Over

Faith, that little miracle,
Carried off the shelf
I don't know where I'm holding it
But, ye hover, permeate.
I am dead.
Ye know, ye recognise,
Rejoice that it's today,
That I died yesterday.

Faith, hold on to these reins
As I sit back in the chariot.
I promise,
I'll go where you take me.