Findings

I've not found faith, I've not found God,

I've not found acceptance, I've not found love,

I've not found purpose, I've not found design,

I've not found meaning, I've not found what's mine

I've not found success, I've not found wealth

but I have found happiness, for I have found myself.

Flies in a Glass

If I could section my thoughts and fears

into files and neatly labelled jars

I could find meaning behind my tears

and learn how to heal my scars.

But my thoughts fly into the clear glass walls,

not understanding they can't get out,

they cannot learn from their own pitfalls

and don't understand what this is about

Then again, disorder makes the most sense,

it is etched into each of our lives.

I watch men scurry around; working, tense

instead of calm cuddles with their wives.

Life is more simple than we make it,

relax, and let happiness find you,

if there's an opportunity take it,

and don't regret anything you do.

Lessons

I recognise this feeling now

and will greet it as an old friend,

and yet I will still wonder how

I can get this feeling to end.

These despondent and jealous thoughts

are too heavy for me to bare

so I will swallow this bitter sword

and pretend that I don't care.

I know my worries are absurd

but in my mind they still stay,

I suppose that I'm just too scared

that your feeling could go away.

Rationality is insane

I'll keep my mind in its groundless jail.

Life is an eternal lesson

which, it seems, I'm destined to fail.

Crossing the Commandments

He was born of a miracle

until his untimely death

brought by those satirical

yet he still had breath

returning to deliver salvation

he rid man of their crimes

by using his life as a donation.

The world promised better times

and yet people continuously dispute over their differing rules, race, and reality,

wasting their lives arguing about which of their Gods gave them vitality

with self proclaimed "religious" fanatics fighting, going against their motive,

not any single religion's revered higher being or deity would be supportive!

What is the point of devotion,

of deference to things divine,

if you battler over an ocean

spilling blood like wine?

If your intentions are holy

why kill the blameless

when you are slowly

becoming shameless?

I don't question intension

but the way you show creed,

if God was here he's mention

that war's a sinful deed.

So drop your grenades and guns

but hold your religion high

for all faces are each the sons

of a greater force in the sky.

Baptism of Knowledge

A second's angelic clarity falls

as all answers rain down from the sky.

An offering to answer prayers' calls

to know the questions and understand why.

A baptism of knowledge from the rain

showering sounds of saints and soft voices.

Relieved of tension and relieved of pain,

the pouring pattering guides our choices.

And then the droplets unsettle the dust

and vision once again becomes unclear.

Not knowing where to turn or who to trust

we are instead guided by cloudy fear.

Even the burning cannot pierce the haze

as both sun and rain are choked by the brume

and so to the shrouded Heavens I gaze

and ponder if this doubt will be my doom.

Confessions

Forgive me father for I have cast sin;

it's been an age since my last confession.

I really don't know where I should begin

...I cannot control my aggression.

It all began when things had turned sour

as fool hardy lovers searched for a link.

I found I couldn't control my power

as lovers pushed each other to the brink.

She had betrayed my strong sense of trust

by seeing another man behind my back,

she was tempted by the sin of lust,

so the demon inside me suddenly cracked.

Is it really sin to cast God's revenge?

She was seduced by the snake and so I killed!

I used my fist as God's own to avenge

"Until death do us part" was fulfilled.

Forgive me father for I have cast sin,

she was just the first in a long line of kills

and yet I cannot control this wide grin

oh how it bewitches and thrills!

Apples

I hold an apple in my palm

the silence surrounding,

the temptation is astounding,

it is hard to stay calm.

In the sun it sweetly glistens,

dark red, joyous to see,

yet I sense foreboding at its tree

as the silence listens.

What harm could come from its sweet taste?

Beauty holds no venom!

A dark presence about like a phenom

and so I don't decide in haste.

I feel perfection in its skin,

my choice it does prolong

and yet it somehow smells so wrong,

its juices oozing in sin.

Here, it still sits in my hand

like a grenade of war

destructive in its sweet galore,

it is gruesome yet grand.

I hold an apple in my palm

as the snake's seducing voice

hastens me into making a choice.

I hold an apple in my palm.

And I drop it to my feet.

Faith is not Belief

The stench of two thousand confessions told,

the musky air of reverence and faith,

everything in the vicinity is old

but my sins follow me in like a wraith.

I have an undying impurity

as I pass through the arch without belief,

is my skepticism insecurity?

Just to know either way would bring relief.

If so gracious a God why need we pray?

Does a father make his child get on their knees?

He would want us to live the lives he gave,

to spend our time on his earth as we please.

I trust in God, but question his worship,

to have our faith, God should make life worth it.

The Descent

We're destined to fly to a better place

as we're soaring way above ground level

with no burdens, just free air at ease,

lighter than feathers and taller than trees

in this wonderful vision we revel

until we descend back down from grace

"We must perform an emergency landing

so take the brace position and prepare"

says the captain to the panicking flock

who jump at every sound, flinch at every knock

and choke on their own words in desperate prayer

whilst the young watch on, not understanding.

If you're headed up, you must too look down

for disaster will come and take Joy's crown.

A Period of Transition

Melancholy in.

Discontent slumber.

Let the journey begin.

No longer under.

Masks are changed.

No longer estranged.

Head above water.

Rid of all doubt.

The journey is over.

Happiness out.

The Last Stop

Queueing

as the Inspector kicks us into class.

I pray I'm on the righteous carriage.

A swarm of people, flocking in at mass.

This train is my last, my final voyage.

Rueing

all my mistakes which are beyond repair

as relieved roamers fly on in their haste

I feel the Inspector's hot judging glare.

My only luggage is memories of lost dreams I'd chased.

Choices

whether to get off at the nearest stop

or brave it to the final destination.

The direction will not swap

so I may as well stay the duration.

Voices

of the billions who commute

conversing about topics which aren't too clear.

The track has been set; we can't change the route

Charging, we pick up speed, the end is near

Skies gray

fading to black.

One way

no looking back.

We pay

with Karma's attack.

Dismay;

derailed off track.

The Battle of Pelennor

A great king in a time of great danger,

poisoned by the spiteful words in his ear,

freed by wizard, elf, dwarf, Halfling and ranger

he learned to keep the people he trust near.

A crusade of vengeance and of man’s pride

for every man, answered three hundred roars.

The fortress of Hornburg, secure inside

myth tells that none can penetrate its doors.

Yet amalgams and dark wizardry’s fire

would have triumphed but for Théoden’s strength.

Overwhelmed, but never did man’s heart tire

always keeping Uruk-hai at arm’s length.

Just as victory seemed out of man’s sight

Mithrandir, saviour, returned from the east.

Shining in the rising sun, clad in white

fear of his power alone quelled the beast.

This epic battle should have been his last

yet Théoden’s pride wanted just one more

The Rohirrim rode on, determined, fast

Gondor calls; to the fields of Pelennor!

Alas, the muster of Rohan was small

and was met by the deared, dark Nazgûl lord,

clashing mutual power, one must fall:

the dark dynasty conquered man’s stern sword.

It was said no man could kill this dark wraith

yet woman and Halfling avenged their king

and soon the fate of man was, again, safe

but Théoden was conquered in the war of the ring.

Wreckognise

Day after day

he walks the same way

holding lives in his hand.

Week after week

refusing to speak

he provides those who demand.

Year after year

he still keeps his cheer

though few can understand.

Posting letters from door to door

yet his job never seems to bore,

learning the secrets of the receivers,

but his hard work they all ignore

his pain from sending bills to the poor

or sending condolences to grievers.

People can’t see

the skill of his work,

people don’t recognise

how he feels free

whilst still feeling hurt

from the looks in their eyes

as if debris

of ignorance and despise.

Nature/Nurture

Do actions effect our morality

or do our morals decide our choices?

Are we born to be the way we are

or does experience guide our voices?

Am I bound upon an unwavering path

that I must blindly follow to the death

or will divergences make new choices

with endless alternatives breath by breath?

If fate is set then why should we hope

to make a better life to lead?

When each action that we make will not change,

why endeavour if there is no need?

Fate can offer hope and also despair,

the concept of consequence seems more fair.

In Coherency

The world at a stand still

as time has broken down

I feel dead to movement

but alive in sound.

I feel cold and distant

yet somehow alert

as if all is at war

but nothing can hurt.

This barrage of buzzing

breaks and bombards my ears

but I cannot relate

I am free of all fears.

All comes into focus

as she grasps my hand,

all becomes coherent;

together we stand.

...Reflect...

Life-

imitates nature,

always moving, traveling continuously.

Falling leaves placed delicately;

foliage touching the echoing waters,

Clarity removed-

reflections distorted through waves rippling;

gracefully dancing

mirrored images

...reflect...

images mirrored.

Dancing gracefully,

rippling waves through distorted reflections-

removed clarity.

Waters echoing the touching foliage;

delicately placed leaves falling -

continuously travelling, moving always,

nature imitates

life.

Depression

Dreadful, daunting depression

the next step down from sadness

it takes control

of your soul,

that's just my impression.

Suicidal sufferer,

she hangs herself in darkness,

free that noose

set it loose

then promise to live happier.

Sobbing mournful child

whose mother has just died,

wipe your tears

forget your fears

then roam happy and wild.

Decaying, dying mum,

your days are sadly numbered,

begin to thrive

whilst you're still alive,

the journey has just begun.

Overworked and underpaid,

downward spiral of vigour,

take a break

for your sake

with the money you have made.

Heartbroken hurt lover

whose partner was wayward,

forget the past

although aghast,

you will find another.

Defeated, diminished; depression

although difficult the some,

forget your sorrow

pray for tomorrow

and depression is overcome.

Sarcasm is the Lowest Form of Whit

Your flirting I find disconcerting,

your pleasure causes me pain.

Your humour is about as funny as a brain tumour,

and your politeness is only for your own gain.

Your vanity is borderline insanity,

your thoughts only to yourself.

Your friends are soon to meet their ends

their prospects are to be stacking shelves.

Your care I fail to see anywhere

unless it's for your figure

Your woes are non-existent, everyone knows

that I hate you with such vigour.

Whoever said sarcasm is the lowest form of whit

mustn't have heard the garbage that you have been saying

next time you cross the road, make sure you get hit

for I wouldn't find your pain entirely dismaying.

Jigsaw

Buried in toys

she lives a rich, unloved life.

Her heart's jigsaw has always missed a piece,

the fragments scattered, love is lost.

Suffocating under the suppression of loneliness,

choking on secrets of exploitation,

she is her father's personal doll,

her daddy's little obedient girl.

If only she was plastic,

if only she couldn't feel this daily pain,

if only she was the perfect little doll.

Why can't she stitch up her sores?

Why can't she mend her broken heart?

Does she want the pain, only to see faces?

For when her daddy finds other toys to play with

she will return to the box

gathering dust, feeding on neglect.

Daughter for sale, used.

Terrible condition yet deferential and durable.