Monday, 28 February 2011

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.

Flys 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.