The Disillusioned Clown

I am growing weary of this marquee.

Travelling in this circus from town to town,

I would find more acceptance under the sea,

I don't feel like I can truly be me.

I am growing weary of playing the clown

when I have lost my will to laugh or smile,

under this painted-smile façade I frown.

You laugh, unable to see that I'm down.

I am growing weary of feigning guile,

juggling knives that will one day be my demise.

I am growing weary of trial after trial

only to find a reaction hostile.

I am growing weary of this fool's disguise

which only attracts alienated eyes.

Heart-Shaped Flowers

I never believed
  that I could feel this strong.
     I never thought things could bloom
       to become the beautiful orchid we share.
            The flowers from you that I have received
                 will last and still be beautiful  forever long.
                    They will burn brightly against the dark and gloom,
                     reminding us of our future, so very fantastic and fair.
                You're more beautiful than I first perceived,
            sounding as sweet as a bird's soft love song,
        smelling as divine as an angel's perfume.
     I will continue to nurture your care,
  evergreen our love grows,
this love never goes.
 
             

Redrafting

Don't lose sight of the person who you are

when you try to eradicate your flaws.

Perfection can only get you so far

but only if correcting your own cause.
 

You polish that wooden mask everyday

so that its glossy shine reflects your beauty

but now all the detail has been scrubbed away;

do you wear it for pleasure or for duty?

Don't scribble out all the lines that sound wrong

but store them away until they're made right.

It is fine to change the words to your song

but don't let its meaning get out of your sight.

You cast away those parts of you that you hate

until rid of all flesh; you are but a ghost.

For some, you've got rid of an endearing trait;

our imperfections are what defines us most.
 

Don't fear all the mistakes that you may make

on the road to your final draft being set.

Life is not a test that we can retake

so we must make choices without regret.

Ray of Hope

On a cloudless day the prospect of rain can seem incomprehensible;

everything is perfect and you can't imagine clouds appearing.

You end up questioning where the rain ever came from when it reappears

like an almost forgotten enemy

and you curse the skies for banishing the sun.

And yet, on those cloudy days, there is always that glimmer of hope.

That ray of sunshine that burns through the clouds and makes the skies that bit brighter.

Maybe if we realised, on those perfect days, that things must surely change

then the rainy days wouldn't make us feel so dreary.

Falling Under Conscious Keenness In New Guises

A moral mind manifested by madness?

Are there memories or mistakes made?

A deed that could cause in some part sadness

and a deed in parts that sadness evades.

For fun can form from frolicsome functions

but some find it fatuous and fallacious,

so when I reach afterlife's crossed junctions

will I regret things done when vivacious?

A decision made deliberated

with prudent precision to the choices.

With the right person I'm liberated,

fortifying feelings Ambrosian.

If this is a sin, then cast me to Hell

for I don't want to break free from your spell.

Quarantine

When I get a problem

I think and think about it

until I can't even remember what caused this slumber in the first place.

My thoughts gnaw away at me

like a ravenous zombie,

not stopping the constant picking at my brains

until consumed completely

and I become infected with this strange disease,

and what started as a little worry

has devoured my reason and rationality.

All I can do is wait until the day you put me into quarantine,

away from my own mind and from your words,

sometimes I think it would be better for everyone's safety.

Elegy

Tonight I questioned what I will be remembered by.

What short, spirited sentiment will be etched on to my gravestone?

Who's words will it be, and who will decide upon them?

Who will attend my funeral;

how many through obligation and how many through genuine grief?

I would rather have a genuine elegy:

"Rian Mercer

good at plenty,

great at none".

I then realised that it is too early in my life to ask such questions,

when I have my life to live and future to create.

I am writing my own requiem

with each action that I make

so that when I die

whichever words and whoever's words-

must be true.

Then again,

just what will I be remembered by?

Wrapping Up

This time of the year has come again

when everything must change.

I accept it with a sigh,

for I hate change as much as the next person

but I've come to realise we have no choice but to embrace it.

The Winter has come, and so we must dress accordingly;

I assure you that this darkness will not last.

Balancing the Scales

The gauge is low,

the scales are weightless,

all effort pointless,

the penury grows.

But do my scales need weight

when happy with air?

Why should I care

for things grandious and great?

I do not want the scales to tip

when the balance holds exact.

For all my life I have longed and lacked,

so I will not let this precision slip.

And so I will give and gain

in equal amounts

so it all accounts

to the balance staying the same.

Volcano

I'm growing increasingly wearisome

of the constant reminders

of all the things that I'm not.

Now, I know that I should talk

but it's pointless

when you can't understand my state of mind,

when you can't relate to this fastidious volcano

waiting to erupt at any given time.

The truth is, I'm not afraid of my demons.

I'm embarrassed of them.

I know them to be absurd figments of an overactive imagination.

Yet this shame stops me from confronting them more than fear ever would.

I can't fight these demons alone, I need you to know,

but you need to learn them for yourself.

If you see the demons with your own eyes, it makes me seem less irrational,

it makes me feel less shame.

I feel myself collapse at some things that you say,

and I try to keep the lava at bay,

but even if you don't yet understand,

please just smile and hold my hand

until the burning sense of pain goes away.

Padded Cell

White walls and black eyes, paintless insanity,

locked in this unstable ward everyday.

A product of obsession's vanity;

obligations guards wont let me break away.

I try to argue that there's been a mistake,

that they can't possibly think me insane,

but the more I protest the more I'm awake

to the the truths of why I'm tied to this chain.

Here I am safe from the harmful outsiders

who don't understand my prodigal mind,

so I scurry in this cell like a spider

taking comfort in each web that I bind.

I am not locked in, but have the world locked out

so only my own thoughts are flying about.

Spring's Step

This feeling in my gut has returned.

I felt it last year, until it faded.

It turns my stomach, rising to my heart

and turns the corners of my mouth,

dances around in my brain,

and then leaves light in my eyes.

I've realised that I'm happy, truly happy

for the first time in a long time.

Last year, Spring lit my eyes with optimism

but the light died when Winter came.

Now the Sun has returned, and this time you are here,

keeping my skies blue in Summer cheer.

I just pray that you'll stay

to keep the Winter blues away

and make it Summer every day of the year.

Voyager

Those fields we pass

with each blade of grass

harbour a thousand lives.

Those trees that ark

with rotten bark

harbour a thousand lives

Thoses lakes that sleep

with calm water deep

harbour a thousand lives.

Those tracks we roam

with rust and stone

transport a thousand lives.

Those stops we make

with hissing breaks

transport a thousand lives.

The skies are blue

and I'm on my way to you;

I really feel alive.

Venom

The venom is seeping out of my hand

and the wound from where I was bit will fade.

This release of pain helps me to understand

the mistakes that both you and I have made.

The venom is oozing an inky black

blemishing everything untouched and pure

but once the words are scribed I can't go back

on sentiments I don't feel anymore.

So I continue to release this spite

in the hope that one day I can learn

that although I thought that my words were right,

my anger made sentiments seem too stern.

Releasing venom can help heal a sore

as long as the hate isn't yours anymore.

Winter Sun

Darkness swiftly engulfs the cool night sky

as the sun slips to slumber behind the moon.

The stars ignite, to signal day must die

whilst the wind beomans that night falls too soon.

She howls with melancholic elegy

that the day dies sooner in the winter.

The callous clouds gather, growing wild and free

where they reign over the star's sweet glinter.

Eventually, the moon slowly departs

and the clouds kindly cease to obscure.

The chilled winter sun, which captures our hearts

makes morning seem clear and is despairs cure.

Those cold winter days can seem ever dark

'til brightened early, on the dew filled park.

Shadows

Dark and deformed, created by the light

where do our shadows sleep in the black night?

I see them dance in the candles flicker,

rejoicing at the soft glow burning bright

whilst mourning melted wax's sorrowful sight,

I wish these demons would depart quicker.

When the candle light finally fades out

a new sense of dread fills me with doubt

as I feel the shadows pacing my attic

that make my heart pump with such painful clout,

why are these dark demons always about?

I need to degauss my thoughts of this static.

To fight off your demons you must find light

where, at least your darkest shadows are in sight.

Sulk

The day the Earth got wronged by Man,

Nature did not show her disgust.

There was no overflowing dam

nor snarling storm in sudden gust.

The rivers did not flow with blood

and tear away Man's solid stone.

She did not drown Man in a flood

and reclaim the Earth as her own.

She did not burn down the houses

that man had once so proudly built.

She did not choke Man's loved spouses

with the black ashes of their guilt.

She did not crack their foundations

and make their feeble hearts shake.

She did not divide their nations

to punish them for their mistakes.

Her voice did not roar in pain,

Sotto Voce sounded her sigh.

Her breath did not blow until all was slain,

no tempered tempest for Man to die.

No, she put up a silent sulk

that only heightened Man's dismay,

knowing that this beautiful bulk

mostly unseen must fade away.

Upside Down

The ocean's a reflection of the sky

where the clouds can float and the fish can fly.

Break to the surface and a new world is found,

strange and outlandish unlike Earth's solid ground.

Away from destruction, boundless and free

with many undiscovered places to see.

The movement of waves, tranquil and calm,

planes swimming away from Earth's war and harm.

The fish flap their fins and soar high above

and the sharks don't prey on the peaceful dove.

The starfish light up the night's cloudless skies

whilst the mermaids let out their angelic sighs.

The world would function better upside down

where we'd float to the sun and never drown.

Inner Turmoil

What is this turmoiled temperament of thought

that manifests my mind with misery?

Misguided, I am not that which I sought

but rather those pieces of me I'd fought.

I can only be that which I create

and can only aspire to my own actions,

but when my identity is filled with hate

I feel forsaken to this fucked up fate.

I want to rid my mind of these doubts

and let me understand my own thinking

but all this hope and wishing just amounts

to fruitless fantasies and toothless shouts.

Why banish what is already part

of the sentiments which make up my heart?

Tonic Ink

Your inaustere promise of effort

has been forlorn with the light of your eyes.

The same mistakes as when we first severed,

I swear that my faith will be my demise.

You once made me whole, yet now so hollow

I emulate your heart's dark reflection,

but no longer in this path will I follow

for you're not worthy of my affection.

As the ink spill, no torment now remains

banishing memories on paper, you're shed

'til I can read back on this with no pains

of how you went back on the things that you said.

A feeling of the heart can soon depart

when considered and picked apart by art.

Midnight Insight

Like an amnesiac with Déjà Vu,

I scribble frantically before the thought is gone foreer,

but the thoughts ebb,

like water slipping through my fingers

until all that's left

is dry hands and hungry stares.

Tangled

After eradicating insubstantial substance
a clear cut circle of purpose comes into view

as the same circumstances circulate certainty;

a stoic stupour of misguided urgency.

A spider must break webs of mistakes to start anew

by eradicating insubstantial substance,

because its beacons shine brightest in the bleakest black.

Blinded by beauty, I grow too fond of my web,

breaking dreams built through the bonds of breath and boredom,

burning back the bonds that were once held wholesome.

Belief of my happiness is beginning to ebb,

caught in a web, the more I struggle, the more I emerge into the bleakest black

'coming more immersed; I find that I'm trapped again.

Could I try to relax until the bonds grow weak.

cadaverous until clear of this controling cage?

Calls cacophonous capture my words on this page.

creating an outlook cheerless, callous and bleak.

Dare I decide to destroy, or will I find myself trapped again?

Summer's Blood

When the sun comes out

it warms up my skin, and pierces through my veins

so that my blood can feel the joys of summer,

my heart pumping optimism through my body,

feeding nostalgia to my brain

of the joyful summers of the yesteryear.

Recycling

He recycles his overflowing thoughts

like the devoid paper on which he writes,

overriddled with complex lines and quotes,

the yearned perfection still not in his sights.

He lies awake in a constant motion

like the lifeless pen that he can't replace,

trying to be pressing with emotion

he liftes the feelings and puts them in place.

He strains too hard to be wonderful and wise

like a brain disconnected to the heart,

he scrunches up the tarnished paper, sighs,

and gets a blank piece on which he can start.

When your recycle bin is overfilled

return to the old lines that you had quilled.

Will For Change

Happiness;

for too long have you

evaded me.

Hope;

for too long have you

abandoned me.

Desire;

for too long have you

contradicted me.

Love;

for too long have you

mocked me.

Pride;

for too long have you

ruled me.

Shame;

for too long have you

embarrassed me.

Softness;

for too long have you

hardened me.

Paranoia;

for too long have you

whispered to me.

Laziness;

for too long have you

held me.

Despair;

for too long have you

broken me.

Weariness;

for too long have you

overcome me

Will for change;

for once you will

help me.