Tuesday 26 March 2013

Life is Short


'Life is short' he said, and then ran touching every pillar or a milestone that was to stand there, on heels to the finish , he raced ahead , leaving its essence behind.
'Life is short' I said, Wild goose chases and entrapment of the kind,
I stood there to build a pillar with my hands and fell the ones too old or to redundant to stand. I will, Stop to think, pause to feel,at milestones.
Life is in my hands still, and I will.
Ambition, I wonder which one of us has more as I measure, 'Life is short' either way, for you to race it down or me to stop at leisure.
'Life is short' he said pace and amble, it is,trade the stakes, it is a gamble.
'Life is short ' I said, At stake there's too much, I am not stagnant just invested and my investments should grow.There is much risk in investing, You run fast hence realize slow.
'Life is short' he said and people should be at length,
Reason being the drag ,they pull at your strength.
'Life is short' I said, people are distant, A person should be kept near, Your strength is sapped on by not people but your fears. Life is short for them as it's for you, You could live yours just once with them you could live two.
'Life is short' indeed it is , My dear, indeed it is.

Saturday 23 March 2013

Sixth sense and the consequent.

I wish I would stop seeing what others can not, Around them all is a faint aura of their deeds and I see them , The cast and the molds are all surreal and I see them. I see the hinged ghost of humanity that feigns their flesh and imitates it in it's nude hides. I see beyond the men and women they pose as. I see more than I should . The hollow holographic projections are all that I want to see for what I see beyond them is unnerving, disgusting, ripped, mutilated,charred,burnt faces beyond redemption. I saw one today,on a rather familiar projection, My dread and disappointment have gripped me yet again.

Thursday 21 March 2013

My blood and wine.

I drank a cup last night and spilled a stain on the floor. I drank a cup last night and threw the cup to some more. I drank another cup and then I soaked in the tartar flavour. I drank another cup and the I let out cheerful blabber. I drank another cup and it made perfect sense. I drank another cup and then  it's vapour was incense. I drank another cup and then I drank in what was left.
My blood and wine are tangled in reverie. My blood is pouring out at the augment of more red. My blood is pouring out my veins and for once not in dread.
I drank in a cup more and the wine was my blood. My sweet fortified blood. My fortified wine.
I'll drink in more and I know there is an acerbic quality to the liquor that it is. My blood was never neutral.

As time goes by.


To keep the bird of memory in a cage,
and the flight of life in the sky.
is to capture time in my own constraints
still flow on swiftly by.
put a wing on hopeless origami birds,
and to live before one dies.
the paper birds come crashing down
burn them, the smoke will fly.

Wednesday 6 March 2013



"It is powerful yet compassionate,
within and without
above and below,
exists in darkness and in light
In presence as in absence
In negation as in affirmation"

 I lived by the ideal that it is
and I can live by the ideal that it is.

Friday 1 March 2013

The rebounds and the leftovers.

Ricochet, Ricochet,
My words rebound,
Ricochet, ricochet,
there's is a dying sound,
the beat never dies,
the percussion alive
as the drums of the war roll,
and you claim not your share of the toll.
We are in a fight,
You do it wrong,
I did it right?
There's a  membrane so thin,
 that it collapses within
when you knock on that door,
there is rebound no more,
just a gossamer we tore.
and the dying scavenge,
left overs of revenge,
There are no fixes here,
just the wounds that need to mend,
Ricochet, Ricochet,
the paths we walk will bend,
Then there is no turning back,
there is a road to pretense,
I will burn that field around it,
You will not be alee ,
the wind will grip you in it,
and my flames you can not flee.
I was the smoke,
a bitter smoke,
a puff that torched your eyes,
Oh you blinded man of fire
she thought of you a flame,
oh you blinded man of cinders,
smoke and fire are not the same,
oh you foolish man of  common,
You became such wet timber,
Oh you foolish man of common,
I was not smoke nor the water.
Oh, you foolish man of common,
I was the wind, I was the air,
that kept flame alive
and you can not see or bear.
Embers, oh the embers,
I'll spark them and they will fray
and the fire will set alight, wet timber.
Ricochet.
burn, will you burn?
no, please ignite,
the flame that I can feed,
the fire that I need.
I'll rekindle you with the fire,
her passions and desire.
Oh, wet timber.
oh the surrounding hay and twigs,
I want to blow the leftovers away,
Ricochet.