Do Not Leave Your Baggage On The Floor
Unattended desire, do not leave your baggage on the ground. In a sound moment of reasoning you whisper to yourself for future reference but all that is inferred is a longing for an existence beyond the reach of pale unaffected wisdom. In these moments of doubt throughout, you will find what you fear the most. A host of delusions and incisions on your wanting. An uninterrupted gentle guide to your desires and an escape that is as imminent as it is weary of your coming. Forlorn figures cut swathes through the majesty and for an instant the clarity it finds will be lost amongst those closest to you. Reject it if you will but by definition it shall be so. For whatever you think of time, there’s one thing it will never be. On its knees.
I think that should suffice by way of an introduction don’t you?
Your Day Is Not Your Right
Neatly twist the wheels of fate. Turn the handle on what it is your angle and never be followed by people who wish to wallow in the fact they are not.
It is this reasoning which shall deliver forth a new lease on the strength of your feet, to set you straight and deliver you to the gate.
Do not be put off by its strength and iron cast will, but see it as a challenge.
Merely a hump in this dump you wish to maintain.
Let the clutter embrace you, and your soul shall be your reward.
Were it not for such sound reasoning, all would be forgiven yet you have given nothing. You contribute nothing to this time and you seek nothing from the crimes you commit yet you encroach on me all the same.
Your day is not your right.
This is not a contest nor a game. Merely a flattering insult to your rich tapestry of senses and a new order with which you can follow with your garb, so black and snug.
You missed the point but did you care?
As long as you were seen to be, then in your eyes you are.
Destroy the fabric with which you have stitched yourself together.
Tear the clothes from the womb you cling to so tightly, with teeth ever so whitely painted on your back to help you with your load.
You are not what your reflection tells you.
The emptiness you would feel were it not for a few kind words from people even shallower and cheeks sallower than your own.
That which you own is not all you are. It is not your perfume or your style, it is the smile that true beauty brings or did you forget this all amongst your ruby studded laces and tinted lace braces?
An exposition of your sole is what I seek. Are you strong or for the weak?
Set your stall and punch the wall but who is in the right? Do I have the right to condemn you to the plains?
The fires within which we all burn have never been so bright. Are you right? Am I to say? Or has bitterness turned the other cheek? Bring forth that which you seek and in an instant your image shall be pure.
To who it matters not, so keep your cloth you clot, and see to it that I see you on the other side. Naked and stark. The light no longer dark and see what you will.
Your time or mine?
This is a post. That’s not a post, THIS is a post!!!
Would you die for the hunger you no longer have?
Intrepid fear and abandon led you to this place
Now you’ve arrived, take stock
Mock me not
For when it all comes to naught you’ll be sure to see all that I ever felt
And place yourself on the altar of knowing
What is right is no longer fair
Solitude greets you with a smile
For all the while, her stubborn denial wishes you well into the night
Place the fear above what is left
For its path is what is dear to you
Insipid testament to the brevity of the wisdom beneath the furnace
Hearth and home, nights alone and wishing moans
In the wonderment and scantily clad, thinly veiled ideals
Follow them and you shall be right
Deny them for the righteous and endevour to hear the wisdom of words
Earthly thirds of the lot beseech you within
Her humble lashes implore you to begin.
Lipstick in the Desert
What the hell was she looking for…
Sand drenched her feet left soaking dry just food for flies. In knee deep sun dried mud and hence filled with blood, her love was divine like grapes from a vine. Not like God’s and his son’s ‘twas earthly warm and glum. Potato sack rags once lit up a room, now nothing left but a former rich hue, what once may have been new, now stuck together, glue, like her sweat on the skin once akin to mysteries and love now dry as a leather glove. Her mind drifts back to scenes of overpowered feeling, emotions reeling and twisted like the belt of fate around a neck, a graceful nape and trusting hers in his, she thought once was bliss. In the mists of mirage, a virtual barrage on the senses, let down her defenses, to the mystery of kin and sundry, tested boundary? Luckless bounty. Wishful mistress was her name, now her memories just shame of potential, inconsequential lust, must she be destined to this? Would have thankfully gone amiss, to all she was left with was her memory, déjà vu or Gethsemane. This god damned desert now plagued her. How long had she been here? Clothes tattered, memories scattered, she knew she’d come for a reason, this insomnia treason, displeasing her senseless, senses relentless, mental barriers and fences, muscle tissue tenses, brain matter condenses into mindless rambling and disconnected thoughts, out of rhyme and season, no time for pleasing herself with rose coloured glasses, this time passes with barely a thought for herself and what she once had. “What was it I had?” A father, a lover a dad? Something was there, just out of reach, of dust covered bleach, stained sheets, and wretched lies, did I ruin lives? Or are the dreams unseen? Unrealised passions, in fashion. Satisfaction.
A Mission Statement
Clandestine wisdom dictates shortcomings be resolved with a clarity not often afforded to the other kind. Not only would it prove ineffectual but may perhaps unwind preconceived notions of existing ideals.
Either way it scares me I spose
Intentional misgivings placed upon his heart a conventional wisdom achieved solely through consternationary achievements
The Hirsute of Happiness
Inadvertent musings set you on the path and in a sense a lot can be forgiven given the right light. All throughout periods of longing and lust you trust what you must in order to survive. Its this inherent fear of loneliness that brings you to concede ground where the once was no sound reason to do so. It was not a necessary trick of the imagination that led to the slaughter of ideals it was a necessary highlighted imperative and cultural stipulation whereupon the need outweighs the devils drive. Trust in lust and your world shall be pure. Perhaps not in the illiterate sense but somewhere hidden in the lipstick stained sheets and shirts there is a certain truth that longs to be found. Forever lost is what she thought you would be. Now she has you on her knees and it’s the best way forward as far as she can see. Subjugation delivers you forth to her arms and thine divine impulses will always deliver what is wanted more than what’s best. But for your day of rest you shall have your eternal reward and be delivered forth on the doorstep of failure. You will see what eternity holds in the night for your crimes. But forever more there will be one who can forgive but not forget. You can plea and beg and scream that it’s not your scene. This petty exchange and derision based on submission but in the end bend to her will for she holds the key. Happiness is merely a reflective vision by which we perceive ourselves and light can once more shatter these dubious fair delusions. It was always a mystery to you how this series of decisions and moments came about. Where was the seed and what was the need to be here laying in silence staring at the beauty you once held out hope for. Now you’ve found it you fool what are you going to do? Does man just need a challenge or the reward? Strive for it, seek it out. Is it this challenge that feeds your desire or is it more? Can you ever be truly happy in her reflection? Of course these were all fanciful musings and only after forever did you witness what was soon to become the one who would surrender your trenches for. For? Yes indeed. It was for this very minute you had lived the thousand days before. It was for that touch and that smile that you had wondered in out of the cold. Life cannot deliver to you forever that with which you can be content for a while. You must seek that which you need to know. To hold her is to taste fear. To know her is to hold her near. To feel the breath, to breathe in her neck. The bead of sweat the lone regrets all wash over and seal your existence. She is not for an instant. Was love ever for you? He whispered.
All I Can Hear – I Me Mine
Inventive perspective played its part more often than art shone through the shades to illuminate the morning stains. Wretched satins and nylons cast aloft and intrigued patterns danced before your eyes in the suns morning effect. Like dancers twirling for the crowd your eyelids flutter making sinless clouds. Ever lasting impressions greet you with abandon and run away faster than you can fathom. Was it real or imagined? Did that shining mean all that it could have or was it denied before it brought forth all it should have? In an instant the whisper makes you calm and the warm sweet breath raises not an alarm. Love and longing greeted you that day and since tomorrows promise once led you astray its better to sit back and let it all wash. Let her coolness calm your tensioned features. Wouldn’t you have wanted it this way? Id have clearly thought so. The extension of this paradigm is a shift in degrees of relativity when compared to the finite dimensions within which you have always regarded yourself. An inability to maximize external thought and project inner quandaries upon her significant other worldly beauty. She was always the one who could arouse such suspicions yet spent a great a deal of her time making you feel small and insignificant. A passing glance or catch of an eye would bring you back forthwith and to see that smile was always to make it worth the while. For her sun shone like the stars and could not hear the expanse of your song for the howling became too incensed were it to draw near. The positivity of her reaction to your touch may have left you for dead but a cunning smile was always worn and led to suspicions. In an interrupted sleep you would awake and stare endlessly and aimlessly. Thoughts not needed for it was comfort. She was there and as you regaled in this on the cool evening breeze floating through the window and cooling the sweats of passion you felt joy for the first time that day. Laying there silent she was anything you wanted her to be. A mother, a lover. In silence she understood your thoughts, your pain, your anxieties, fears and trepidations. She did not mock. That laughter out of kindness that never the less felt so incredibly cruel to behold. In silence she never mocked. Awake could be done with a look but asleep was perfection. Could any love be more real than now? Stroke the bead of sweat from the brow, the hair stuck to the forehead, cheek squashed in an innocent sleeping pose like the most beautiful child. If only she knew what I had thought in those instants. The horror, the betrayal, the devotion, the love, the bitterness. Far better to be tempered with words no matter how fiery they may become. Far better tempered, even in anger.
Obscene is the Gesture
Obscene is the gesture once created for nurturing her young on the back of recent successes. It wasn’t as if no-one had heard the murmurs and inherently rumbled dissention amongst the ranks it was more a case of first in best served to suit the detractors. Finalising wishes was never high on the agenda of the esteemed council diatribe yet it wouldn’t seem out of place to suggest it came from within. Suggestion is often seen as the first important step to assimilation and distraction is merely a cause for reflection. If it were not for the lesser of two greats then she would never have seen it coming. Down the road a night owl stooped and peered through the engaged scenesters to reveal a darkness that not one of them had thought to reveal. With a sense of dread she made her way to the council chambers to hear what was to be put forth at last nights meeting. The steps clambered ominously and drew her arched heels in like an old maid carrying your love on her broad shoulders. Its that very weight that leads to broken hearts and bones. Did anyone ever think of lightening the load on the poor wretched woman? She cannot be your water bearer for life and loss. She bore the fruit now wish her well. No more meaning gleamed from smiles and faces in the mud. No more howling and wishing forth a new dawn for no one there cared to begin with. Only yourself to blame when it all comes to naught. Only each other to blame when it all should have been sought. Your reckoning was to not have seen her but she was there. You can never deny her that. Only in a listless passing thought could she have conceived of your intentions and begging for forgiveness just seems a little senseless. When all she wanted was a whisper. A simple truth spun over kind words. Could it ever be given or were you simply too selfish to oblige? The night carried on yet as she approached the iron door she heard a voice. What it said will never be known. Imperceptible to more than just many. Inescapable for less than a few but with a view to this hue she strained for the sound. It was her knocking, hammer brought down. Justice served for her purpose revealed. Justice served for her conscious concealed.
Greetings Hairy Traveller
Inopportune victims fell silent to the marching crowd proceeding right above the pass where wenched lasses greet with a toothless smile and all the while for a quarter mile along pastures new and moonlit hues gathered together from the dew like a rain in quiet night’s fog for all to see the brothers three met the bushes from the grass and crept inside eyes open wide for the mystery laden farce of seven nights and fairground lights dazzling for the crowd in little lanes and store bought frames hide a picture you could paint if there wasn’t something you once knew and sprung to the table to all who are able and managed to be here tonight for these festive mystery blights on one’s soul hidden deep beneath the troll like hair and who could quite dare to be given up to what was made in the days before we were bade to bid farewell to our dream like knell and knaves they did become, outgrew what they’d become but forsake it they could not for all they had they got through luck and nothing more this victory is the score for those left untroubled and their worth of memories doubled, took on a new significance and mentioned her’s was difference and given what was before she knew that bare legs straw did itch and scratch, broke the camels back so suffice to say, with the dawning of day bought adventures fresh and new like the wings of Hayle’s muse and comfort reigned in the idle haze of drawing from the strewn and ashen blunders of ripped and torn skies thundered from all around and scorched the ground and few but far anew the world withdrew and left it for the men now few.