Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: Marathon, poem, poetry, the, writing
I think this is how it’s meant to be.
My conscience stained with a part of you.
I think this is how it ends.
With the end at the beginning,
And us beginning where it ends.
So while I try so hard not to fall into a pitch black hole.
The truth is plain to see.
My every wish is fulfilling,
But your every intention is leaving,
So how do I catch up to you?
My oh my, London’s burning.
Go fetch the pails of water
Come, douse it on the fire.
And pray that London will burn no more.
Cause within the damp forgotten streets,
Somewhere is my treasure.
She stalks the streets in the hollow lights,
She walks like the vampires,
She’s high as the moon.
She’ll entice your every fibre,
Then leave you to rot.
In all your wicked dreams,
The hellish prison in all corners of the mind.
All of a sudden you’re found,
Leaving heartaches and losing faith.
Trapped within some kind of paraphrase,
Lost in a London burning so bright.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: cheap, clock, Coming, Home, poem, poetry, routine, wine, writing, writings
A throbbing head.
Darling, It’s two a.m.
Took some water and downed some pills.
Watch the world spin round the sun.
The clock ticks on, and the same thing happens,
Time after time, day after day.
Remember the past,
Well, smile about it,
Just how did you think you got through it?
Move along, it’s seven-thirty.
Form a straight line,
Form a bee line.
Don’t be falling, for some cheap wine.
Think of all the times ahead,
And keep on marching.
Home again,
The rain taps falling,
On window panes like silver lights,
And watch the reds mingle with the green.
And its on the go again.
Wonder what’s been keeping the traffic,
Why does it take so long to come on home,
You know well what you’ve been missing.
Worry not,
Kick off your shoes, draw up the sheets
It’s a show night tonight.
Your future’s with the somnambulist,
But take a peek anyway,
Witness the eclipse of the moon.
And eventually you’ll be coming home.
I’m coming home again.
Coming home soon.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: about, again, beating, drfiting, exist, eyes, hands, Kaleidoscope, lenses, own, poem, poetry, rhythm, that, tomorrow, tonight, writing, writings
Well to the boy with eyes for hands,
What are you really seeing tonight.
Through the tint of your kaleidoscope lenses,
Your world in Technicolour so unlike my own.
Beating to a separate rhythm,
In a space that does not exist.
So I wonder when I’ll see you again.
Well would I ever see you again?
Will it be tomorrow?
Or the day after that?
Well maybe I’ll be drifting,
Away from your heart beating.
Well there’s nothing to cry about.
This is nothing to cry about.
Just to the girl with stars in her eyes,
This is nothing to cry about.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: chasing, love, poem, poetry, romeo, writing, writings
Sat along a steeping ledge
Listening to an old man’s woes.
Sat still in the yellow light.
He told me what I ought to know.
He told me with a whisper of regret.
Told me he was chasing Romeo.
And all the while my feet were numb.
My hands were cold,
And lips were shaking.
I lost the world because he had stolen it.
With his eyes, his words and his glamorous gestures.
Away from the place I had guarded for so long.
And from behind his glistening eyes,
He warned,
“I’m a liar, through and through”.
My thoughts trailed away with him.
Like smoke in the mid-night sky.
As he sat so sombre and frail.
I saw myself in his wake.
His ebbs and flows.
Every moment of his falling.
Every detail of his humiliation.
Captured in the back of the mind’s eye.
There I wept for him,
For he solely speaks the truth.
And the truth is all I seek.
But the truth is often pain.
More trouble than it’s worth.
“A simple choice awaits:
To stay ever so still.
Or to fade slowly with the tides.”
It was then I knew the things he used to know.
How to stop chasing Romeo.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: bloodbath, imagination, imagined, kill, masacare, poem, poetry, short, thoughts, train, writing
The anxious thumb twirling,
The weight of the world.
So many strangers,
With intentions unclear
The writing on the blood stained cabin walls.
Name your victim,
Name your price.
City’s burning,
The floating neon.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: Black, death, life, passing, philosophy, poem, poetry, Rhapsody, writing
When you’re getting tired,
Your world is standing still.
You live through layers of regret,
And regretting all your guilt.
Your breathing slows a little,
You struggle for air,
The gloss over your eye lids,
Seems to disappear.
You don’t understand the world,
And all the games that they play.
You sit still watching their every move.
But still it makes no sense.
Why do things happen the way they do?
Why do the skies seem so far away?
You leave knocking on the window sill.
You lie waiting for wishful thinking.
Somehow it’d all be alright.
Clouds darken, Water burns.
They all roll in with the times.
Marching to the beat of the invisible rhythm.
They have come to take you away.
All my anxieties seep in from the past.
They have come to take you away.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: break, epilogue, fantasy, flowers, I, imagination, interlude, nature, philosophy, poem, poetry, ship, space, while, writing
I’d like to dream a little while,
Pretend not to know me,
and walk by a little while.
All the best you’d wish me,
All the little while.
A little while.
/
I’ve tried to live the simple life,
Tried to be worry free.
But a plague returns to haunt me,
Reaches out a hand to pull me.
I’ve rode a broken spaceship,
On a quest to return home.
But I’m always sidetracked bound,
Distracted by the pretty flowers,
I always wind up all alone.
These flowers on the road,
They stain my very conscience.
Forgive me if I’m misleading,
It’s only because I’ve misheard.
The songs we used to sing out loud,
All flutter and fade away.
We are as tight rope walkers.
Watch the steps that we take.
Walk the line, hands unfold.
Break away, Don’t look back.
/
Spill a facade.
Till night fall.
Watch the universe,
She surrounds.
The inevitable truth.
Breaking.
Filed under: Favorites, writings | Tags: 2001, ameile, d'Amélie, destin, fabuleux, fantasy, film, imagination, imagined, inspiration, Le, Nino, poem, poetry, Poulain, Quincampoix, trains
When I lie awake,
Dreaming of a leap of faith,
Of chocolate biscuits,
and candy canes.
You entered my life in waves.
Weaving a web in the corner of my head.
Forming criss crosses in my mind.
Who knew we were both daytime sleepers.
In a world so full of static,
We are but garden gnomes,
Travelling the universe.
Lets sit and listen to the kettle boil,
Of water hitting a tea cup’s edge.
Watch a sad movie and make me cry.
Sing a hollow song that makes you weak.
I’ll laugh about it.
You’ll smile about it.
We’d forget about it.
Peek through a camera lens,
And see a vision so clear,
Discarded portraits of engaging smiles.
But don’t stare at it too long,
Or i’ll lose you to your memories.
You’ll walk to the past,
Get lost in its streets.
And I’ll be forever searching.
Stumble on the paths I do not know.
I’ll wait at the empty train station,
In this unforgiving city.
Sleep on its cold city benches,
Waiting for the next departing train.
Wait for an eternity.
Then fade away.
Travel home, all alone,
Along a velvet brick road.
Tempted by a dainty flower,
Pull her by the roots,
So she has no feet to stand on.
Lift her from the very ground,
She bleeds.
Watch her as she struggles,
Choke her as she breathes.
Her pulsing heart,
An open door.
Break it apart,
And leave the pieces on the floor.
Watch as she swim upstream,
While the guilt stains your mind.
It’s like playing with fire,
Like running in the rain.
Your head in the clouds,
And your senses blinded.
With her beauty and pleasures.
You are both misguided children,
Chasing an untouchable light.
At the end of the day,
Before nostalgia seeps in.
When all is broken,
And all is bruised.
All I’d want to do,
Is travel home alone,
Forever uneventful,
Along the velvet brick road.
