Another nightmare woke up screaming,
After a dream of myself singing to the ringtone on my phone,
Knowing that my terrors are now behind me,
The futures ringing,
My past and all the horrors I've learned to live with,
Are now to me the breeze singing,
Four chambers barreled together, locked in a chest behind a cage forever, in the darkness crying away in a timbre, that few can hear carrying on to remember, while forcing away tears of sad Decembers, its song, Thump-Thump Thump-Thump, reaches out to others and cries "Life has been unfair to all of us!" matching tone and pitch with a choir of stitched up and beaten down trampled on hearts, whos' sorrow covers thick the floor of tomorrow, each beat crashing waves against times past to furrow, the brows of confused listeners and those who follow the beat that resonates within, who then find tomorrow to be a better hue, for the tune reached out and elevated now, those who dared remember their sorrow together, to a place where the heavens now tremor to their beat of Thump-Thump Thump-Thump, so those who know lonesome and sorrow as Christmas gifts down on the street, at least have a song to join in on, so lonesome can sing along while sorrow keeps the beat, as shadows of wishes dance between the lights that play on twisted strings over happy homes on which are reindeer and angel wings, their colors and lights refracted through tears turn each into a star that when wished upon returns only a silence, a reminder of where you are, a soloist who's part in the choir is needed so all the stars can hear it, the cry of a bleeding heart in the dark, to join the lonely others who find comfort and solace in their parts,
Four chambers barreled together, locked in a chest behind a cage forever, in the darkness singing away in a timbre, that resonates the soul so others will remember, those in need of just a glimmer, so their song, Thump-Thump Thump-Thump, won't be their last performance this December.
Go not with heavy heart as you disembark from this journey we had together, and know that you have left your mark on our hearts and souls forever, in these places you'll be with songs played on strings while fond memories play in between, so goodbye and so long, go share with the world your songs, and may you too remember us fondly, for you brought change to a stage that not many would say was worth the effort to fix, whose twinkling stars now shine bright with a glimmer of light called life that you brought to it, so go with grace take the world by the reins and know you have earned all the love we have for you, and if in this vision of grand design we live in, we are meant to meet again, any of us would consider it a blessing.
The first time when our eyes met and the world melted away, or that pause before we first kissed, the moment when first we twined, and after you gasped while on your face you wore bliss. The times spent staring at forever while in the arms of one another, and those times apart unable to look at each other. The moment of unspoken resignation when forgiveness bloomed and staved off our devastation. The hours spent watching peaceful smiles while you were asleep, knowing you did the same when you just couldn't catch a wink. But over time the silence grew old, and where once it brought warmth, now is nothing but cold. So in attempts to find heat tempers flare, arguments start over nothing, and no silence is anywhere, its landscape thrashed by acid and venom, leaving scars where things were to be left buried and forgotten. Now scorched and destroyed, what once was a garden of eden, is decided to be abandoned with no-one left to toil. As the dust settles and silence is restored, an understanding crosses between, knowing there is no going back to before, that our golden age has passed and there is nothing left in store, the hour of devastation passes and not a word about what could have been is spoken anymore.
The moral I bring is simply this, if you don't pay attention, life’s grandest moments you will miss, for all the noise and distractions in our world, it's the silent moments that are gifts, and bring more change than you will ever know
Fresh looseleaf to which is bequeathed any breadth of information for later observation by any designated of whom the cerebric pliation is required. And did I mention that all of this syllabic commotion is solely directed upon that which is the topic of conversation, being what is the possible duration of any information and its proper alleviation, on paper. For what becomes of a new leaf is solely up to the writer, and their linguistic ability to confide in, a single piece of paper, with whatever tool they favor, their hopes and dreams and wishes. Perhaps a note to pull the strings of cardiac cords so music can ring on two hands entwined or, maybe a telling tale of how someone failed but miracles never ceased and found within or from a friend that they now have what they need to succeed, or perhaps it shall be that the paper will see the ages of time dash past, while keeping within what it means to sin and how to be a friend, so when finally found as a treasure i mound, a grateful people will take the greatest of care and ensure that there is nowhere, that such invaluable information isn't heard in every nation, throughout the world, or perhaps it will be made to sit and wait for this poet to make up his mind and decide to write down this poem. Because to a poet and pencil a new piece of paper is unlimited potential and should be treated as such as precious metal, for the value of a sheet of paper, that has weathered times river and avoided the shredder, is priceless when you consider that the information is never going to be less than what it was when written. So in conclusion I leave you with this note - if paper has the potential to change the world by being itself, what's stopping you?
My style is different, called a lecture by a few,
but I do this when conveying a message,
that I would like to leave with you.
A mental tattoo to keep with you,
usually outlined by a few words so you don't forget the message,
because my mission here is to help a few,
I just only do so in passing.
So let my voice be the needle to my colorful words,
and the canvas for the ink is your mind,
So as I travel through this world,
a colorful mindscape in my wake,
is what I will leave behind.
I am a luftmensch progeny, with riches no mortal can steal from me. Contemplation of existence has declassified reality, and nimble thoughts enable avoidance of gravity, that crushes others into lives of square conformity, while my mind climbs through the corydali realms of eternity. Home to Angels, Demons, Spirits and a choir singing "Holy Holy". Where the currency is wisdom and the closest thing to poverty is the student whose mind has yet to wrap itself into infinity, see, the contrast against our material infirmity is crushing when the baseline is Gucci, bling, sub-prime mortgages, and mini-bars raided during extramarital flings, versus universal direction and lessons so pure they are beyond chlorhexidine clean. That’s why so much effort is put into making us pay attention to, anything that will distract us from what is true, that being the real you that's buried under layers of grief, greed, and an identity built to fit in with those you value. All of it temporary, most of it sedentary, but with an open mind it all becomes elementary, and avenues of higher learning can get us out of the torturing. We just have to get up when our alarms start ringing. Hard to do though when the bed we made is so warm and comforting, but when you finally get tired of sleeping through suffering, and want to know why everything amounts to nothing, just get up and answer the door that's been knocking, to join the rest of the class, because on you they are waiting.
I see you, vibrant, beneath all your layers, there, clear
All you are, buried by the shroud you hide behind, scared, clear
Where is the relief, no way out, save a breath, the journey is long
The climb out seems pointless, nothing but water everywhere, clear
Her, not the one who held my corpse as they died a little together
Screaming silently beneath a smile, in a pitch she couldn't hear, clear
Lost in the dark, crying for you, Ruler, clad in kingdom, misery's consort
Waiting to be returned to a state clad by the sky, free of here, clear
A frog jumps lilies
Flies overhead are buzzing
A meal to consume
My humble nature
Is a result of long gone
And unwanted pain