Monday, January 25, 2010

Night my love

Night is dark and sometimes scary
       if it weren't for the vast voids starry.
Night is deep and intelligent
       with her wisdom, reticent.
Night is slumberous
        for some, but mostly wondrous.
Night is awake
        for the predators comes to prey.
Night is calm and peaceful
        when safe and comfortable.
Night is cold
         when in fear of danger.

The Night is not light, and when
I rest she rests with me, when
I wake she lays in me, for
the day is bright, and
I only love the night, so when
the sun shines my heart is dark with Night
and I move solemnly and slumberous, but
they say my eyes shine - that's her stars.
And her moon helps me see in different shades
And when sun sets - like happiness -
 Night pours out and she surrounds me.


If I were invisible, I wouldn't maneuver through people,
I wouldn't search for whispered treasures
I wouldn't peep on beauty, or protect the innocent
I wouldn't scare the bold, nor aid the old
I wouldn't hop on a plane or train
I wouldn't dance in the rain
I wouldn't steal and be a thief

I wouldn't wish for visibility

I would sit on a comfortable grassy knoll
and watch, while I grow old, the young and the bold
the old and the rich, the girls who cry, and the
ones who smile, and the ones who cry inside, the boys
turn to men and back again, the poor aid the rich, the
rich become poor and rich once more
the blind aid the deaf, and life fade to death

I would love myself, for being adamant, I would love
the knoll that holds my grave, I would love the flower that grows
in between my toes, I would
love the wind as the other pea in my pod,
But for all evils or goods I was supposed to do, i could not
love god.

As a child, for now

As a child, I often believed the supernatural natural,
                and the people who ruled, gods and demigods.
 As a child, I could only see with my eyes,
                and the images that it held flee with memory.
 As a child, I could only feel with my hands,

                and the texture of skin to sand forgotten.
 As a child, the outdoors meant only playtime,
                and the trees that lay shade to me.
 As a child, I only heard with my ears,
                and storms and stories passed with their fears.
As a child, I only thought with my brain,
                and to lose that would be a shame.

Do we ever know, between sanity and insanity
Do we ever know, between good and bad
Do we ever know,between love and hate
Do we ever know,between life and death
Do we ever know if we are just dreaming?

For now - it all is as it was - to question, that is wrong ,
Because our sanity depends on supposed independence
and creativity that rattles our mind - the facts are overwhelming when
everyone agrees and on that everyone agrees.
Dare to disbelive and dare to be wrong
that is how you become strong
Dream in different shades of black and live a life untrue
- I do.

For now I believe the natural
             and god, my imaginary friend,
                           my sole salvation on you depends.
For now I see with public lenses,
              and the images sear my memory
                          until it becomes solely what I see.
For now I feel with calloused hands
              my work gives me everyday
                          until my son's skin feels like gravel and hay.
For now outdoors is for wars
              and those trees are no more,
                           than burnt hollow stumps.
For now I hear with fear
              and I block out all that is supposed evil
                            and thoughts of revolt turn to smoke.
For now I don't think
              and all I do routine and repetitive,
                            and my existence is belittled.

Sanity is collective Insanity
Good is bad on the other side of the magnifying glass
love is the hate of loneliness
death is life when not living

                              A dream is waking up,and living your other lives.                         

The Man

On an Island I stay ,alone in despaire
My love; mother, wife and friend
The bearer of a child unborn, my own heart and soul
Through trials, tribulations and poverty  -she stood by me
I took her entity, relieved her body of her soul
In a moment of jealousy I thought her fleeing
And I'm no fool and know, that free will by force
cannot be controlled or induced,
And the Island, my mind, plagued with deep holes
With every step a new memory unfolds

That knife, that knife that took her life
That knife that I stabbed in her heart

       That knife that stabbed her belly, my heart
That knife that once I admired for its jewels
That knife now lays protruding from my soul

That knife, this night I choose to end my life

As I watch the profusion, I ponder in confusion

The ruby of passion turned to blood

The solid black handle fade to gray
The gold gilded blade,chipped away
revealing that all that glitters is not gold, and if it is
look beyond to a story yet untold

Divine Dream

What is it to dream?
My subconscious free
Through white lilacs and atop a green grassy knoll.
I watch the blue sea mirror
As the sun shines heavily; not upon me but the sea.
And over the horizon, I see before I hear
Soul's laying atop their wooden vessel:
The fair maidens,the brothers, the early grasped children,
The souls too heavy with sin sink the canoe,
But those ,fair and true, the sea sweeps solemnly .
As they approach I see the maidens fair,
Gold, black, brown and red hair, tied by a tiara, shed
Of clouds purely white. In their hands lay bouquets
Of flowers symbolizing what of theirs they left to heirs.
The woman in front a sole rose for the sole son she left behind,
The next, three camellias of white for three pure souls.
her son, her daughter and one she claimed her own.
A man behind her, before he sank, the shine of a dagger
he wore, he took life from his wife and the child she bore.
As their numbers slimmed, they approached the shore.
The incoming dead, atop their wooden canoes

harbor into heaven and wake for the first time

Monday, January 18, 2010

Song of innocence - Father to Son - in the style of Blake

Little child, who made thee
Dost though know who made thee?
Gave thee a mind, and a great soul
Made your entity whole,
Gave thee laughter so bright
Lit your soft inner light
Gave thee such a feeble heart
You must know it is only a body part.

For your heart and my own,
Have a bond stronger than stone.
I don’t know who really made thee
But mine you must always be
For your face will come to resemble
As your characteristics assemble
Your father, the reason I’m proud
The reason I say your name out loud
Little child, who made thee
Dost though know who made thee?

Song of experience - in the style of Blake

Butterfly! Butterfly! Sitting silently
Located in a cave so tactfully
What impeccable eye sight
Could ever see you without light?

In what cold dark tomb
Where you pushed out of your womb?
On what rock do you perch
How long for you must I search?

And what evil, and what sin
Has destroyed your identical twin?
And when thy wings beat,
What empty hearts will it replete?

What beast has thrown you,
Into a land so untrue?
Did he shout and pout
When he realized that you are devout?

Butterfly! Butterfly! Sitting silently
Located in a cave so tactfully
What impeccable eye sight
Could ever see you without light?