Where is the line?

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 Where is the line?

When does fighting for your dream

become a self-defeating quest?

When do obstacles become signs

intended for you to regard,

when is it merely

a test of determination.

Would the end be the same,

whether forced or allowed to flow

to its fated conclusion?

Would it differ?

Other than the acquisition of a shadowing darkness,

the consequence of possession,

other than having stolen the pleasure gifted,

for you to’ve derived from it, given time?

?

Rules Time Forgot

 

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It’s taken half a century for me to realise
not all my questions will be answered,
the one thing I need to know, I never will.

 I realise there’s no triumph to a righteous quest,
no gratification from nurturing an empty soul,
why do I still carve a path
towards the dream I’ve tasted on my tongue,
when heaven does not exist?

 We inhabit a prison, live by written rules
time should’ve stolen long ago.
Rules that break us, brings turmoil and disorder,
incites disparity and glorifies violence,
because no sane mind could’ve conceived
such a twisted experiment of degeneration,
watching fools live each day with derision, with contempt,
their minds disintegrating from frustration and futility,
seeking senseless oblivion at the end of the shifting sun…

 There is no freedom, there is no way out,
this is what it is, it is hell.
 

The Winter Solstice is upon us...

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It’s fast, tears through my consciousness, alive with life and fire,

faster, a blur of colours, shapes, smells, the molten mass of disjointed realities,

faster still until suddenly, everything halts,

suspended, the fog lifts, the ends materialise,

awareness free from the drivel

collected at the wayside of my mind,

and tranquility sinks in,

the quiet I’ve been seeking,

the peace I’ve been craving,

the relief that was dire

to diffuse the implosion of my self

into the midnight ice of the winter solstice…

Sanctify me

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 I generally know what I must do, rarely the reason why, I have acted in ways inexplicable, thought my truth to be a lie,

 I count on luck to hold my hand, know my brakes always kick in, take impulsively with confidence as you’d note in book with pen,

 which is why I long for darkness as you long for the coming dawn, ‘cause daylight sees me sinning, to the sanctifying night I was born.

I don't belong

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 I don’t belong,
always the outsider.
I prefer it that way.
What people don’t know about you,
they can’t hurt you with.
 

2.

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2.

A weak sun passes behind a film of indistinction,

rich velvet licks a red sheen across your skin,

brushes your back with every move I make.

A darkness descends, black clouds lash out,

I feel your deep’ning need by the grip upon my hips,

resounding thunder marks the moment sight implodes into your kiss.

3.

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3.

Tell me how you are.

Tell me who you are after 5 and on weekends,

tell me about the mask you choose to wear,

tell me about your fears and fantasies,

what keeps you standing when the world is falling,

what do you think is the purpose behind all this,

where is your light when there is no moon,

where is your love with the gun in your hand

To-Day

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It was meant to be today,

I was meant to re-connect

with a spirit, a part I had lost,

to strike me with its

long awaited answers,

fed to me

whisper by sweet whisper,

a breath, a word,

permeating my being

so I may taste the exposure

of all that was lost,

and all that is,

should I invade you too.