Don’t dream about it

Undulating on our way to the finish line

At docks with ships waiting for nothing

I pace

You starve

We figure eachother out

 

The difference between your cunningness and his naivety

Is that one thread that holds the soul intact

Had you an art for it, rather than a way to get away

With it

I wouldn’t have to spell it out for you

 

Portions, fractions, ratios

To stigmatize the dog for being restless

For the night to be too demanding, on the loaded, rolling on it

Find a better way to say it, man. What does you in?

 

Do you, buddy.

Kindle on the flame that remains pure

After burning off all that you look for, about, like firewood

Lay it to rest. Don’t think about it, don’t talk about it, don’t dream about it.

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Wakefulness

Crippled by this insensitive take on what surrounds
These surroundings

Have you ever been so close? Parted the biscuit symmetrically, only for it to be submerged in coffee that is meant to be just THAT, detached from the tips of your fingers

The sea of your worries, the foam bubbling, trouble lurking

For a way in

These attires

“Nearly had fucking everything!”


I am dribbling with the sanctity of life

Whirling in the wind that has befriended my weak condition

Only in my favour will it be, until I seek denounced salvation

Of the kind that requires of you wakefulness, piercing focus

The lack thereof, musings, deserving diversions

Had I known all my deviations would lead me back to You

I would’ve been a lot less fearful, of everything else

A handful of sand slipping, happily, serenity now

In all that falls in place

With Your remembrance.

Places in faces

IMG_20171124_001725“Do they not think that their words have weight?”

There has got to be a face that is read for what it is
Should time really account for innocence lost?

I mean, to lose that which you left behind in childhood and go back to it again, aware

God knows how much I’ve stored, meaningful in its meaningless description
And how much I’ve discarded, only to be met with it again, in another form

A feather in the stream
Trying to regain in flight what shed it

“The mysterious weakness of men’s faces”

“Smooth and smiling faces everywhere, but ruin in their eyes.”

Had I expression enough, to walk you through it

It’d feel like I’ve robbed you of His revelation

My bones shiver, my voice trembles, as this thought becomes concrete

Pale as dusk, disillusionment; two-fold

Subjective and objective truths

are not enough

Remember

All the remember whens, made a pact

Unspoken of. Somewhere, beside the ghost in you

the ghost of you

Filling the roundabouts in your way

As if, folding a page in half, cutting holes

Where the ink permeated most

To create a perfect mirror

Of our burdens, the hollow

Just being

Reaching common ground

As if to say; “hey, I do my thing, you do yours”

The rest, we can discard

It doesn’t matter.

 

Scarlet

A self-editing mechanism, mutually shredding a guitar

The blues of it, the itch, the ache in running sandpaper through infant skin

The different ways I come back to you, the same way you receive me

Too many humans, their vagueness a stream you drink from, time and again

The embezzler in you they think is rogue; you qualify as honest

What is dishonesty but honesty to few?

What is honesty but diplomacy to the masses?

I changed the day you looked at me odd when I picked the cherry with the longest stem

You thought it was a no-brainer I did so for the knot, just a tease, but I didn’t

At the time, the only thing with a knot was my tongue, yet, I wasn’t tongue-tied

Let me walk you through the irony of it…see…the deeper the roots of the stem, the kinder the juice to spill when you pull it out

‘cherries belong to the rose family’

The big five

The most economic, yet the deadliest

If you can’t kill the culprit, at least get your hands on his partner in crime

The brighter scarlet, the sour in tasteless sweet

An old encyclopedia you just dusted off, and put back on the shelf

After all, wasn’t there a dead rose in it? Ah, but its fragrance remains…