Die

Would you like it when a thousand knives
Invade your dull, colourless, tasteless lives?
What would you know of pleasures
Hidden in passion or longing?
You who live in search of meaning
Without knowing what you seek
You make a pantomime
Out of a tragedy
And end up living out
A role in the eternal comedy.
Fools die.

Why do we live?

We are the air
We are the sound
Inside our minds
We live a thousand lives
And die a million times
Chasing our dreams
We forget it is the dream
And not the chase
That we are seeking

Inside our minds
We seek the light
Of a smile
From ourselves
Yet we run away
And die often
Before we face
What we fear the most
In ourselves
Is ourself
Self
But we are the sound
And the air
Self

Boredom

I feel bogged down
Among the swamps
Of controlled orderly thought
Is it age that drives me?
Or conformity that guides me?
Or the chaos of boredom
Disordered and bereft of reason
To be bored is to have ONE line
Of thought defined
To be bored is to know nothing
But an eternal gnawing
Inside the mind
To be bored is to see
With jaundice-ridden eyes
The bitter pain of living
With a limited body
Housing a limitless mind
To be bored is to die
A thousand deaths
To live and yet not
To see and yet not
To question the relevance
Of each breath taken
To lie asleep and hope
Never to awaken
To be bored is death

Sea of the Living

Bumping and tumbling
To the rhythm on deck
As we swing and sway
To the rhythm of the Sea
Salty are my eyes
Swept by the wind
That blows towards virgin lands
And from stale shores left behind
A shooting star races the rain down
As I make a wish to see ahead
We all go forward and look behind
And hear tales carried
By the sweet breeze laden
With the moisture of the Sea
The winds are blowing
And the waves are flowing
As the Sea carries me on
Away from the lands
Where I began and now
 To them we are gone
And we have moved on
To other lands and distant shores
Only the wind runs to and fro
As it sees stories embedded
In the foaming waves carried on
Yet to those left behind
And to those who await alike
We are gone
And we have moved on
Or they are gone....

Out of sight is out of mind...

Atheists Lament

It would be so easy
To just believe
In tales of immortals
Of men who are giants
And of beauties beyond skin
I would give my life to see
Something beyond the grip
Of cold man-made reason
And find that life is more
Than mere flesh and bones
And to discover the spirit within

Memories

This is how I've always perceived memories.

A room to curl up in away from the noise
Streets you walk in times of emptiness
When all seems bleak, empty or merely devoid
Of any colour cadence or illumination
I walk streets seen years before
I jump for joy on tiles I stepped as a child
I walk in the mountains and sit by the sea-shore
Inside my mind it is vivid
It is bright
Full of light
And with it darkness made
A  tapestry of checquered shades
It is recovery
Sometimes it is the malady
Yet even memories of rain
Ease the sunshine into ones being.

I know I know, it's bad, but at least it's something. After this horrible dry spell, it's all I've got... cheers

Ramblings

Endless ladders
Knots and threads
And more is the confusion
It is chaotic
It feels right
A tangle of THINGS
Of whats and what-nots
And wheres and whens and hows
The seeker ascends
The endless ladder
Leading to the ultimate destination
The place where it began
Before there was an aim
There was
IT.
And after the end has ended
It shall be
As it was
As it should have been
And was not yet is
Before the beginning
Is there chaos?
Or what is order then?