They stood there at the God Tree, listening to all the creatures in the world. They wished to be renewed, in the hope of reliving their lives, reliving their lies, refusing the cries, of loved ones and the lost guns of old tongues. The wished for one last run, through the old cities of rusted lungs and broken sons. We live and die over and over again in the memories of tomorrow. We love and cry over things that are irreversible, run to the sky when we are irredeemable. Turn to one another and look inside, yourselves, for answers that can only delve, in the blue darkness of pretty eyes, and solemn cries….for help, as we die, and meld….into why.

The Sun of Man

i am faced with a question
to know the answer is bliss
and it would mean death in all its forms
in all its darkened glory
ignorance has paid the price for its flaws
and its own short story
the taint of not knowing where
or why we form in this sphere
the questions that run through our lives
the reasons for our cosmic insurrection
why not?
who claims dominion over our souls
and the mighty Universe
sunless and soulless we would be
were it not for these entities
battling eternity for our very lives
for the thoughts that make us
for the words that shape us
a circle imperfect
in the black moondust of our eyes
and the reason for this world
the desperate fight for purpose
is just what we’ve always known
all that we could ever own
our selfish lonely selves
the angels with their digital wings
shake hands with demons
and their surrealist rings
all that we are
is all that we’ll ever be
and all that i am
is all that you’ll ever see

Self Portrait

I’ve lived through the fires at the mountain top crest
wrestling with words that flow freely from the nest of duress
they’ve broken free, hurtling at lightning breakneck snail-fed speeds across the living room
floor it and kill it so the corners can ignore it and we’ll be free to reform
it is the word that breaks you and makes you, it is the words that you often mistake
for a world that loves you and hates you, it is instead the world that relates to you
and the worst part of it is it always imitates you
your offspring underestimates the powers that be
in this tainted strange and the age of revolutionary freight in the form
of trains and carriage houses in the cafes and your broken crates
all of them words to cremate in the great blue suns of that far off world
all meaningless and meandering in the great scheme of all things
a mistake in the great blue drops of the ocean’s fate
you create what you want in this world of kill or imitate
thy will be done as it is in that own personal heavenly sent hell
a vocal precipitate that neither understands nor believes in your drug fuelled
date and live on in a world that knows your pain, but cares not for your fragility frame
replace that sphere that you respect and hold so dear for time has come to split you up
to hold the cup as you sip the adverts up and talk some more about
that day at work, that way you walk around beaming in your new frock
and all its muck
you’re stuck
no longer can you, will you, please do
run for the hills as the garden gnomes of your belligerence
run amuck