For My Children

Where's revolution start?
It begins in your heart,
With the realization that you are free,
The same feeling as art,

Then you look around for similar eyes,
Glowing, that understand,
Each individual has just one chance,
To express their unique type of human,

In such an honest way to speak to all,
Who're open to the truth,
That true freedom needs soul and socie'ty,
Living under one roof,

Example f'all,
Not selfish or selfless,
But a marriage ensuring love for all,
For my children, this is for which I wish.

Time For Revolution

Want a revolution?
Well, it is hard to plan,
Mostly you have to be prepared to act,
As does ev'ry human,

Moved by the injustice of the system,
Real, but still hard to see,
How do you fight against all that you've known,
When there's no examples from history?

You have to believe you're not free to be,
With others screaming, 'yes'!
There's no system where everyone's happy,
But for sure, more than less.

Is that the case?
Is it time for a change?
'Til satisfaction hits an all-time low,
We'll never know the limit of that range.

Alone

Sitting in underwear,
Slight tremor on the side,
Planes, boats, cars all equidistant from me,
Still, far enough to hide,

This is a moment outside of real life,
Where others still exist,
You can't escape into yourself out there,
The way my mother did at the hospice,

When I asked her how she was feeling, then,
She said she's letting go,
Of the world, her husband and children, too,
TMI? I don't know.

I read to her,
A book called The Dinner,
'Til she silently waved for me to stop,
I laughed the last laugh of the remainer.

Dreams

This plane is very full,
But not as I had dreamt,
When I was near the back contemplating,
There's no overhead vent,

Instead there was no roof where I had sat,
Just clouds in a blue sky,
We were plummeting down towards the earth,
Random thoughts in my head just floating by,

But none of them were about what I'd done,
Life isn't about that,
It's about contemplation on the fact,
That you can ne'er look back.

Only ahead,
To where you're heading to,
E'en if it's to watch the fast moving ground,
Waiting to receive and decompose you.

Good Morning

There's so much suffering,
Is that the point of life?
Some have proposed that it is in fact that,
So learn to enjoy strife,

It is not that difficult to achieve,
The material's there,
Just ignore the things that tempt happiness,
For that illusion is meant to impair,

To insulate you from your true feelings,
That smile's only a mask,
Anyone'll tell you the way that it is,
You only have to ask,

It's all a sham,
Whether happy or sad,
Those are just words deficient to the task,
Of expressing the exper'ence you've had.

Surroundings

The red's faded to black,
The pain is still the same,
Somewhere there's honey that's sweeter than this,
I can't recall the name,

Bitterness stains my mouth like acrid waste,
P'haps a forever thing,
Until this body decays to the ground,
And its actions only a memory,

A door has been shut tight against entry,
Legs sleeping anyway,
If the sun stays in the sky long enough,
I may get out today,

Into the world,
At least what's left of it,
After the destruction of so much love,
Outside's rough when there's nothing to covet.

The Gash

Blood's pouring from my hand,
Well, 'pouring's not quite right,
The cut is so, that what will come will come,
Like rainfall in a blight,

It quickly seeps into the dry, bare earth,
Like it was never there,
Except for those few minutes when it's dark,
Here red, around the jagged, whitish tear.

I could clean it now, and bandage it up,
Pretend it never was,
But what of the act that led to this wound?
That should never be lost,

That will e'er be,
A lesson from the past,
So that I can weigh the consequences,
Should the act's rewards supersede the gash.

Working Up

What is this world's power?
It can stop you from things,
That should just be a matter of one's course,
A natural extension of living.

Why should one moment be wasted wond'ring,
What the fallout will be,
Of attempting to achieve what you want,
It all still seems a bit childish to me,

Which you may think is childish in itself,
Dreams of a naive youth,
P'haps one needs to relive these thoughts each time,
So impulses are soothed,

Decisions made,
Thoughtfully, truth inside,
Growing up's not about what's expected,
But making sure what you do's bonafide.

Is The Rain Falling?

He ended up on top,
By publishing his flaws,
Details from moments buried in the past,
Stretching liter'ture's laws,

Still, there was a confidence in his shame,
Sure of what he wanted,
Naturally retreating to the pen,
When his deficiencies were most flaunted.

Two chairs in the wind? Does that say it all?
It's something to unpack,
But, it is the simplest that most attracts,
Born of an innate knack,

Depth where there's none,
That's the most open text,
The one who gets drunk until he blacks out,
He who cums, miles from arriving at sex.

Not Free

How dare you look at me,
Stuffing your lazy maw,
You see me everyday and still forget.
A small taste of your flaws,

Ne'er before have my shoulders felt so tense,
With you behind so close,
Pretending to look at everything but,
What it is I do each day. You are gross.

Is that a mug to your lips or a cam'ra?
You have someone to call?
Don't look at my fingers counting syll'bles,
I'm not writing The Fall,

I'm killing you,
Or trying with my mind,
Still, I stopped perusing my profile page,
So you wouldn't think I'm wasting my time.

Onto The Next

It's finally finished,
It is true what they say,
That things seem like shit when you're done with them,
You want to slay and flay,

Chop into pieces and grind up like meat,
Encase in intestines,
Put on the queue, veg'tarian or not,
Just mask the carnage with glasses of wine,

Soon it will come out from the other end,
Decay into the ground,
Then p'haps you can be proud of it again,
Until the flushing sound,

Then onto new,
'Finish' wasn't your goal,
It's the process that should motivate you,
That's the whole point and nature of the soul.

In A Hole In The Wall

This bar counter is smooth,

Clear coat over long grains,

Chipped and dirty wainscoting beside me,

They may's well be the same,

If the lights weren't down you'd see it all,

The dust bunnies on wires,

Into junction boxes that lead nowhere,

Liquor lined up lighted colors like fires,

Eve'ry drink muting remaining contrasts,

Blurs of bats, copper pans,

Old, torn ads for long forgotten products,

Wait, that's next Friday's band,

Then I see me,

In the tap's manifold,

Stretched out, squished, barely recognizable,

Appears I'm in the right place, when all's told. 

Good-bye Whisker

I have no sympathy,
For that lone shorn whisker,
Hewn down with its thousands of brothers,
Can't say that I'll miss her,

Could I have told her apart 'mong the throngs,
As they fell down so far,
Enveloped in drops destined for the drain,
Or embedded stubbornly in the bar?

Would she still be the same apart from me,
In some box on a shelf,
Alone when she should be part of a beard?
Could she have any self?

If alive, yes,
Alive, we all have hope,
If she changed her def'nition of alive,
She could thrive in that box than simply cope.

Eyes of a Child

There is peace with a child,
When all around's chaos,
Like her, you can ignore the world around,
From where to which you crossed,

Everything becomes a show to observe,
Nothing to do with you,
All you care about's within an arm's length,
History so short, there's nothing to rue,

Just the beat of music, your bouncing rump,
Happiness all around,
A face that is silly only out there,
Here, no need to expound,

What is just is,
There is no tomorrow,
Not 'nough history for embarrassment,
Or expectations to make you feel low.

One Day

Hello, nice to meet you,
Fancy meeting you here,
When my life, until now, was quite content,
'Cept meeting other peers,

Chances are we will never talk again,
Both relief and a shame,
Of all the things I could be doing now,
For this diversion I've myself to blame,

But, value can be found surprisingly,
You didn't know you'd need,
Life is so short, it is no mean feat,
Deciding the good deed,

Turns out you were,
For reasons need not said,
You're out there hidden but part of my life,
P'haps wishing it'd be better I were dead.

If Only

It's easy to be sad,
Looking at a fast car,
Or those with cash they can afford to lose,
Or your half-full change jar,

Then you comfort yourself with those who're worse,
Who're sleeping on the streets,
Or growing up amid violence and fear,
'Round the corner, not just the Middle East,

So you wonder if the point's to be glad,
That you are not worse off,
Or should you be indignant others thrive,
You below, they aloft?

Or live right now?
Acknowledge lives differ.
Somehow I feel we'd focus on real truth,
If we lived in a more equal structure.

Waking Up

D'you remember your dreams?
No, Not talking 'bout those ones,
The ones that seem so real when you're in them,
Such hard recollections,

When just everything seems possible,
Magical, unreal,
Even flying is within your powers,
When not even pain is something you feel,

They're still there in the jungles of your mind,
Where you've hidden them deep,
Protecting them from your disb'lieving mind,
Yet still wanting to keep,

Because they're real,
Realer than you can know,
Until one day you can make them come true,
Will they then still actu'lly be dreams? No.

Hungry

Nothing's e'er what you want,
That'd be a perfect world,
You know, where what you imagine comes true,
As if the earth's your pearl,

Which it is, right? That is what they told you,
'Fore you were all grown up,
Then all you could do was say the same thing,
When approached by enthusiastic pups,

Not that you have no control o'er your life,
There're lots of examples,
Of those who've broken the mold given them,
You may be a sample,

But there are few,
That's what structure demands,
The universe cannot be different,
And few feel they have been dealt a fair hand.

"So Good To See You"

"What have you been doing?"
"Where have you been, lately?"
"I'm very interested in your goals"
"Where will your tales take me?"

"If you knew truly where I've actu'lly been,
"I'm not sure what you'd do,
"There are things that should ne'er be related,
"For it would misrepresent me and you,"

"If it can be thought, then it is human,
"Isn't that what you said?"
"There should be no fear of what's in your mind,
"If that's the path you've laid."

"War is what's hid,"
"Isn't peace what you want?"
"P'haps it's enough to know there's the unseen,
"It is because you pried that we have fought."

Do You Believe?

I asked mom for a sign,
By the way, she is dead,
To tell me that I had done the right thing,
Despite what had been said,

Lilliana was her name when alive,
A short few months ago,
More spirit than flesh, if anyone is,
E'en dad believes she may be a ghost,

A little later I went to buy shoes,
It wasn't my plan, y'see,
But circumstances led me to Winner's,
For I had soaking feet,

The shoes I found,
Had no price sticker, yet,
A half hour after I  asked for that sign,
The cashier called, "Lilliana, price check".