Moonshine

The moon hangs lazily on the horizon
Invisible strings attached to a distant star keep it in place
At the bottom of the deepest craters are puddles
Craters filled with lives to be lived
And, at night, when the world sleeps
I sit on the edges fishing
My soul attached to the hook as bait
Drawing in dreams in multiples
Life is more than a life lived
And I try to accumulate as many as possible
Broken down into pieces of magic
Some fuelled by laughter
Some fuelled by tears
But all the building blocks of my tomorrows

I apologise

We pledged a lifetime
Lay our souls before each other
And pledged them too

We sat that one summer's night
Lay our bodies beside each other
And spoke our truth
Combining a lifetime of dreams
Into a future of reality

No-one said it would be easy
No-one said we will always see eye-to-eye
But we submerged ourselves willingly

I'm sorry if I am not always what you want
I'm sorry that when you go left
I sometimes go right
But arrival at my destination shall only be complete
If I arrive with you

Thank you for allowing me
To touch the light that is you

I love you infinitely

Widow

Four years
Every four years we sit
Glued to the idiot box
Introverts divorced from reality
Spirits joined across countries
Across continents
Separated by untouchable loyalty

After four years
Did I forget to mention
In my wedding vows
Over dinner that one night
When I dropped and cracked my knee
On the hard concrete floor
And declared my undying life
Did I mention that the World Cup
Happens every four years
And for one month
Our marriage is in recess
Unless, of course,
You plan to watch with me

Remember
Conversation must be football related
And at half time
During the ad break
Before the expert analysis
And highlights of the first half

I love you, babe,
And plan to spend the rest of my life with you
Except for that one month
Every four years

Last ride

The leaves have reached the end
The blossom like roses
Reflecting reds, yellows
Greens fading into a rainbow of dance
Their stems grow week
Hanging on for as long as they can
Until they let go
The leaves glide gently in the winter's breeze
On their last ride to the burial grounds
Where they shall join their loved ones
The end comes to us all
But so do new beginnings
Spring is but a few months away
When we shall return as the generation
To begin the cycle again

Laughter

Tears dry up
Frowns fade
Somewhere
There's laughter

Head stuff

Some say I think too much
But all I have ever done is thought
Therefore I think
Thinking is a normal state
And limited thought is an abnormal thought
My head hurts

Past midnight

A king's ransom for the soul of thieves
The trenches are overflowing with muddy blood
The wicked witch is an illusion
Made real by tragedy
It's 3 past midnite
And we are on the verge of making the most significant discovery
The meaning of life is that there is no meaning
We live in repetition
History recycled
Events revised
Existence remixed
I am retiring to the streets
But only for summer nights
Freeing the physical of man-made luxuries is not made for winter
It's 5 past midnite
That's enough irrelevance for one nite

It

From behind the hills, it rises to greet me with callous hands and dust-flaked heart. It has long resigned itself to the arrival of rambling souls, such as myself, who seek dreams with its arms. What they forget is that we carry those illusions with us, nestled in the space between heartbeats. We do not merely find them, in line, on the street corner, waiting to be picked.

Dreamers dream everywhere, regardless of geographical location, social conditioning or simple state of mind. Dreamers battle with the physical manifestation of thought, yet continue to dance on distant clouds with the zeal of a child allowed in the sandpit for the very first time.

Internal monologues rarely find partners to dance with and dreamers find companionship fleetingly. Time is a commodity constantly fading and, with so much to do, dreamers are often mentally isolated willingly. They exist above and within, but never with.

Am I a dreamer? Do I carry fantasies in my backpack of future?

These are the thoughts that tickle me as I rush forward to embrace this city, as it rises, from behind southern hills, to greet me.

I have been here before... often .... I have explored its shadows, occassionally running through the tentacles of its many neon lights. We know each other but, today, it seems we meet for the first time. Our lips touch for a second and we both pull away. The awkwardness of this fresh encounter drains me. Although I am entering its core, I beg for a raincheck on a complete embrace.

Sometimes, most times, foreplay is silent. It begins in the darkness of our loins, inspired by the musings of our minds, and lingers. Actual coupling is the conclusion to an act that is about being in the moment.

I flee towards it, and away from it.... this city. This place of misguided dreams. This place of broken dreams. This place of hideous beauty.

This place I shall call 'home' one day.

Triangle & shadow

What to say
When all the words have been written
I stumble down a rocky path
The wind whispers madness
The sky blackens
Engulfing me in shadows
My tongue splits down the middle
Leaving me without speech
I mumble nothing
Muted by raindrops that burn my skin
I have scales
And my gills seek water
Though I can swim
So I stick my head into the puddles
They reflect my sadness
And my shadow speaks to me
It demands we take a different path
The answers to bermuda triangle
Are still cloaked in mystery
And I want to go round it
Rather safe than spinning
But my shadow insists we take the shortest route
And so we do
'I told you so' flashes through my mind
As I sink past the wreckages
Planes, boats, ships
They all lie at the bottom
But my shadow is no longer with me
I think he found a way out
And left me to drown in my misery

Can't trust anyone
These days