Stardust In Our Blood

We idolize and fantasize about celebrities and cars.
We dream of, one day, being them and shooting for the stars.
When we're young, there's no such thing as a body of potential,
because we have no limits, we're unstoppable, immortal.

Our senses are bombarded at every single turn,
eyes blinded by the lights for which we are taught to yearn.
We are deafened and lose touch as we take in reality.
But the fact of the matter is what is what is nought but dreams.

What is in fact a fact, the real reality,
is unknown now to most, just a barren wadi.
What is important, the core of truth, can still be found if sought.
It is more and less than currency, something riches never bought.

The fact is, there is no point in reaching for the stars,
for the blood that runs through our veins came from the heavens afar.
This is not a cause to do nothing to aid in our progression,
but to realise that your blood is the worthiest possession.

Damn the Valley

How we are deceived

by the innocent,

by those who never knew,

by the ignorant. 

It makes you wonder

if it is ignorance at all?

How could the obvious

be so small?

It's been some time since

this feeling, or lack of,

has punctured my heart,

my hopes, my dove. 

Days and weeks of

letting go and holding on. 

Months, a year of falling into

a pair of nowhere arms. 

My light is gone, at least

not in the angel I once saw. 

But damn the valley,

to the mountain peak I claw

to try and find the lost

light once more. 

That light is the reason

for life, for less, for all.

The World in a Window

A window is simply
a singular view;
a sole perception of
the face of the world.
Ignorance to the
actuality can lead us
to make wrong or
terrible choices.
Yet what choice
do we have, but
to choose those choices
according to the window?
In the end,
we are all blind.
The faults of the world
are our own.

Manly Conversation

We talk and we talk,
and we drink and we drink,
of manly things
despite what we think.

I try to bring in
emotional talk,
but the chance of that
is like I would walk.

Finally we reach
my territory,
after talking of never
could-be queens,

but even this is
simply childish;
it's a new and strange world
to join that I wish.

A Lesson On Love; or why my heart hurts.

Love is a complex thing, made of
time, growth, and experiences.
They can not be spoken of independently,
but such is the lesson today.

Time

Many have seen my writings of
an angel; she entered my life three
years ago to bring me
heaven and hell.

A seeming never ending saga began
in a chapel and a corridor. But I convinced myself of certain things
so that I would not fall.

Time goes on and so do I,
views change and so do I,
the world changes and so do I.
Time changes and my feelings glide

to new and unknowable, unthinkable
heights. I guess falling is not meant
for intention. So unintentionally,
unwittingly, uncontrollably, I fell.

Time has brought it's ups and downs,
created strange paths to hurt or
help the unsuspecting. Time has not
been kind, yet kinder than all.

Today is the feeling I had yesterday,
except more powerful than
tomorrow's could ever have
been conceived.

The problem with stopping 'now'
is that tomorrow will come. Destiny
can only be postponed for a
moment of forever.

Growth

When the angel first appeared, I
was a man (or boy?) of God. My,
how things have changed. Cynicism
and existentialism have lead my way

following a clarification on reality.
This moved me from faith to
confusion as my world fell down
beside me, a new world dawning.

Finally, a lesson was learnt on the
ability to find happiness with or
without and wherever you
happened to be. What a truth!

Faith and hope were gone to be
replaced by questions and laughter.
Friends were made and a light
rekindled; a love grown.

We understood each other more
with the absence of invisible beings.
We could speak of joyous things
with the absence of invisible beings.

Yet some things did not change;
I am unsure whether my hand
reaches for nothing, or if we are
passing lights on an empty road.

Whichever we were,
whatever we are,
our paths have still not crossed
and nothing has changed.

Experiences

And yet how everything changes
in the dream of a solitary night. Well,
let us begin at the fore before the
dream of that solitary night.

It's never been more than casual conversation,
that's fine by me. At first it was
nothing more than a chat in a corridor,
while she mistakenly pulled my heartstrings.

It was followed by unmet invitations
(why did I not make the most of chance?!),
and invisible, technological,
empty conversations.

Finally, we meet again amidst a time
of social emptiness on my part. Oh,
the joy that she brought to a
lifeless, broken heart.

We would meet again, and the
New Year was not as terrible as
it could have been. Talking and
wanting and cliches coming true.

Things slowed down, but my feelings
did not. I would wait, look forward to
the meetings of tomorrow, the times
to see and talk and hope.

Daydreams would pass my way
and stories would fill my mind.
But I still yet wait for reality
to catch up with my dreams.

The Dream Of The Solitary Night

I was with my former contemporaries
discussing religion and politics,
apparently it was wrong to form
opinion not dictated by men in suits.

I looked outside to see a field filled
with more of those formers, and I
knew that she must be among them.
I searched and I searched;

my subconscious was on my side.
Her glowing hair, her glowing smile,
she was there in full form as only
she could be, at least to me.

My mother briefly enters and
mutters something (I wonder what
Freud would say?), but disappears
to leave us to our happiness.

I'm about to quote someone in my
usual pretentious way, when she
says to me, "I'm going to lean in
and kiss you now."

And she did.

It was amazing and perfect and
more than I could have dreamed.
I forgot my words when forever
broke, and she left with my heart again.

But it was a dream, just a dream.
My subconscious torturing me yet
again. I don't know what to do now,
but I hope for yesterday's dream tonight.

Parking Lot Ballads

What a voice! The tender
innocence (or is it ignorance?)
that caresses the moonlit
fire in the parking lot.
Generic OMG's and totally's
while trying to fit in with a
generic crowd of small brains,
big egos and testosterone.

Guitars and Dalmatians playing
to uninterested wheels under
the supermarket lights; there is no
audience but I.
Not the best, but better than
he's placed. I guess this is the way it
goes: money and geography
determining wealth and worth.

Filling in the Spaces of Heartbreak

There was a time when it
felt as though every cliche
came true. All lovey dovey;
complete feelings amidst an abyss.
I thought it was everything I wanted,
thought a shape was wrong and
meaningless. Now, I don't know…
Character? Intelligence? Physical
beauty? I thought it was all there?
Maybe I was wrong; maybe there
was nothing special except for all
that was special. Was it not?

What it was, what it wasn't; I can't
figure it out, I can't try to begin to.
It's been a knowledge of some time
that I must release, but this is one area
where the heart is more powerful
(or whatever chemicals they may
be), and it's been periods of triumph
and trauma. I think I now know what
heartbreak is, at least on some small
level. It is a crack, one that will
be there forever more. But, such a
cliche, maybe time heals everything…

Fools and Kings

Where were you when you heard the news?
Were you watching Fox or CNN?
Making love with the one you adored?
Or was the cruciality something you ignored?

Well I was at the Ferguson,
a strange mix of foreign politics and friends,
when I heard the king yet still reigned.
Hope yet remains while the king remains.

A Picture Causes A Thousand Pains

I'm told I deserve it, happiness
and misery. But it simply
cannot happen. Technology,
geography, people and
imperfections in the way.
We know each other
better than ourselves,
and yet you remain a
mystery. Every cliche
you've ever heard is exactly
what you mean to me; the
cruelest being that all I want
is what I cannot have.