Thursday, August 19, 2010

Caradoc's Play

Only a little at the time, quaint amounts, because it's loose, seething into pockets of my syrup ear, inhaling all of space around me while something lucid is lifting me. Strings noodle my demons around their neck and the notes are prettier than me, prettier than their graves, leaving a bad day at that, breeding today's plans in a flat minor, making me smile a little at the very time..

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Pain is a poet

Pain is a poet
with sweat and regret
with untainted doubts
on voluptuous clouds
over a burning crown
feeding a stubborn frown
above led-heavy lids
stinging liquid streets
in time-chiseled grooves
lip biting moves
and breath holding void
exquisitely paranoid
as wisdom's bodyguards
chomp the flaky yards
of sweat and regret
pain is a poet
with a fate no better
than a lucky dead letter

mediocre sore

Help, help, boredom!
So, so busy!
joyless pace
fickle days
ratracing dizzy.

Oh no, schedule!
So, so sleepy!
Early nights
inner fights
mornings creepy.

Sweet external bliss
bigger better more
so, so pretty
kids, dog and kitty
mediocre sore.


Silent thoughts in fury
overwhelming signs of light
hidden underneath the pain
of loss
not found in the first place
never chanced to find
angry mind
why getting told to hold
the love to float
to its destination
sinned a lot with grace
devoted in despair
lonely leaving wishes in the air
shall not swim in apathy
shall not think aloud
in what do we trust
not the flowers of words
let's feed life with now
and maybe arrivals of fate
to let the fury
change its ugly face

Mind Over Matter

Mind over matter
a force so strong
more than known
all along
like  the power of a song
seemingly hidden, yet leading
the notion of being
constantly feeding 
the rhythm of life