Cycle

I can say

The air is heavy
is it snow, or is it rain?

I can say

My lids are closing
though awake I must remain

I can say

A thousand things
that have all been said before

And still you will not know
how long I’ve paced the –

—-

I can tell

You that I love the sun
but sleep throughout the day

I can tell

My mother that I’m home
but then again I’ll stray

I can tell

A teacher I’ve worked hard
but, of course, I never touched my pen

And still you will not know
how many prayers I’ve prayed: Ah –

—-

I may lie

Down on my bedroom floor
having torn off all the sheets

I may lie

Or run or skip or jump
Through cold and empty streets

I may lie

Alone at night, sleeping
with a forked and bitter tongue

And still I’d feel the distant pain:
words unheard still –

—-

I well know

The suffering in the hearts of men
for long I’ve felt the blows.

I well know

The taste of bloody words
that come from mouths of foes.

I well know

How you long to devote
your soul to keeping quiet

But I don’t know, nor ever will
how to quell the –

—-

Here he comes

Mean hearts have stung
this lonely man who walks at night

Here he comes

Under starry skies
under cloud and through moonlight

Here he comes

Through tree and bush
over ocean, river, levee

And still he doesn’t know
How his heart could feel so –

—-

I have seen

How broken hearts can riot
and how they can also just give up

I have seen

This broken man who slanders
so he may drink from loving cup

I have seen

All my own failures, have tasted my
regret, and from these I cannot run.

Because of this I cannot know
the simple pleasure of day’s –

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3 parts 

I

As the sun sets, my sorrow grows,
The lights are dim, and the television screens pointless shows

Aladdin’s lamp is the only one I’d currently light,
I could use a wish, and there’s no prediction for shooting stars tonight

II

I hate it here: the place is filled with princesses.

And a sorrow blooms in my chest.
My heart is heavy, and my head is light.

But whether I’m in love, or I’m surfing a nicotine buzz is unknown

As I breathe, smoke fills my lungs, and I feel a heaviness – a restriction in my chest –
so that I don’t feel light, but weighted.

And so my mind is.

Desire between snapping and murderous rage
at being dominated, controlled….
Or not caring….

… to not care would be a wonderful blessing.
And maybe I don’t?

My hand smells like cigarettes, and as I ball my fist,
I imagine smashing it into a face…or three.

But I hesitate – do I not want a world without violence?

So I hold my hand, and bite my tongue – so hard –
blood drips over my lips and down my chin.

There is no one to kiss away this pain. No deathly
grip or vice in which to hold and hang this thing

Held over me.

III

You are three parts, and still not whole.
I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole, now living like some sightless mole,
and walking over hellish burning coal so that I may play the role
of perfect person – never a troll – while I feel my withered soul
is draining away as if someone stole – without paying the toll –

My freedom; and my love: my heart.

Queen of Oz: Lacking

There are some things in life I lack
A heart, a brain, and courage – threefold
These things are important, that’s a fact
To love, to think, to be so bold

To think (if I could) that I had none
It burdened me so that I could not sleep
Mistakes had been made, life was not fun
To such an extent I had to weep

I can’t do this! I said to myself
A useless cycle, a waste of life
To put these problems high on the shelf
To sit around in an endless strife

These attributes began to haunt me
Day and night, awake and dreaming
I wanted to find these things and be set free
I wanted to stop the despair, the tears from streaming

So I remained awake a night to plan
A search, a journey, a quest
One I knew meant for no other man
But for me alone, it was my test.

To stop living in a waking death
To put my foot down and make a name
To be more than some tragic hero like Macbeth
I knew my fate was not going to be the same

A Queen of Oz I would become
But first to set forth on this voyage to collect
Courage, a brain, and a heart, so I did not succumb
To my errors, but rather, they correct.

A mission impossible for me it seemed
I had no armour, no shield for protection
I had to set out as my insides screamed
I couldn’t stand the chance to pause for reflection

Now while the idea was fresh in my mind
Good or not I hadn’t any thought
But without a doubt, change must be brought
A heart to find, and courage bind, and psyche to see and not be blind.

It’s time I believe, I really ought
To start the journey, let the fight be fought
For endurance, honour, love and thought
It’s time to give it all I’ve got.

It’s too cold

It’s cold outside, almost too cold to breathe.
The sun shines with an icy power which burns the naked skin.
Eyes water in the bright light which reflects off pavement and snow, and the tears turn to ice before they hit the ground.
This is the kind of cold which makes stone statues crumble and crack.
This is the kind of cold which penetrates coats and socks.
This is the kind of cold which matches your heart.
In reality, though, nothing could parallel that.
If you placed your heart outside in the snow, it may warm up a few degrees.
The cool of your love and the heat of passion never did mix well.  Your icy glare could smother any burning flame of fire.  You could fly too close to the burning sun with your icy waxen wings and they would not melt.
You must love days like this, days where the passionate find the air too cold to breathe; you must feel right at home.
This cold could not pierce your steel exterior,
Just as the flame of passion could not.