Dominion

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Sometimes the truth is too hard and brittle and must be snapped into pieces to become palatable and even still gets stuck in your teeth then your throat and cuts holes in you and it works its way through your system. Perhaps it was safer to keep it whole. But still, the corners were sharp. And how uneven was this truth shape? Where was the symmetry? You harboured such distant thoughts that were withheld for such a time until you felt it appropriate. Sin by omission but never dishonesty. I, however, ate the fruit and spat it out. I told you it wasn’t me, and I picked up the chewed rot off the forest floor, tried to feed it to you and convince you it was a balm to soothe your aching throat. It ached as though scratched raw with the words you refused to scream. How I longed for you to scream them. I told you a story that was true. And then a story that was not true. And yet, both were the truth, this smashed truth, pasted together with a shimmering glue that reflected unto us both the shiniest and best moments so that we did not notice the dirt in the grooves. I wanted happiness, but it was just out of reach. You had happiness in the moments that were not mine. You found it in the trees and the light and I tried to share it. But my piece was too big. You said: you can’t have that and eat it too. But that’s what I wanted. Was I selfish or were you ignorant? Was I ignorant or were you selfish? I will tell you a story that is true. I will tell you the story that is not true. I am a sadist, a masochist and seek the pain within existence if only to share it with another, such that misery loves company. I am whole and good and rejoice in the wondrous gains of others who have worked hard to display their glory. I am jealous. I am not envious. I wandered through willow branches and bead curtains until I came to the counter with the jars. There were so many jars. Which one do I choose? What does it contain? Pass me the one I am not allowed to have. I will drink to my purposeful demise. I will break until my pieces are contained in this vessel, and I will let you find the truth – if there is one.

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A Sickness

It started out so very great,
Then everything came down

A sickness spread across the skin
while mouth began to frown

A pinky hive, a greenish rash
a sickly hue my skin did take

A cry in night, last gasp for breath
and then my body began to shake

My fingernails unfurled to claws
they pierced my flaking hide

My parchment skin was peeling off
all hope within had withered, dried

My mouth began to fill with blood
my tongue was split in two

And from my throat there came a croak
that said nothing but, “imbue.”

The howl I no longer hear,
my ears are falling off my head

But hairs are rising on my neck
and suddenly fur begins to spread

My teeth they punctured both my lips
as I growl, slobber, drool

A haggard muzzle now in place
here to replace this soul: a ghoul.

Suddenly my thoughts are fuzzy
is it day or is it night?

I’m hungry for a something,
but my vision has took flight.

How can I make decisions
My mind is not attached

I dread the moment dearly
when my thoughts become mismatched

So everything is muddled,
my instincts drive my need

A low and steady rumble sounds
as my raspy throat concedes

The darkness is my friend
as the sickness takes control

Every bit of light within me
the good cannot console

I’m on all fours and crawling round
I tear down all the drapes

I shriek as sunlight hits my eyes
All the shadows take on awful shapes

The literature upon my shelves
is strewn across the floor

I care not for pretty things
annihilation is my chore

I won’t rest till all are dead
a meal for me to make

A haunting will pervade this town
as in each garden blooms a snake.

And so this is affliction
which all will recognize

– not some zombie-like disease,
nor a Halloween disguise –

But a call for much destruction
a cleansing to make new

My flesh is all on fire and
the last bit of good withdrew.

As this city burns and the buildings all come down,
I remember how the sickness began with hateful frown.

Half closed eyes

Heavy lids and half closed eyes
Hard to breathe with an absent mind
Everything slow, so why go fast
Quick to grab and built to last

Pressure points inducing thoughts of –
reminiscent of your thrust and –
bits of chocolate under tongue –
popped balloons, your punctured lung

The bang, the gasp, the fight for air
Mindless fog, hot-lidded stare
a push, a pull, the salty sweet
home-cooked meals are fun to eat

Tip-toe-tip, the sandman comes
turn down the lamp, the candles are on
a brush, a stroke, a tap, a kiss
Something that sounds like empty bliss

Knocks at the door, awakens you
and from your bed, you depart: fresh
Encounter rough carpet, rinse, repeat
Brush your teeth, smile, touch, hands, a feat.

Pack the bags under the bed
set by door and check the clock
There’s nothing to do but wait out the ride
the moon passes and returns the tide

Instead of queasy spinning whirlpool jets
a weighty blanket, cumbersome sunsets
snow settles on driveways, cars, road kill
Freezing touch, sight, smell, sense, thrill

The temperature is rising here,
like Satan’s breath is growing near
and lure into a fitful sleep
not knowing if these dreams will keep

Lest they reveal the broom won’t sweep
aside the dirt and grit from floors
that fucking, hard, won’t wipe away
the evil that has come to stay.

But, heavy lids and half-closed eyes
Sun-chapped lips and sun-kissed thighs
Cloudless days to sleepless nights
Yelling fits to silent fights

Amusement parks have swirly rides
that make you sick if you do try
to hold back laughter, all your cries
the noise, the release, the greasy fries

Shoved down a throat to no protest
ketchup stains on a new dress
Blistered feet from running hard
A story told by old blind bard

Written words cast down on page
torn shirt, sleeves begin to fray
As they rub along the paper’s edge
It tears, reveals the manmade thread

That all things die, and all things end
and longing stops as breathing slows
Love flies up the chimney out of chest
The ribcage’s use is to wear the vest

No gesture of any emotion at all
Lock them up and throw away the key
Flush the shit down toilet drain
These words are nothing but insane.

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 –

Do you question?

Will it ever be different? Or will it stay the same?

Will the past come back to haunt us, or is it we became,

Something no one understood, let alone ourselves,

Something terrible and beautiful: dusty crystal on the shelves.

And what do you say to cloudy days, and lying on your back

Out underneath the dark grey sky until it’s only love light that you lack?

What do you say to cold hard truth, and never telling lies?

Even if it means regret, sometimes sorrow, and the hardest of goodbyes…

What do you say to living, and never giving up?

What do you say to drinking from the everlasting cup?

What do you see when you see me?

Am I happy, am I free?

Or do you see a sad, sad person,

Whose condition only worsens.

I want you to feel everything, everything good and bad.

But then I want to shield you, if anything makes you sad.

What do you say to pain, if it makes you grow?

What do you say to weather, the sun, the sleet, the snow?

What do you say to freezing, or drowning in the depths?

What do you say to walking, or counting all your steps?

Do you dwell in past or present? Is living your only chore?

Or do you relish every day, always asking for one more?

Don’t you ever stop asking questions, never stop talking to me.

Don’t ever look in the mirror, and think you weren’t meant to be.

Don’t overanalyse Shakespeare, because it’s been done before.

Always question teachers, always question war.

Always look for peace – inside you and out,

And in each authority figure find some kind of doubt.

See that propaganda?  Always see both sides.

Always look for fairness, always close divides.

Watch the sun rise once a month, to remind yourself things change.

Question what is normal, and be a little strange.

Do you wonder what people think of you?  Try and break routine.

Think of who you want to be, and everything in between.

Will we ever talk together, or sit and just be friends?

Or do love and hate still part us so there will never be an end?

If history repeats itself, are we doomed to the same fate?

If we realize we’re wrong, will we realize too late?

I sit and ask these questions, and hope you’re slightly the same,

But understand it’s difference, that keeps the world from being lame.

And though these differences divide us, we still have the same heart,

We’re pumping blood through body, and appreciate that art.

We rant and exclaim at unlike things, but somehow find that line

Right down the middle of our acquaintance and it is what defines

Us as two individuals, who’ve had a troubled past

And look towards the future to live and live it fast.

We’ve made mistakes in all our lives, ones which we do and don’t regret

Don’t let these haunt your dreams, or to joy become a threat.

The point is don’t hang on, to actions done and done.

Move past these idle thoughts; get rid of every one.

If you’re reading this today, and are alive and free

Appreciate each breath, enjoy the things you see.

It’s an ironic world in which the easiest way to learn is through experience,

Though experience is hard, and sometimes makes you wince

And leaves scars both visible and not

Leaving people silent when sometimes they ought

To speak their mind and question why we did those things

That we knew were stupid, like trying to fly sans wings.

I’ve learned, and I know you have too.

It’s made us cry; it’s made us blue,

But it’s bought colour to our lives, and some happy moments too.

And I have to say my life is like this all because of you.

I question things, and learn a lot and I’m listening always.

To the people’s words, to trees and birds, to things unheard,

To the inner voice, and the old Rolls Royce, and every choice

To people’s thoughts, and words on page, and every phrase –

Because everybody matters, and everything’s alive.

Appreciate the moments, sounds, and never drink and drive.

I want you to be happy, I want to share with you

That every moment you can learn while always being true.

Do you ever wonder, why the world is never quiet?

Do you ever wish, that my writing took a diet?

I can’t be silent, won’t stop talking, writing’s not a sin.

And with every question, does a story not begin?

I churn the butter, spin the wheel, and so concoct a tale,

In hopes to keep you pondering, in hopes to never fail.

In hopes of wrapping up this rant, I have just one last plea,

Never ignore your neighbour, and seek the opportunity

To do some good in every day, don’t push aside those in your way,

To ask, and hope, and love and pray, and see that path? It’s alright to stray,

In the end just try and smile,

It’s okay to be blue, but once in a while

You want to be happy and be okay,

And shine your light, like the sun’s rays.

Climax

I’m smiling,
Smiling wide.  I’d like to thank you for bringing this smile to my lips.

My mouth is opened slightly and my eyelids lowered.
I’m in a happy daze as you embellish on my hips:

Embellish stories of flooding, create stories of rolling hills, moving clouds,
A rocking earth which shivers and trembles at the hand of the gods.

adjective

How to describe the world around you in words.  Impossible.  Yet we try to do just that.  To give life to the way we feel, to try to let others see things the same way we do.  If everyone witnessed things from the same perspective, life would be boring, life would be impossibly different from the way it is.  However, sometimes, all you want is another outlook, a different view on life.

To see the ripples in the pond the way the fish does swimming beneath the water’s surface.  To see the guy riding his bike from the mouse’s view, hiding in the grass as he rushes by.  To soar though the sky like an eagle, not metaphorically but literally.  To actually understand what is it like.  To see inside someone else’s mind.  To have that other perspective.  That is why we write, that is why we wish to capture with words the things that only our imaginations can see.  I hear the birds twittering in the trees – I want you to hear them to.  I want you to hear the way their short chirps cut through the nature’s silence (what is silence in nature?), the way they cut through the music playing through my headphones.  I want you to feel the goose bumps on my legs as the cold wind brushes my bare skin, kissing my pale calves.  I want you to understand the numb that slips into my fingers, then the warmth as I slip them into my pockets and my blood warms them.  I want you to love the squirrel hunting for food in the grass.  I want to know what it thinks when my friend tosses it crumbs.  Trust or suspicion fills its mind as it nibbles on a delicious snack.  It really is too bad it’s cold out.  I want to lie under the stars and type forever.