art

Home, Not Quite.

I’m going away, I’m going home.

But not quite.

 
 
The window sill with tinted yellow sorrow, still

Images and frames, exasperations and nicknames

All the difference makes it all the same

But something did quite change.

 
 
Older age and shrunken heads

The passion of youth, the fires of revolt

Somehow a bit more tame

And old lost parent inviting you for a good ol’ game

of chess, of cards or maybe something better

 
 
Drinks to All! Drinks to All! Drinks to All!

Life is wonderful, travel is joy

But there’s something in between, left. An eerie void.

A strange kind of un-belonging, If I may be permitted to say

 
 
Nay! Nay! Nay! Jolly ol’ boy, yer’ a man now! slaps the old uncle on the back

Stares and questions, raised eyebrows and elbow jabs

grins and gossip alight, welcome back circus clowns

To the most wonderful place around

 
 
One old man sits to his wine and wife

calls me close and asks me what about life

It’s all I brung back, sir

Gleam in his eye ‘let me tell ye a secret, It’s not what ye brung back, it’s what ye left’

 
 
A toast.

summer, blue.

Another empty hallway echoes the freedom of youth

another window speaks in tongues of lark and gibberish

speaking only in languages I have barely ever known

It’s a windy path ahead, and all I got is a rope and a way

but the winds, they blow colder as time trickles down

An uphill task, an unglorified tale

spare me the detail

when all you strive for is left weak, frail.

all you’re looking for, a quieter sail

alas, only sea and the breeze to whisper sweet nothings.

summer, blue.

and you wish the music were lighter

the rain, quieter

the storm rages on outside the window now

but the shadows lurk beneath the bed

what might you say, to strike down the wondrous mellow bed of death

that calms you to the lull of sleep day after day

offering you a slight embrace and an understanding of all that’s dealt

of you and your fate, a shifting pack of cards

you play some, you lose some

would you play again? take a bet with the gods of chance?

or maybe worse, you dodge and dance and prance

avoiding the unescapable decay

you will find your way, oh you will some day

summer, blue

why would it be this way?

you ask, the universe in play

nay, there are no answers mate

behind a silver spoon and a rusted plate

one must walk.

further, to keep walking is the hardest part

a stop here, and maybe oh there! a start!

not quite

not as black and white

or so it may appear

for lose sight too soon, and the oasis disappears

there is truth in your fears

know that fate only throws winds

but it is you, my friend who has to steer

there is truth in art

summer, blue.

Surreal Captivity

I sit and I wait.

And it seems like an eternity for her to come.

The dawn of a new idea never echoed before in the universe.

Maybe, a brand new pill.

Manufactured and Digested in the system.

I eat and get bitter. It makes me so much more content.

Like self-consummation, only more dangerous.

More real, it seems.

But what can I say about, what needs to be or rather, what is?

It is within these thoughts, these fractals and patterns.

That I lose the plot somewhere.

I remember how easy it was.

To break a wall, and make a new one.

Now it just gets tougher and tougher with every fleeting moment.

It towers through, engorging all that lies ahead of it.

And as I get infinitely smaller, it is only much bigger.

Oh, what a monotony has set in.

There are no new ideas.

Only cheap manufactured clones of what once was.

Oh, such tragedy.

This existence.

It is but a true form of what lies within and about.

It is much more dangerous and alive.

Cannibalism, it is at the heart of the beginning of everything.

How else do you rationalize all that grows and all that dies.

All that withers and all that blooms.

It is all just a cycle.

Inversion of variables.

Black. White. Cyan. Magenta. Yin. Yang.

Rational Numbers. Irrational.

And yet hopelessly lost within the chaos, there is a need to go back.

The need to just be.

Everything so vicariously opposite to each other, its just eats up.

All that was, all that is. all that will be.

Such revelations only destroy.

And they plant seeds yet unknown.

I do not know what lies ahead of me.

Only an infinitely long cycle of time.

It repeats itself after every cycle.

And that is truly what lies at the bottom of this arrest.

This hopelessness.

This need to destroy. To be Destroyed.

And it all amounts to Nil.

The universe, it cancels itself.

The secret window in my mind, it tells me all I need to know.

but what I want, I will never know.

Dimensionless.