fate

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.

The Ship That Sailed Far Too North

My life has always been a kind of oxymoron.

A walking contradiction.

Mirror inversion.

 

I have seen rejection.

I have felt the sound of collapsing waves.

 

take control of wandering minds.

before I took it apart.

 

The crash is inevitable.

when you swim in murky waters.

 

you knew it all along, didn’t you?

It was.

 

It wasn’t meant to be.

you were stranded.

 

but you watched it fade.

day after day.

 

you ask why.

that ship’s already sailed.

 

they said.

with a fret and a shrug.

 

times change and so do I.

 

What’s to kill is to buy.

 

you prick and you pry

 

but we did try.

 

you and I.

 

We never.

 

Fly.

 

past differences.

 

motive and ego.

 

A disturbing childish game.

 

who is it to blame?

 

is it me, is it you?

 

is it the sky, so violently blue?

 

what sets us apart?

the paths we pursue.

 

the method and the madness.

intertwining.

Question and Clue.

 

I ask the whistling breeze.

it replies in whispers and codes.

 

The only path, after all.

is the road that stretches ahead.

 

No more sea, no more to see.

what is to be, will be.

 

My world explodes, and all that was is far past damaged.

I walk.