All that remains
is the pain of knowing…
There’s magic in your skin
I want to hold you
my cold, bold heart wants to grasp
your hand
make you understand.
We are possessed by a spirit and it’s yours
for there is no cure for love
except drowning in it.
I ate an apple it reminded me of the sinners tale
but love in a garden cannot fail
if talk and walk again together
I know that the illusion of separation can be severed.
I wish I was so handsome I’d appear in GQ
but if I took off my clothes I’d face ridicule
I wish I my eyes were blue skies
I wish I set women’s hearts on fire
All I have are words
poetry
may trickle from my tongue like a tap
but I am not a male version of a honey trap
I may in some ways be wise
but people may want to keep their eyes closed
but I suppose every truth is like that when exposed.
Magic cannot be taught,
It’s there to be done!
Preachers talk
I walk away
Smell their words decay
in the cold light of day.
I wont be psychologist’s puppet
or a teachers pet
those people think they know better
I may live with some degree of regret
but I know life’s first lesson
is that life isn’t fair
it tears apart innocent lives
it makes us grieve
and takes away our belief
In justice
and that injustice causes
all sorts of evils in the world
for every boy or girl.
So follow your own path
and chase the sun
for the we were meant to believe in magic
and real magic cannot be taught its there to be done.
Dying to live
Living to die
uncomfortable eyes
Starry skies
highlight
our plight
our love
cast everywhere
like a blanket of night and stars
but we bear the scars
the wounds and fires
that make us who we are.
My god won’t fit in my veins
won’t fit in this skin
she doesn’t wear a skirt
she has shed her skin
She is a soul
she wears many faces
Many races worship her
she has many names
and cannot be tamed
my god is a woman
she’s the soul of the universe
clothed in darkness and white light
and the many shades of the rainbow
and she knows wisdom we all seek
and sometimes she sends angels to peak
through the clouds
and sometimes she is quiet, whispering, loud
and she speaks to me in dreams
and carries the weight of her universe
in her purse.
Sometimes
The world goes on behind my window
I stare out into the suns glare
I wrap myself around my thoughts
and all that I have sought
do I still care?
Sometimes
I am broken beggar
trying to get a leg up
sometimes I want to say
words of meaning
am I still dreaming?
Sometimes
my hearts soft like paper
sometimes it’s hard like a diamond
fashioned with pressure and heat
sometimes I play my songs on repeat
hoping to make my way to someone’s smile on the street.
Sometimes
I bow to the dark
sometimes I look to the stars sparkling in the sky
sometimes I want to die
but I realise life is short
and I love my friends to much to make this life end
so my epitaph will say I loved until my world drifted away
but I left you my words and that’s more than ok.
In the midst of pain
lies love
that shields us
it sustains our hopes and dreams
it doesn’t silence sadness
but let’s us open up
we all drink from a cup of love
even if sometimes feels
like it’s a small fairy cup
we won’t give up our longing
for people and places
faces that smile warmth
even in the darkest of stories
love shines through
it gives us happiness sometimes
and gives us unwavering faith to keep going
the seed of our growth
bitterness and hatred
aren’t the abating of love
they are merely the twisted distortions
of love
and if we understood that
we would once again understand
that love can save us all just reach out your hand.
There are galaxies inside of me
waiting to be explored
there are stories to be told that leave you wanting more
that are religions in the chaos of my mind
but am I blind to all the possibilities
Fed by science’s facts
the love in my heart set on targets I will never reach
the knowledge I will never preach
the words I won’t speak
but I am the madness
the chaos the light the order the darkness
I am the shadow of a prophet a wizard’s fairy tale…
It tares apart like paper
born from a saviour’s verse
The devil doesn’t mind, she makes it worse
I collect the curses
I recycle them like newspaper
rhetorical rhymes
in my life of grime.
I shine like the steeple of church
but I’d rather be the birch the trunk of a tree
for this a goddess induced reality
Wisdom causing minds full of incoherent clarity
I lose my faith wandering in garden labyrinths
the chances are we won’t find the goddess or her nymphs
or there chalices in the angles or angel absinthe
that we drink or think outside our boxes
so neat we feel no feeling in our defeat
yet we drink it all down
like sad pathetic clowns
in the pubs wearing our overalls and scrubbing away.
Polishing our lamps just to find genies or djinn
in our lives that our extraordinary and full of sin
yet we all fall beneath the skin
the earth full of mud and shit
the page half written is full of it
yet it feeds us and bears fruit
forms the roots of all we cultivate
for man is no man unless he has a little hate
and enough love to permeate
his sad heart
beating in tune to the bleeding womb
he wants to enter
another grand venture
trying to give his child
the wisdom of being wild
and free while they try to chain his children
with the care they placed on his shoulders
I love you Atlas don’t get tired
Or older the love that beats in your soul
don’t let the fire get colder…