Dreaming worlds that never were (spoken word poem)

Silence traps daydreams

energy burns

the multi verses yearn

worlds that never were

outstretch themselves in time

The universes machine purrs

and her soul pines

for her lover to set her free

she creates doors for just one key

she speaks through us all

just to speak to me

I seek answers but love is the only answer we need

but in this daydream my healed hand bleeds

and sometimes hurts

she is my reason my soul

I am the messenger of the monad the mind of heaven

the hour is late the end is all ready here

it’s time to let go of all our childish fear.

The history of words

Words have a history

it’s not a mystery

If you do the research

from racist toys

for girls and boys

we have to respect

words have a history

and so do objects

so please have some respect

and acknowledge the implications

we all want to be loved above stereotypes

and life is cannot be lived in present only;

history matters

and leaves us sometimes in tatters

words will often leave us broken

hurting us more than sticks and stones

and broken bones.

I want to swipe left on this world

I want to Swipe left

On this world

no love finds me

no matter how I try

the right way to live is to cry

but at least I am here

I leave my mark

my divinity just a spark

I have written a thousand poems of longing

I have ached thousands days of love

and never been touched

I clutched at thousand straws

fought a thousand wars

in my head

if I could ever be respected

I’d choose love instead

as love is hope

and fear is respect

I answer in the tongue of the goddess

the only language I understand

in the chaos which haunts and daunts me.

Themes of life

From Cinematic skies

to the cemeteries where they lay us to rest.

From the hovels of the poor

to the grand entrances of lords.

From ladies who go out on ladies nights

to men beaten by many fights

the stories we tell ourselves

not sold on supermarket shelves.

From the desperate love in ashes

to tattoos of hearts set like gashes

from the schools classes

through to the waiting rooms of life

from the mother cradling her daughter

to the Dad fighting his way through wars and slaughter

to the conventions of gay and straight

the way we breathe in life and wait

or wipe the slate

and find foundations and roots in identity

and eventually bridge the gaps

born into this life our mothers and fathers telling us stories for maps.

Themes of life and love

the great adventures there of.

Under a sign of neon loneliness

Under a sign of neon loneliness

We are all drifting

shifting uncertainty.

If you don’t say what you mean clearly

it falls apart!

Like the shifting sands of a man’s heart.

I love yous repeated like rhetorical questions

a quest never to be won

a word we lean upon

but who really knows what it means

we can only dream

of being narcissistic kings or Queens

with enough love for ourselves

the magazines sit on the shop shelves

Do they dream of being read?

Loneliness the killer of lives

love the flip side of the coin

but they join…

They call me the bravest man in the world

but I just want to be held

and kept in her cage

admired at her whim.

Prison of loneliness

From the lake of fire

to the snake of desire

I am lonely.

Hell is carrying around loneliness with you

it grows out of all perspective

it grows with you

it starts with a child’s heart

of wanting acceptance and love

people’s love

then it turns into anger and rage

that you cannot have those connections you yearn for

that you burn for

in later life

a maddened heart torn apart of the fear

that you will never see one person from one day to next to make meaningful conversation

that ache in your heart becomes more than a sensation

You learn that your needs won’t ever be met

that life has caught you in its net

But you are forever alone.

No one knows what you go through

in truth even if they saw your entire life

their perspective wouldn’t change

or see yours, isn’t it strange?

to be cast adrift in world that promises much

and delivers very little

hearts grow cold and brittle

and they break in many ways

Not just in half in the centre

you may plan your ventures

you may look for adventure

but your only friend is you

and love is only love if that’s the truth

The devil on a cross

The whisper of a shadow song

Morning star no glory

just a story

I am just lived backwards

hidden track words

scars like lines across paper

can I save her?

I am not what you think

drinking from a cup of agony

no God can save me

but death won’t enslave me

I am midnight verse

nails won’t surrender to my skin

the truth they told you the lies worn thin.

Love music and wealth

In the space that moves in our hearts

in the words that rule them

a fools language called love

sent to quell.

A heart is made in heaven

doused in the lustful flames of hell

In the dawn the morning star

in the night sky the sun

if you chose the right beat

we’d all be one!

but the drumbeat has a silence

and an off beat out of kilter vibe

The scribe is not a musician

but he is at least alive

the changing of the patterns

the flow of electrons

introspection of personality

the tonal chords of brains with clarity

We dance to words without reasons

we give chords bass and beats flow

the movements we know grow into routines

routines that we form and sow

We drift into daydreams

sing of far off lands we yet to visit

and we gather the images we envisage

We look for our dreams

and measure them in gold

and diamonds sold

yet they are our wealth even in cold

wintery days where love is the only language

it maybe a fools language

but that’s all we have

don’t let our innocence be nabbed.