Pen to Paper

Who the hell decides
Whether or not we're
Happy
Sad
Great ... Who defines that?
Really?

Take your destiny in your hands
-Everyone has problems
Probably more than you'd expect at face-value
It's not like faces highlight much
No - Feelings are mostly faceless

Fuckery.
Being human
The blatant imperfections
Saying one thing but retracting it once the situation
Changes

Feelings caged -
After all they're
Weakness
The destroyer of walls
There's no - security

Security! I'm not liking what I'm seeing ... Clear the premises at once!

We do anything to protect our
Reality
What is real? Really?
Living in a bubble

Hope it doesn't burst.

Frigid

Deception, blame, lies.
No beauty in this broken statue
Sword in hand, shield at the ready.
The maker? A fiend
With glib tongue and beautiful eyes

The 'creator'
A scoff -
His creations mirror who he is
Broken
Imperfect

They also show fear
Of creating something beautiful
So he limits himself
Through his work

Exaggerated actions only leading to
Anticlimax
Hope proffered as a thin string
Only to be broken whimsically

All that's left is to rebuild
Retool
And hope to create beauty.

Purgatory

Penance.
Standing in the not-quite-light, not-quite darkness;
Counting my rosary beads
"Hail Mary"

Somehow I don't feel the prayer lines are open for me.

Equal and opposite reactions
Except the catalyst is bitter
Bartender!
Gin and tonic, with just a splash of bitters.

I drink, therefore I am.

No, not alcoholic
My organs are steeled against these excesses of ethanol
Drug of choice?
None
Who needs a crutch when you can crawl?


On bended knee, only to hear the word
NO.
The slap of reality.
Except it can't be real.
Except it is.

Blood and Ink III

Blood.
It reminds me that try as we may to supersede human boundaries
We are but mortal
Memento Mori
We are all going to die
And then
What then?
Do I ask for my ashes to be scattered to the wind?

Will I beg at Heaven's Gate to be forgiven for my sins?

The Ink - It keeps me grounded
Giving voice to the
Desire
-To be happy
To be successful
If there ever were Great Men - Let me be one of these.

It tames and shapes the darkness into something resembling the caricature of an Angel
Albeit fallen
Broken Wings
Shattered spirit

It's easier to write about the macabre, isn't it?

Potential

Potential adj. 'Having or showing the capacity to develop  into something in the future'

The electricity emanates from my fingers as I pour my soul out into what I write;
Writhing through my neuroses the thoughts that nothing is going right ...
So what do do?
Take away the shell and the actions and what are you left with?
Doubt
One man, against the world.
Looking for Eden, reaching for my Eve
Extending myself over the abyss of the past ...
Hoping to pull her into the future.
My arms.

Not strong enough.

A sisyphean task
Pushing against this fucking rock
Getting somewhere before it rolls back
What have I done to ...
Nah, I do deserve this. So I pay my penance to the gods
Wherever they are ...
Mocking
Laughing
Making snide comments
Still I push

Alone for now ... But hope is unreigned

Only I'm bound by this chain
These ... Insecurities
So what of potential?
The ability of future greatness.
I hate this.
But ...
But what?

I'm but a man.
The butt of the eternal joke;
Giving your all for nothing.
Potential blessings.
A literal curse.
Cursing I mean... Endless arguments leading back to day one

Trust?

I 'hope' for it, even as I thrust my sword into the heart of our latest disagreement;
Knowing that for each problem slain, there are a hundred more.
So who am I?
A child of man. Sisyphean men.
I've chosen my battle,
Now to fight it.

En Garde!

The Walk Pt. 2

The trod.

A theme I keep on returning to.

My spiritual centre, the need to walk

To

New understanding

Hope

A future I can grasp with my own two hands

Away

From negativity

The darkness that aims to tie us all down

Mediocrity

I was born to be great

You can't take that away from me

It's the fire that drives my existence

Personal failings leading to professional success

There needs to be

Balance

Alas, the universe has other ideas

Pain the chosen flame to temper this steel

My mind against it all

But ...

What's a man to a god?

Or goddess?

So I hope to channel my inner bird

Soaring above it all,

Meshing with the wind

-Of life

Soaring to new heights of

Understanding

I crave it

But I still lack it

Maybe I need new spectacles

Or maybe a spectacle is needed

My ... Epiphany

Until then,

I'll do as we humans do

Trod

Vice

I have decided to prove myself a villain
-No, seriously, I'm the bad guy here
I mean ... Hear the dastardly footsteps
Eerie isn't it.
Evil, the cloak I wear.

So why be vice?
Well it's simple ...
Although I asked that question
Once.
Or twice.
Why vice?

Because no one wants to take the blame for anything that happens.
I mean it's never anybody's fault
Except when it is.
So I'll take the blame for you
I'll accept my blame
Shit, Akon, you can blame me too.

Burdens are there to be bore,
And since no one will step up to the plate,
I'll bat for us all.

Blindsight

Why do we feel compelled to share the things that sadden us?
The thoughts that our very psyches rebel ... against
All odds really point to the fact that misery needs company
And what better company than people who aren't miserable yet?
So we write.
Sad poetry.

Blank verse falling freely on page after page
We bleed ink... and feelings
Hiding behind innuendo;
(I'll admit, I'm a coward - writing out my feelings literally? Hell no)
Still pen to paper provides solace
Who knew a blank piece of paper could be so comforting?

We're all fools of destiny
We reap, what we sow.
You may
Gird your belt
Put on your armour (I mean those walls, haven't you changed them yet)
You may just choose to be accepting
Or not choose to acknowledge it

Only a fool runs from knowledge, no matter how painful the process.

Pain.
We put ourselves in the hands of others in the hope that they won't break what we give to them;
And if they do, the cycle perpetuates itself
Are we scared to break the cycle?
Or is it that we're unable to?
Rise above
Do something ... different
Trust in spite off the odds
(I was never a gambling man myself)

But it all starts with each of us making a conscious decision,
No one else can do it
We're each our own master.
For better. Or for worse.