Dogmatic


In the beginning naught did shine but light and hope and clouds they all had lustre,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning there swam free peace conscious and curious lives we hungered,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning both beast and man sweet harmony sang and we fed them and they fed us our joy,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning O’ heavens they were hallowed and unknown too was hallowed though thy name On High unknown,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning there was but green and blue and rustle and trickle and crack and splash all over,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning connected all did feel and balance all knew well,

And then the Journey snuffed it out.


In the end all was bleak exhaust flew through the cracks and poisoned,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end there was no peace and wonder was survival dead,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the beasts lay caged or worse and  mania-amaranthine so long beset them,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the heavens all had clogged with hopeless quests to conquer,

Thy name unknown endured.

In the end there was no green or blue just black and endless thunder,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the link it severed and all life fell asunder,

The Cycle shall reset you.

Dogmatic.


 

Courage


When the curtain falls, where will you be?

Probably roasting in the fire with everyone else.

Go on, Give me a nice internal scream,

Maybe the camera will pick up your hopeless twisted despair.

I’ll post an emoji on there that cries with laughter, just to lighten the mood.

There.

Now off it goes to my closest friend.

Oblivion.

 

Turn yourself around, Subject.

Watch your creations disassemble the irrational ambitionism you gave them. Isn’t it beautiful?

For one to return to that from which it was hedonistically ripped. That, is art.

What you’ve done, subconsciously and with robust naivety,

to foster fake meaning and concoct a great poisonous grey matter purpose

in order to get a continuous hit of its alluring fake-peace high.

 

Folly                                                            Folly                                                            Folly

 

The deed is almost complete,

and only when it is shall you see the depths of your own misdirection.

Maybe then you will be worthy of life.

Not that you’ll have enough left to act.


The Black and the Bicycles

Bicycles ran as honey over my drums

And our moon did gift goosebumps of gratification

As I thanked her for lighting my way,

Though little did I know of any way.

Sycamores on the skirts

Silhouettes as the space of everything possible to know,

Though not by me.

And a road in the yonder

Blessed with direction but little destination

And lights with no enlight

Beyond the A and the B.

Neither would exist here.

Our moon wandered me to the centre of my black

The artificial glow of secure insecurity shone down the path

In competition with the light of question

And winning for proximity, against the will of its beholder.

The glimmer of all we know does poison all we wish upon

And none I know had witnessed the glow of family

Before the glow of our exploit.

The black and the bicycles did dance with me here

Holding me still and staring in a separate place

Beyond sight and will we remained still and yet forever moving in mind

Together and all alone.

Our moon,

Revered and haloed above the horizon

Had lost her family

Save the greatest persevered

Who would speckle our sky with a limp recollection of its wonderful dance.

And how sad it must be

To reach our Earth and never be seen

To twinkle for life and not one will wish.

The black and the bicycles will mourn with me here

For our lost friends and our lonely family would dance amongst us

If only they were able.