On Sporadic free mind nights, I glean hope
and listful wish for merriment and the melting innovative
wash
of inevitable crisis overcome
by intelligent design fantastical
and moral awakened ’man of the dirt
On erratic scream in the coming dark days I curse
evolution
creating this beast
and what sociopathic greed malevolent stare into extinction and laugh
with bursting paper green eyes
and wish it never envisaged
On habitual sunken eyes of the afternoon rise
I sit idly slouching by
and watch madness curtail madness uncoil
within our blackened hearts
and frostbitten toes of the retreating soul
and stupefy the mind
with unfathomable awe at my impossible present... Being
And the New Moon sets the eternal cycle in motion once more
Tag: moon
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.
RJP's Vernacular 