You look in the mirror
And see
See too much
See their mistreatment
See your failures
See it all but don’t want to.
You look in the mirror
You like it for once
And then you feel
Shame for being vain
Shame for thinking about you
Shame for even thinking. Just
Shame.
When smashing the mirror –
the smithereens –
make a realisation –
all of it was a façade =
a masquerade in glass.
Because the broken pieces
Make a broken person and
Broken people can only dream of being whole.
A vision:
Telecommunication from beyond the subconscious.
A message so clear it’s seen as obnoxious.
And as vivid in the mind as a car crash collision.
A warning:
Coalescing deep down within your psyche.
Killing love with a spike through Aphrodite.
On a tempestuous December morning.
Mud in the eyes of a colourless scene.
Blood on the thighs of a motherless dream.
But, still you refuse to see.
The
Ritual
Is ever present
Ever lasting in the mind
Ever smiling like a moon’s curled crescent.
Un-
Hallowed ground
Cause once true belief
In a weary wanderer
Stolen by evening shadow thief.
Death
A fixture
Rivalled by birth’s goal
One in forty trillion
Odds favour few swimmers in a shoal.
Life’s
Scriptura
Stem from the seedling
Of a tree which reaches up
And grasps all six senses of feeling.
Remembering; slumber.
A forgotten number.
The subtraction
of dreamy interaction.
An ever-falling bungee jumper.
Remembering; rest.
De-stress? Distressed.
Unanswered calls
by sunken eyeballs.
To close their quest.
Remembering; peace
Of mind. At ease.
Stood at attention
for every mention
of failure to sleep.
Remembering; dreams.
Coins in a fountain gleam.
Now each and every
are but a memory.
Copper tears that stream.
The Sun carries the fate
Of our future on its back
The Son carries the weight
Of his past in his pack.
The Sun practices beaming
Ready for the summer show
The Son forever dreaming
Of freedom free to grow.
The Sun solemn staring
At a world disintegrating
The Son struggles caring
In a world hell-bent on hating.
The Sun won’t last forever
But will far out last the Son
The Son’s a trifle clever
But he won’t surpass the Sun.
Thoughts are running wild
Their hoofs unruly; trample
Cerebellum sands reviled
Scatter, scurry and they scramble
A lack of understanding
As to why this burden carries
Aptitude is demanding
Mind and fear; forever marries
It’s hard to point the pin
If there ever really was one
In self-loathing, selfish skin
That coalesces til it’s gone
Yes, the suffering it stings
But the feeling never lasts
The ‘only hope’ should cling
Yielded tight within the grasp.
When you fear your future’s faded
When you’re growing grey and thin
When your chips have all been traded
And you feel you’ll never win
When you start to wane and wallow
In intrepid, toxic times
There’s a light for you to follow
A light inside you shines
It’s a light that fills your soul
And makes you who you are
Brightens the bleakest, blackest hole
Heals the deepest, darkest scar
In the corpus of commotion
Let that beautiful beacon beam
Across the unforgiving ocean
From the lighthouse of your dreams.
The Mockingbird calls the shots
While politicking puerile plots
The blood it coagulates and clots
And History memory forgot.
Tears pour down Sorrow’s cheek
Hope cries out bruised and bleak
A universal losing streak
Would you want this Earth if you were meek?
The sense of loss from Zeitgeist’s grief
Innocents incur broke belief
Future frowns at Tomorrow’s thief
While pulling teeth for pure relief.
For anyone that feels that
Their race is already run
That their ball is burst and flat
And they’ve seen their final Sun
When your grip is getting tired
And your grip is all you’ve got
If life leaves much to be desired
Remember…
You’re much better here than not.
Though the tunnel long and dark
Can seem impossible to fight
Every punch will make a spark
For you to guide toward the light
No matter what may lay ahead
If every hope and dream seems shot
There’s another path that you can tread
Because you are loved…
And you’re much better here than not.
poorman'sdreams 