Death & Taxes


Death and taxes

are for certain –

you spend your life

for the final curtain.


So, what does it matter –

what is the point?

Tiny feet?

The pitter patter?

Success? Career?

Trophy wife?


Or, is there more

than meets the eye?

Burnt candle wax is

time passed by.

And passers by

you learn their faces

on commutes

littered with

sojourned strangers.

Just like the streets

you learn to tread,

learn to steer clear

of some instead.


A forever question

of take and give

of peace and war

of love and hate

of is there more?


Wipe the slate.

Clean the floor.

Swallow a hard pill

for indigestion.

Make your mind

up what you want!

They cannot find

the knowledge fount.


When all is said

and all is done,

when blue is red

and cruel is kind,

you’ll search the times

⁃ a memorial quest

and smile sublime

(once taxed to death)

at not need or want

fulfilled at behest.


But, of those you loved

and those who loved

loving you the best.


Under Covers


It just might

be undercover;

human dust-mites.


Disapproving mother

makes

forbidden lovers

play more like animals

in the heat

under their collars.


Our symbiotic

shapes

feeling – just right.


The feeling smothers

you uptight

– breathing in –

water fountains and lakes

within bed covers.


Horizontally upright.

No bearing grudges

or bearing down upon

the breaks

when the love’s right.


There’s no trust like

it with anyone

else or any others;

this is our

glorious mistake

and this is what

love

really looks like.


We are always

shining bright together,

shining love’s light.


Even into old age,

our last chapter

and our

intertwined fates

remain forever…


We were right

to be undercover;

even after…

human dust-bites.


A Voyage to the Impossible.


What matters the most to you shouldn’t be able to be experienced from your bodily senses. It should come from deep within your inner most depths and be intangible. Far away from the noise of this world and way into the realms of the impossible.


Transforming physical possession and perception into transcendental prosperity.


Despite the wonders of our minds and their ability to perceive so many things, we are taught in a blinkered, binary, positive/negative fashion from a very young age – good/bad, right/wrong, happy/sad.


But, we are all of these things at all times throughout our lives. Think about it;


An evil man can make a just law.

A good man can follow an unjust cause.

Both could be the same man;

of a different sort,

on different days too

and in different lives.


So, before you judge; pause.

Remember;

A journey’s map isn’t always to hand.

True wisdom is always food for thought.

Ignorance within your mind betrays you.

And, your everlasting infinite soul survives…

Always.


Your very existence is an impossible journey and, yet, here you are…


Life is the swelling sea, your mind is the swinging ship and your soul is the ripple of every wave which laps up against both life and mind, sea and ship, on a voyage to the impossible.


Pink.


In this;

beguiled reality

avarice makes mincemeat of charity

and conceit fucks vanity.

The sick and the needy

die at the hands of the greedy.


Death by hate filled hearts;

scolding via network

scaffolding.

All the while, living in

wholly

indecent matrimony;

wedded by insanity.


“History always repeats itself.

History always repeats itself.”


A war of roses; red and white

without their heads

soon lost sight.

And stem of green then realised;

roses without petals

aren’t needed

nor recognised.


Angry is the blood.

Broken is the bone.

Nothing good can come from

a world wide webbed

throne

where lies are spun from.


And when all is said and done

it seems even odd to; think?

Before your actions

become

the difference between warring factions

and your essence becomes

on the brink

of existing.


Is this;

existence masquerading as extinct?

Or is this,

really;

extinction pretending

to be

in the pink?


Making sense


When the eyes are opened

By Pineal once closed

A cerebral token

Of belief takes hold.


When their mouth’s deceitful

Don’t eat from chaos’ hand

Keep your diet peaceful

So that your mind expands.


When the scent overpowers

To cover their tracks

Be aware that some flowers

Set deadly traps.


When your hearing’s confused

Locked down in a prism

Paint thoughts colourful hues

Canvass yourself and listen.


And if you’re feeling out of touch

Take a moment to remember;

Our light burns out

by smothering clutch

And there is no fire

without an ember.


The Poisoned Note

Your mind is the pen.

It’s razor sharp. It’s poignant. It’s a tipped point dipped in poison and from it the words which you write inside your mind stain every nerve with sorrow and despair.

Your body is the paper.

Paper which is cut from the original tree that all knowledge and sense first grew from. From deepest root to budding leaf the cursed, bubbling venom courses through each bodily cell and ruptures and dissolves all that is decent and good.

This is depression.

A poisoned note.

A note which throughout your life becomes volumes of lethargy, melancholy and pain.

And, a note from which you discover the true reality of existence.

And, to think, without this note, would you have ever truly existed at all?

For, it is better to have felt that poisoned ink blemish your body and mind than to have left a blank note.

Your note defines you.

Your note is one worth sharing because we are all noteworthy.

The greatest gift you will ever have is to have written a poisoned note so long and live to tell the tale.


Myope


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.


Juxtaposition


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.


Inevitability


The ever impending doom that is death lingers over us on a daily basis. We are reminded constantly of what it is to be human, and, what it is to be mortal, despite our best efforts to duck, dodge and dive away from the ageing process. Whether it be an early, mid or late life crisis, they all boil down to the same sediment and sentiment.

That we are born and in doing so we must eventually die.


And when you really think about it; the futility of life that is, it is deeply frightening.


At one point or another we will all experience this thought:

“I am just a grain of sand in an ever expanding universe that will have zero impact on history whatsoever. I will be forgotten just the same as everyone who has ever lived, and everyone whoever will live.”

And this is totally normal. Terrifying, but normal.


Most people combat these negative feelings through distraction. This is a good idea seeing as the feeling of insignificance is incredibly unpleasant.

Inevitably distraction is a key part of what it is to be human.

Equally, so is mortality.

The irony being that a distraction from the inevitable only brings that inevitability closer towards you.


I would argue that it is always better to embrace the inevitable.

Now don’t get me wrong. It would be unwise to ruminate on the fragility of existence constantly because ultimately this would cause strong feelings of depression and/or anxiety. I do, however, believe that it is good to come to terms with your fate. In doing so you will defeat fear itself and unlock your true potential to live.


My very simple advice would be as follows;

Live in the moment rather than the past.

Seize the day rather than worry about the future.

Remember that life is futile but you don’t have to be.

Die living. Don’t live dying.


Ultimately the chance of you being created is around 1 in 400 trillion. So, why waste it?

Death is inevitable. Life, however, is not.


Blue sky thinking


Cool breeze

Eases the heat

Smiling sunshine’s

Caress is sublime

From head to feet.


Hopeful faces

Content, courageous

Sweet chitter chatter

Feet pitter patter

On pavement, in places.


A new beginning

Each day is bringing

Future plans

Are grasped in hands

And seized for winning.


Spirit grows not shrinking

Heart blooms not sinking

Exhilarating azure

Makes a dark mind pure

By it’s blue sky thinking.