Owl Sounds

Who oh who..

Who who?

Who is looking?

Who?

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The Struggle

And I must be blind…

And I must be stupid…

I’m a dreamer, lost in the magic of this nightmare.

I struggle in vain, always complain life’s not fair.

Getting high just to get by….

getting high just to feel alive.

 

And I know it’s all one big lie

Sooo… I’ll live and not die.

 

You may see me stumble and fall,

then wonder why, and if me you know,

then you know, no matter how rough the road

I’m always going to try,

It’s honestly not in me to just give up and die.

 

and I must be blind…

and I must be stupid…

I’ll take the best of the worst

I’ll play this part, devils advocate unrehearsed

I’ll live this nightmare until I’ve banished my curse…

 

and I know not everybody sees it,

sometimes I don’t want to believe it,

You, as much as I might deceive,

I live for a deeper purpose, born of destiny.

 

So if you see me walking down this road,

lingering by,

maybe we can  struggle together,

instead of getting high.

 

 

 

 

Deadmonton

Soul unseen, spirit unknown,

blown in by the wind,

down the North Saskatchewan,

welcome to Edmonton,

It’s been one long dark season,

people living and dying with no reason.

 

Why is this the way it is?

Will I ever know happiness?

Will this be the way it ends?

Needle in my arm, no real love,

no real friends…

 

Oh God… Can I be reborn again?

Oh God… Can I be reborn again?

Oh God… Can I be reborn again?

 

Please tell me this is not the way it ends.

lift my heavy cloak, take away my burden,

Show me beauty as well as peace; the garden of Eden!

Give me courage and strength to slay my demons!

 

Show me a life full of meaning.and reason….

Wash me in the rains of a brand new season….

 

Humble Mumblings

And if even “The Greats” were just mere regular,

idiosyncratic – day to day observers of society;

Loud muses that mused nonsense – out of boredom,

stress relief, simple idiotic entertainment –

What of me then? My so called art – ponderings

of a directionless point becoming less with each …

*Sigh* … It’s insane enough I talk out loud to myself,

God help me when I actually take time to write down

the humble mumblings of my inner muse.

I’m easily amused, taking advantage of space and time,

making rhymes – poetry is as poetry does, line for line.

Poetry is like life – random and chaotic,

occasionally coming together beautifully in wondrous ways.

Poetry is life.

The best lines obtained through years of disillusionment and pain.

The never ending struggle to fight; Finnish the race!

The journey, discovery and utilization of what it  means to not just live – but to actually feel connected to your being;

That is living.

… That is poetry…

Die-sect

At the center of the equation,

the ultimate variable that changes;

The “in between” that will always be “in between”?

 

If I used numbers for letters to solve problems,

would I still be a genius in my own mind?

Or would I still be a mad man, lost in his own ‘verse,

staged before the common junkie, to be ridiculed?

 

I’m no mathematician: An artist of the language,

maybe once or twice – then the parasites started talking

by squirming violently; They will never tell you personally,

but they are not happy.

 

I really don’t know  how they got in my head,

They must of entered in my ear,

cause with out uttering a word, I hear… everything I dread,

 

Oh the time is coming,

Everything is building up,

the gears are winding and winding!

Something is going to… snap…

 

I’m still at an impasse; X trying to balance wh-Y-at.

If you need an angels dead hand,

reach for my finger tips – they’re in the jar next to my jaw.

 

 

Xiphos

I will hold a hand up, to den -y the apple of my eye.

Pins and needles, in my heart and arms,

trying to impress the lifeless & loveless, only she can disarm,

these bomb exploding in my brain,

drain the poison from my veins.

Give me mouth to mouth, taste my purity.

I can’t save you, but you could save me.

Just keep clutching my sides, exceedingly,

arms wrapped tightly – and tightening,

as our tongues do the talking –

I hear the world burning – and couldn’t care,

caress your face and hair,

Past the layers – lips moist, quivering and bare,

dripping the cure over curled fingers…

An Angels whispered voice lingers…

Suck my neck, my minute to minute, midnight lover,

Eye, Dan -i, eye, … bye bye.