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….

 

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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.

 

 

Paper Clips

Hello little yellow paper clip.

Hello red hair and ketchup chips.

Hello death and heroine,

hello… hello… my old friends.

 

Is it time we danced again?

Or shall we count tiddly winks for stars –

That have gone around for every clown

who’s ever written and spoken words

too profound.

 

It’s time to get high.

Lets watch the world burn,

as we deny that we could fix

each other. Ohh ohh…Ohh baby,

maybe;

 

You are as fixed as a fantasy.

No words to speak into my destiny;

No more lovers levers

pulling on me.

The Hero

I can see so vividly the hero in me,

living well in the future; the future is static.

A reflection of the past becoming present,

triggers my ability to out think probability.

 

My hand is on the window, everyone’s watching me

Just got to clear my mind, and I’ll pass through,

then they will finally see me, the way I see myself

I will lift into the sky – secrete identity revealed.

 

I’ll no longer be afraid, I’ll finally tell the truth.

I’ll round up my demons, make amends for setting them free.

I’ll finally be what I’ve always wanted to be,

just as soon as I get up to turn off the t.v!

 

I will become the prophesy and expose the irony.

Hello broken society trying to tell me I’m living in a fantasy!

I can harness the energy of hatred and turn it into electricity

that fuels me through the darkness procrastination

has enveloped me in.