Draft for Desire

Awake and four years older.
The picture never changes, only the focus tries.
When alone, sound is again pervading.
Wading through memories, so deep
The bottom I cannot perceive.
Or would not, if so able.
Trapped by the knowledge;
What we become haunts us
And what we were is true.
An endless melody,
The means justified by the intention.
Remain composed
Listen and breathe in.

Camus

An honest truth cannot betray me
And the pavements make us sing.
So how do we dance
When it's not about fiction
But what it leaves in?

A Meandering Stream Finds Instinct to Be Stronger

Needs dictate; must focus.
The colour in a green field
Gates, but the cows cannot jump them
Now guns, booming and screaming
The birds become disturbance.
Return these views to freshness:
A Sunday among others
Nestled and warm
To be abused
Routinely.
Forgiveness counts not
In this reckoning
But the phallic debate
Continues to rage.

Dire Patience

We gave it a second
We waited.

Obviously we were impatient
But we had our reasons
Justification beyond it
And us, we didn't know
What it meant.
Good, clean hollows
Gaining in measure
Between eternity and
Nothing else.

It cannot now
Or ever matter
Despite good will
And prevailing winds
Always a step ahead
It remained
And we behind.

Everyone & I

Of course he's a writer!
How could it have been any other way?
His air reeks of pomp and insecurity
With hands untouched by kindness or labour.
Blindly staring, struggling with his muse
Why doesn't he give in to the plain blue sky?

When it's blue and clear; the clouds threaten more than just rain.
We pass so much beauty, instantaneous and for us never again
But for others, yes. There must always be more.
For what is life without appreciation?
How does it count?
I don't think that they will remember
Your endless yarn, when time matters.

But my opinion is certainly as invalid
Or do I elevate myself above and beyond?
The fate of many; disillusionment and pride.
Despair, only later.

Who will be remembered?
What will come to pass?
Where is the worth in trying
If nothing will ever last?

A Voice of Reason

As high-handed as we know
As mighty as we read
We are and will be
Of the human creed.
Ongoing and ever-true
God-like in focus
Perhaps that is what
It truly means to be.

Submit, you unworthy soldier
Be mine, and be still.

But to express
Is to grant perfection
To anything that
We don't know.

Possession

A time will come when frustration
Marries itself to best intentions
Whose and when we see this
Another day may tell
For answers are never easy.
You mistake my eyes for glasses
And my tremble-hands for holes.
I am not your Harry, Selma
I am not your silver shoe.
Forget we were ever parted
Miss me like you do
And when the dream-like distance
Catches you half-asleep
Grasp your straws for sickness
So health knows you're weak.