Meander

Meander
Perhaps it’s time to stop living up there and
Time to start living down here
In the sweat, in the grind
With narrow thoughts, constrained brains

Looking at the smaller picture, or no picture at all
A blank canvas and a concrete wall
Grey plaster, dull brick, utilitarian
Built just to hold up the roof

To box you in and shut out the sky
The light, the air
Everything that’s outside that reminds you
That stirs in you that final hope

That quietened voice, whispering gently
Salacious rumours of another world,
Another way
Shut it out, take the pill

My mind meanders, traipses
Skitters, skips and dances
Through fields and valleys
Flys away at the first stirring of boredom

So brick us in, dig it deep
Throw on the dirt and tighten the shackles
Polish that suit, buff those shoes
It doesn’t pay to think and pay is the way of the world

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Convalescence

The sentimentalist, the romantic, the poet
They are all dead, they wandered into streams, their pockets laden with smooth stones
They leapt in front of the locomotive, they stood atop the tallest building,
Waiting for someone to cry out from below
In the silence, in that brief moment of clarity as they stepped towards the edge,
They felt more alive than they ever had and grimly smiled to themselves
As the irony drizzled over their pallet and the pavement rose up to meet them

For this is not their world
This is no place for open hearts or well chosen words
This is a land of the bold, brazen and arrogant
Deceit is a way of life and the others wear the mask so well
Yet it falls from my face, exposing a soft smile and kind eyes
ripe and ready for the other’s knives

So I’ll remain here, clinging to the gaps in the concrete
On all fours, with my fingers bloody and raw, forced in
And gripping to the only solid thing that I know
As she stands over me and whispers in that sickly sweet tone
Words which have never comforted any man, drenched in sugar as they may be

I’m by the river, collecting pebbles and looking down as it trickles past
Without moving my lips I scream a silent tribute to the ones who went before
As another brick breaks across my back and my skin shatters
Twist the knife, I’ll grab the hilt of this metaphor and look into your opalescent eyes as my heart ruptures

Wash your hands in this river as I drift along

The Art Of The Liberal

This is something that only the feline appreciate
How far do we go to set out, throwdown
Everytime I die I see the yellow tint
An eye that bleeds only for silver
Raw and tender to the touch of
Time on scarves, wrapped tight
On the fist of your father
Feelings churn, it’s over, the hope
The pain of generations lost
How many times do we throw down the anchor
Everytime I appreciate your palm on my face
Lies of another man feed on us
Inside your yellow eyes you choke
Before I scream I touch your ear, it’s cold
Empirical, yet our nation falls, our body
Rise, it’s a phallic symbol
And now the yellow, and silver, is all that remains
Lies

Fail

Empires, funeral pyres
Both fall under flames
This ends, begins
Once more, it’s the same
We die, I cry
Break rhythm, this is contrived
A smile creeps over your beak
Heat on the skin as It cracks
Under the weight of the seed prodigy
A leaf on my back nicks the skin
Peace, land and bread, no hallucinogens
This is straight edge, timber plank
We cry and the glass shatters
A mirror that reflects in negative tones
We’re in this desire, a stream
Flanking left and right before the Madonna
Dark veil of the convent, coven, draped across
The altar, consummated, priest outraged
Revolutions flames burn only where there
Is not fire, a life lost over the
Heart’s of fifteen men, a family erased
The hand of God, the body of parliament
The child of industry, the destitute family
Strings pulled, they all fail
For all’s quiet on your front
Heroine needles and small children
Mislead in the heat of a lamb’s passion
A countryside hill and your family, Bolshevism
It’s all over now, you fail

We Wake Now

I feel secure in your shadow now
Isn’t this how it’s always been?
A frail world collapses, we knew this
Pride, like hope, is merely an illusion

Choking, retching
Choke the wretch
I’m all out of prayers now
Kneeling never got me anywhere
Is it odd or sinister that
As a man awaits execution
He assumes the same position
As one asking for holy aid
Our Lord the executioner
We wake now

Mankind’s obstacle in this century
Is to come to terms with the
Knowledge that God is dead
Or no longer cares, either way
We are alone in this universe

Kill this representation of hope
Slice the symbol of our struggle
Worship everybody, worship nobody
Take control of your life, strong man

When metaphors are meaningless
There truly is nothing left

Time

It’s ten years today since
You last felt awake
How many days must you seize
How many leaps of faith

Faith, fate and other illusions
Taunt and needle, grinding you down
Far quicker than those bastards who
You swore would never get to you

If you snatch victory from the jaws of defeat
If you seize a day, or a spear, and wield it as a weapon
Where does that really get you when
No survivors set the world on fire

You’re a rodent, we’re all rats
And we’re racing, on rails
Towards our final day
Sit down, feel the grass, sniff the daisies
While you still can, before you’re pushing them up

Elegance

Familiar structures rise, despised
But always growing, evolving, creating
Environments consistently uninspired and uniform
Yet comforting in their monotony

She sits, at the desk, by the door
Near the window, with a mirror
Daubing the thin paint across her narrow lips
She will taste flesh tonight, as her pores fill with dust

She bought it, she’s worth it
He buys it, the best a man can get
He stands, it strokes across his chin
A thin line of bare skin shines through

Their eyes meet, finding a mate at the fifth time of asking
Wandering, tracing, grinding across each other’s frames
His breath hot in her ears, her hand in his
Montague and Capulet, or a new kind of whore, no one ever wins

The facade falls
The silk and lace lay on the floor
The mask hangs nonchalantly off the bed post
Now we see what sits beneath it all

Lies, smoke, mirrors and a young man’s heart
All crashing, cracking, crushed under foot
Stripped bare, bones and hair
The sweat sticks to the skin, it begins

Life bursts forth from busy lips
The midwife sighs, it begins