a tad bit dark.... but hey.

I walk a wandering walk,

clothed in my regrets

the ground consists of misery

the sky of loss

injustice pangs me to a withering limp

my eyes shut closed

I see

well i see myself
the world hidden in pain
my nose breathing out
polluting the air with my thoughts
and when I breathe in,
well I breathe in my own retrospect
it consists of a ragged soul
who lost its way among the cold
and the hot
searching for the balance
for I am the epiphany of nothing
I was once cold,
then I grew so hot
I was blanched of my feeling.
so now I wander.
the tumult of lava licks at my skin
I feel nothing
but what is already reality
the pierce of the ice knocks on my bones
I feel nothing
but what is already there
as it is.
and is.
until a scream,
why?
and I am answered by the comfort of
the soft of pain.
until a nurses hand
Bloodied
grabs me by my hair
and I see light.

part of an entry, July 22, 2011

I spent a wonderful day in the gardens with the sun just skimming along my face, perfectly deluded by a slight breeze. the classic smell of mowed grass in combination with every native plant conceivable beautifully masked the smell caused by the slight humming traffic far from sight: the only sign of human life apart from the perfect curve of a rose bush, and me, in the middle of this, with the grass tickling my feet  and the wind my nose and the road my ears gave me shear momentary bliss for the larger part of a minute.

when a bieng hears music

what would you think 

if the sweetest of tunes 

met your wondering ears

when the darkest of visions 

meet your bedraggled eyes

well the unfair may kill

but for the wandering mind

what would those eyes behold

if only a glimpse were viewed 

a glimpse of that of the human essence

that which makes imperfection perfect

why, they see the physical song

they would see what the eyes should see

all conjoined to create the concept of dance

that silvery thing which sheds light

on the sound in your ears 

and beauty of the eyes

part of an entry, July 31st, 2011

The sun is shining, and all those immune to such blazing heat which comes with it are celebrating out in the open air, their skin almost touching the rays of the boiling sun, and all they feel is delight while me and the rest of the heat hating clan are wretchedly  sweltering in the unproductive, slight shelter of our homes, where that small amount  of heat is avoided, disappearing through the panes of our windows, and the thick of our walls. We are the refugees of the summer.

a poem written on the 7th of august

Rolling

In which direction does it stand
When descending imagery spin against me
Floating time
In a whirlwind of loss
Against me
When before my ears
They hear a crash
Such a life,
With hopeless cries.
To be freed!
Well why then,
In such a stage,
Does light float for my dwindling soul
Coming fourth to lay guilt upon that golden cloud
Where does it stand
When before me the sun shines black
And the night glistens in a picturesque bliss
Where does it stand
When night comes from the soul
And day from the hatred
Confusion strikes a deathly blow
And every day is a wandering day
When beings fallow the light and shining suffered cloud
Rolling through the misty relief
And the sun is lost in racing thoughts
And freedom gives it's last blissful touch