Emotions

Emotions

There is a way in life

Where anger overtakes the soul and pitiful hints of the mind try to piece together

Something that will never form.

It is afraid and I am afraid

I cannot say and it cannot say.

Why oh why do these trytiptical words not make sense

Because they are not words

They are not words

But things that don’t make sense are nothing but the lucid horror of things that cannot be helped

The human bean is but full of these and cannot live without it

But to become monsters of the dark gloomy mists

The darkest shades of night

There loom something, someone, its lingering taunts

If these tyrannical rules do not break, there is fear, and fear can be felt

Not heard or touched

Not seen or spoken,

But felt like the smooth rough surface of felt.

It is fortunate for most but unfortunate for a few fiends or friends,

Soon the thoughts may consume, but

Not yet

Not yet

Not yet.

The Release

The air that blooms
prettily through the clouds
with incessant wilderness
of that which quits
upon.
Upon the sound
my heart flies as the little flying fish.
Upon my heart
lays the unspoken feelings
that the day
brings to my bosom,
the key to unlock the vault
that holds what's trapped
and unleashes the sorrow.
Feelings deemed unworthy of surfacing
making ruins of an innocent face
with glistening swells of raging stormy seas
tinge the calm
and make a whole.

Life in Play

Since the lights dimmed, the curtain closed, the melody faded...

Sitting in amongst the chairs that swarm upon the masses.

That don’t exist within the frame of time

That includes the lights dimmed, the curtain closed, the music gone...

The words formed not on the minds of everyone and no-one,

And nobody, and everybody,

The sunlight turned off like a flickering light

The moon turned on to the glorious new expectations and perceptions

The night lays waste to the wicked and naive.

The drinkers, the smokers, the predators,

The victims, the lonely, the prey

The ladies of the night and the running away

It stirs the crowd, the ongoing watchers,

It creates a story for the bored to be entertained

A tragic, sad, soothing, comforting tale,

Of a mouse, rat, gourmet piece of cheese that is stale

Feet being stepped on, backs being stabbed, heroes that daren’t be real

The whole captivating luxuries of nothing that is worth something

To nobody, somebody, anybody,

Tight lipped and frown face.

The moon flickers out without grace

The day streams warmth in ribbons blowing in the wind travelling to places with no shadow.

The curtain opens, to the day, letting the brightness fill everyone

Then there’s just me in amongst a swarm of chairs that crowd the masses that thereof are none.