In a galaxy millions of light years away,

Your visage shines bright, a glistening moon

Its orbit is drawn, its kismet is made

Its blinding departure came far too soon  



Wandering through cosmos in search of your light,

I yearn to break from fate’s dictation

Yet as your figure comes into sight

It shows not truth but imagination



Your orbit drifts further as your visage fades

Your figure dissolves into starless dust

Your eclipse casts my heart under lonely shade

There is no love or hate, only rust



I have not known love but merely affection

I have not known you but just a reflection

Gold, oh gold of homeland soil touched once and nevermore
Glisten in my memory for the eternity that I could not hold
And cast the visage of perception, shrouding your long distance
That my heart may rest in clouds of artifice and mirth

Scatter all the truths amidst the wind
To drift unconscious to a distant desert, buried among the sand.
Paint paint paint with blood of sickly verdance; mask the image
Greener from the other side and poisonous within

Some day 20 years from now
I shall look back and see the hills
And think of misty mornings
196 up Old Belair Road
Middlemarch beside Windy Point
Rehearsal Room 3 just down the hallway
A chance to pluck the strings and cast illusions with my melody

Sentimental whims below the shade of the veranda
I said I’d write my very first novel before I turned 18
Then the venom streamed down from the sky and withered the roots beneath my feet
And sent a southerly wind to sweep me to a ‘home’ that I know not

In truth, the venom was always there
But I never deigned to see it
I frolicked and danced upon the grass
Pretending to ignore its prickles

Now from balconies and windows in a foreign haven
I see the grass as only green and bask in sweet nostalgia
I need not fear the prickles of the truth’s venom spires:
I am far away and safe
I’ll never touch it anyways

June is the cruelest month, blowing
Vapor from the abyss, swallowing
Breath and bone, breeding
Life in clouds detached, dying

Winter kept us cold, crying
Sky tears, cleansing
The filth of last month, burying
Hope in earth rooted, withering

The shower kept us warm, pulsing
Waves of a slower death, purging
Condition for small sins, granting
Solace to any fool, reveling

In that small respite, we walked along the pavement
And went on dryly with our day, into the rehearsal room behind the theatre
And ate our food, and gasped for life amongst the stained white shroud
And savored every swallow, as if it were the last

That bell meant nothing if we didn’t want it to
So we defied it time and again, as free will dictates
We escaped to the jail, and never lost what free will couldn’t give us back
And contentedly, we unfastened the noose from which we hung

And when we were younger, THEY hit relentlessly
Yet not a single bruise could be seen on the skin
Yet not a single tear could escape the bubble
Yet not a single cancer could ravage the lung

The judgement day never came, and we rejoiced;
Idiots that we were, fiens for hope and more
We feasted and indulged in almost ignorance;
Swine fattened for a glass altar

So now we sit, blemished and blotted
And not quite broken, but something more pathetic
The bell is still ringing in the distance:
Hurry up and go back to your class.