This is the dangerous part. The world swings you around and slaps you. The fatigue hits my feet before I feel it in my face

It hurts, the people I've touched along the way. Everyone is so hurt. Everyone is so hurt. The hurt ones came to me for healing, and sapped my strength. Now I'm scared. Now I hide. Now it shows and I'm ugly. Or I feel like I'm ugly, and I'm ugly. Or all of that turned around, painted on the mirror in another language, screamed at you while you slept. Screamed at me while I slept.

I love. I'd like to know how to love. I'd like to think I know how to love. I'd like to continue to learn to love. I'd like to help others learn to love. I'd like to be a part of something that is wholly, beautifully, love....



... this is like kissing? I'd kiss you
I'd love you and let you go when the sounds start
when the music starts
in
sounding
waves
hitting
our
ears
the
sound
of
sleep
reac­hing
our feet, reaching the moon the moon the moon
          the
moon

This is the dangerous part. You've been conceived and nothing will ever be certain, there will be no control, there will be nothing perfect, not even the people you love.

And it will be worth it

Every light makes a shadow
And every shadow is darkness.
The darkness holds a secret
A secret never to be revealed by the light.
Every person is light
But everyone holds a secret.
A secret buried deep within themselves
Covered in darkness.
When the light meets the darkness
They clash.
There is no neutral or gray.
In the end, only one is left standing.

This sleepy little galaxy,
lost in the milieu of a billion others,
is filled with song and the finite
thrum of human hearts.

This glow-in-the-dark Milky Way,
whose pinwheel arms
are spun with satin stars,
emits Mozart from its crevices.

This nondescript spiral,
axled upon a super-massive black-hole,
frisbees across the universe,
curving it with the maths of Einstein.

Space travelers are we all,
learning the gravitation-crawl.

in Portugal austerity is biting...
good luck everybody.


Sat around the crowded table
Wrangling chair legs and buttering
Conversations about banalities whilst
Being bathed by full cool moonlight
Is of course a fair enough sweet delight.

Yet there is smoke in the air!
Then one by one my souls depart;
Stunning my heart yet keeping me close
Causing fears to become unshadowed.
As somehow, I must open my eyes to find
There is always a child quite near.

Oh how do I keep it fed?

No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

And they are moved
by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
in the back of the taxi home

Winding roads envelop mornings
changing how I feel
as the sun rises
over half a million faces
all aglow.  
The air bears the scent of flowers
like those I have seen
within blue flames of truth
on the horizon of nothing more
than how your presence
seeks my attention
like falling snow.

I feel my pulse expanding
and I grow weak
as my skin glows soft
like poems
that have kissed the roses
around my thorns,
and my soul keeps the best of you
in my hands.  
My joy crashes
against  sands pure as thoughts
of the wildest forest
embracing its own lands.

Your voice finds me
with an understanding
that springs into my mind
making the ground I walk on
become a heaven
born of words.
I smile secretly, as if I  have begun
to read something
living inside a storm
rushing to be let in
and dancing on paper
to be heard.

Half a million faces
and all I see is yours,
telling me
I am the treasure you find
on those winding roads.
The air bears the scent of flowers
from fields
that continue to live
throughout the winter
warmed by blue flames of truth,
seeking my attention
like falling snow.

The mirror always laughs first
Spilling light onto imperfections
Alienated from the image in the dream.
A silent curse,
The accusation must remain to this world unrevoked.
Instead pretence must tissue tear stains,
To sundry up a surface glycerine.

Social man has broken all ties with nature’s earth,
He created machines capable of producing images
So he needn’t deny it.
Social Woman was always more comfortable inside
She expressed no claim of love for the landscape
Found no comfort amongst the soil
No romance laying in the dirt.

But yes, the mirror attacks.
The symptom is always one of weakness,
Of the self not having the power to leave itself alone.
The body distorts the mind at first,
Paving the way gradually for more active decline.
We hold it to ourselves to feel worth, or lack thereof.
You can’t sing the tune effectively, without first trying to think like you’re someone else.
Someone that same mirror fails to recognise.

Keep ahead of the crowd so you’re not held back
Expectations will ruin you more than your fears.
Talent is to others that which they lack
Mystery and purpose are all the mind reveres.