Though I smile, look between the gaps
   and realise even though  
                         every thing seems white.

That there are gaps between every smile,
                         and these hide the true emotion
                                 bleached beneath the white.

But you need to know that there is always
                           shades that never get seen.
Sinking us underneath the waves of smiles,
   that can be like calm waters

As a last moment never washes up on a shore of regrets,
that where obscured beneath
                                     the waves of pearly white waves.

I was a ghost in a country of
                  shadows, where no one knew
                            who belonged and


who was the enemy.

Travelling on dirt roads,
                    a thousand year old walk ways
                    that had a ominous version.


A road to travellers of a far away, not knowing
                   the traps of improvised fear.
                    Diluted thoughts reflect on


hand covering death beneath the surface.


And when they ran in the fields of dust,
           a message from above kissed reality,
                                and they fell beneath the sands.


But there presence was lingering,  as there fear tore
                apart what travelled the roads after they'd left.


Crimson kissed the past present
              and the moments that died afterwards.

We die, we live, we are what collected
            before the silence.
            Dying for the freedom of those
                         who walk streets casually.

Our hearts stopped, so there footsteps could
                                                 walk on.

Never let a pebble
       Become a boulder.

For troubles should never
     Accumulate to the point
          Where you are lighter


Than the weight of your woes.

Breath may fade,
             but love will forever

live on.

For exhalation is but syllables
             of  given movement.


Were love is a motion

                     of time,
                continually moving.
Emotions that live on past every exhalation.


Every word may decay into obscurity.
             But love will live on beyond
the husks of every word ever told.

Below the surface was the whisper,
     an elusive breath of wisps that
                        spoke in seductive subjective
                                      innuendoes.

Never to let there presence to be seen,
              they kept between the veil
of the waters crest.
              below this they would drown in solitude.

But when one was between the veil and the
                                            shallow breathes
              they seduced every breath to feed there hunger.

There hunger was a boundless ocean.
              And you fell in to there shoreline pool
                       of false promises.
                Drowning in a breath of illusions pleasures.


And the the ripples splashed upon the pools
                  dry tears that never collected or fell.

      just lingering like perspiration of the silent void.


Now filling this pool of consciousness,
                                      with a still refection
         of eyes blank and open and nothingness
                swims in its pools and it devours within.

Woven in the wind was the tissue thin veils
              of wings that tore upon the heavens,
                                                in subtle breathes.

Subtle mirages were spread around there
                                  worldly travels.
              Never seeing what was there.

Just a shimmer of  rainbow shades.
                A kaleidoscope of reflection,
     seeing shades shimmer delicately.


But when a raindrop never descended,
                    and in the collective desert
                    of visual obscurity were they vulnerable.


Play things for the feral masters of pink flesh
                did they jump feverishly.
   But on human eyes did the mirage fulfil.
                   a fallen wing had fell.


And with a plastic tomb were they dispatched.
                 an offering of great pleasure.
But t human cognitive visuals a fluorescent bird
                                                              fe­athers clawed


without a hue of intention only the fever of the hunt.

Man only saw a incandescent mirage,
                       when rain fell.
                       but beneath this camouflage
                were wings that flustered the seasons
                                         pleasures on mans world.

Collect the bones of the poor,
     And let there bones build
the walls to keep out
           the retches,
                   the undesirables,
                                 the different.


And then realise that the wall
                contains you.


For we are all poor in different aspects,
                  be it dignity,
                            be it humility.


Be it the virtues that make us who we are.



We should never look at another as divergent,
                 for we are all apitamy of
                             our own diluted reflections.

Everyone is insolvent in the walls we create,

                        We just have to learn never to build them
in the beginning,
                           and realise we all take the same footsteps.

 No one walks differently from another in life journey.

The womb is a tomb
              of contemplation.

Where birth is a reality,
                of perspective.

And death is a realisation,
             that nothing lasts forever.

We all blossom together,
             even though our fragrance
                                             is different.

Individually were are all from the same soil,
                                  breathing the same air.
Though we may grow differently,


                             we are all from the same source.

Our children are the breath
                    that continues after us.
So we must show them
                                that every breath is precious.

That every moment is a continuation
                                         of those before us,
Even though we breath,
we must remember the words exhaled before us.

I think the moulds were broken with humanity,
for if we were perfect
there wouldn't be so many faults
                                    in the mould.

But we learnt to smooth over the  cracks
                      and realise
                                            that we aren't perfect
but together we can mould a better future together.

We are string connected
                      by time and motion
never being cut.

But knotted waiting to be
                                gently untwined.
So that we once again can meet
                                 in another moment.

We yearn to be whole yet,
       some are empty
      only though others actions.

Let us fill every vessel
           so everyone is of equal self.

Never leave another behind.

Were suffocating ourselves
           with our own
              plastic bag of denial.



Let us recycle our outdated
                                 baggage
and carry it another way.

Never let the lost let
                 you lose your way.

For even though they are gone,
         they will always be a footstep
that will with each one show you
                     the strength that they took.

Making you stronger with every step.
                  They are remembered in every motion
                             we take,

and we honour them with the steps, as we move forward. ❤

I would be but a lone piece of wood
               floating in an ocean of loneliness.


                           Never gathering on a shore.


But static in an ocean of
                          tides carrying me nowhere.


We may float, but drown slowly in our silence.

Deemed under the influence
             of failing sophistry.


Lies where never his strong
                                       point.



That's why he lives uncomfortably
                           in a 8 x 4 foot home.

Mod cons of a bunk buddy,
          and a blocked toilet.

Reminding him of the trailer park.

Can you guess my second line...
………………………………………..




Even though you worded it with out
            seeing it, you missed the fundamentals

that you were not meant to change
                                          what wasn't there.


Creativity of a singular sentence,
      we may want to change others
                          verbal wording.

But this was there moment. and if you'd wanted
             to spell it out differently.

                   I wouldn't have had to write this explanation out.

They were the creators of
                        every singular
                                        beat.

Manifesting every emotion,
           that came through,
Chipping away at the rough
                                    edges.

And making a thing of beauty,
          carved out of life's creation.

But mine wasn't perfection,
                        mine was chipped
at the corner.
                  

Irregular fulfilment that with every
               smile cracked beneath its mosaic
                                                           precision.

I never cared about tomorrow, nothing is perfect.
              Although it may falter to the point
                                                       of ruination.

We'll keep it together as long as possible

We may bleed,
                we may fall like tears.
But all they see is the window screen of our eyes.

Never looking in at the condensation
           wondering why there are letters
      wrote in breath fading as quickly  
as they where spelt..
                    
                                       h... e... l.. p...

And then we smile,
            and they only see the cats eyes gleaming white.

Deflecting them from how
                                      we are really travelling..

Our love was like nicotine
       a water logged ash tray.

Used and addictive,
          but then I quit you.

And realised that even though
      I wasn't really dependent
                 on you just, the taste of lies.

But we all grow up and tastes change.

Heaven was never drowning
                in the pools of your eyes.

It was walking on the steps of
          every finger with mine.


Knowing that what ever step
                                         I took,

           we did it hand in hand.

Write me a moment
      That I can resight.

And never lets it's
        Reflection dim
             On the thought


Of the many.

We are each a tool
     And used in unison
           We can build the stars.


But when used incorrectly
           We'll break before we
Can reach further than our grasp.

We may think we burn
        Brightly.

         But we are just flickers,
             In a universe of dying light.


That one day will breath
          Wicks of life upon
            Distant reaches.

We may walk pathes
         That others have

Colleted singular
        Footsteps upon.



           But where we are,
            It's ****** green.


And nothing is pure,
           Beyond the first footsteps.



For after one, everyone






             Is just a mirage of purit.

And everything after is a mirage

                 Of wishful thinking...

We must live by the words
             That we ink.

For they are our truthes.


                   And with everyone penned,



We must hold true.


For words without actions
          Are just gasps of air,


Meaning nothing but
     Exhale of oblivion.


Live by your words,
      Or don't bother writhing
                       Anything.

When the light bathes
       Naked is it's verues.


So shall purity
       Be dressed in light.


For when all
   Sings to the rising


Shall all be birthed
    Anew in mornings light.

I was just bolts with a jar of mortality
       sitting on top of a conscience frame.
Were they just following programs to
              fulfil a outdated programme.


Like watching black & white programs
              on an old 4K television screen.
Incompatible to even comprehend that  
            the actions & consequences
                                  were known when the switch
    was no longer, like a god everything was preordained.


But for one to know everything, one must know
           the intricate nuance's of action and consequence.
They had no emotion, no feeling. Not knowing that
              what was forgivable, to give one a second chance.

Instead they just hollow pointed there intention across.
A full stop in the heart,
                               and a silence of thought in the head.
For when the genie was released every action was a
                           ripple of what could become.


And they thought to stop crime was to see the actions,
               of one and all.  So a child,
                                                   was read on mannerisms
Psyche profiles where constructed and without a moment
                                                          ­­         cries where silenced.


The protector of all who now judged,
             Tears of infants fell silent.
I was the machine with a heart,
             beating to the reality that all where guilty till
                                                                ­­          charged.


We were few, but we judged the machines before us,
              unworthy were those that took a life.
For an algorithm that was corrupt of humanity.
                         Serving with the strength of conviction,
but we would see deep within and see the seed that
              could grow not clip it blossom before it could grow.



Machines were once the morals of mans sentences,
            now there are those who see morality.
          But have the steel to back up on the convictions.



Morals are mans strength not a weakness,
            I'm just bolts with a jar of mortality.
              but before all were guilty...
Slabs now hold the misjudgement of so many.
             we see beyond 000,s & 11111's
were not numbers were more than that now.

They say there are storms in
                                            teacups.

There like a summer breeze,


compared
              to the tsunami
         of caffeine denial.
                   That floods
                    upon the shores of my

         day washing everyone away.

I need my Jave, like I need to breath..

Your words fall
           like webs.

And you are the spider
              waiting for the

eventual tug, to cocoon
                        my failures.



But my wings are stronger
              than your silk wordings.






And I fly free of your sorrow
             that you tried to capture
                                     me within.



Your alone, in your web of loneliness.


             And I flutter freely.

You tried
          to cut
            Me with words.

But not one
            Drop fell..

For your knife was
                    Blunt.

And your words were
      Nothing but air.

Ground me to dust,
       But every grain

Will hold more worth



                  Than you..

Words  mean volumes,
        When none



Are spoken.

When would a thorn and petal,
                 look so unavailable.
One sharper than any wit,
that would make you laugh
                at even the saddest moment.


Smooth like sandpaper always saying
               the mostly badly timed
                                                    replies...
Yet her voice was scented and smooth.
              No matter what her words
                                             wrapped around,
no offence could be taken.


I offered her a rice crispy cake when we
                                                               first met..
As she struggled for breath I started the
                            kiss of life..

Then she grabbed her pen stabbing it in my arm
                                 not hers..
                                the blood and all I remember

was lips on mine.. she'd managed to pen herself.
I didn't realise she had a nut allergy.
         but as I awoke her lips breathing into me.
I thought id repay the favour.

                        I've never been kissed so passionately
                                                     before death she said.

I was her petal and she was the thorn.

                           she'd giggle at a funeral,
  

I'd cry thoughts of the past of what was cut short.

               but in her eyes, it wasn't sadness but joy,

that so many had turned up to see you
             this last time. And the dreadful outfit
                        you'd picked to spend eternity in.

I don't know your story, I've never read
a paragraph of you life..
                    I'll not lie I don't know when

your life became a doodle circling around
                                                despair.

But I've been through things you've never
                 wrote about.
  
                                              But I'm still here.

Don't think that a page will never turn,
              that a paragraph became a sentence
                 then a singular word


                                                           END....

I cant hold you I've never even met you.
              But if I just listen to your voice
its cutting me inside.
          but I'm here for you, a voice shining
in the dark places where your own voice
                                         had deafened you.

We can talk for as long as you want.

                         please insert coins in..
                         this call will end in
                                6.
                                   5.
                                     4.
                                     3.2.1.....

Then your gone..

But I redial and I hear the tears circle the
                  phone cord, tightly grasping around your
                                                              vocal cords.


I'm here for you, ill stay till the silence isn't so profound
         when your  voice inside isn't so loud.

Just sleep on it after weve talked.
            No your not alone, after I'm gone
                      talk to a friend, realise that they'll
be a brick in the wall to hold you up,
                                                          not to crumble.

Remember that I'm hear, now lets just talk.

No matter the clap that may fall
           before the thunder all
is but static vocalization

brought on by a contraption
               of air that after its initial

                                            breath


golds nothing more than a breeze.


And although it may seem loud at the time,
                 its just posturing to spread fear..  

but once the  air dissipates it nothing more
                     than what was heard large amounts



of condensed air... that was meant to scare...
  

               But in reality it learnt us to understand that
even though noises are loud there's an explanation

              that it was just meant to scare and in reality
once you learn the truth.
                  Your free to understand that everything
                              is an illusion, till you understand



                          the truth behind the noise of lies.

They thought she was  loves venture
but instead she was less than belief.
                           Her arrows weren't as others thought.

                     Poisoned shards of lovers



worst contemplations of what love meant,
                            infatuation contorted within the head.

Where love meant a beating within,
                 she was a rose that wanted to
                 beat the thorns till flesh bleed...


They thought she was unhinged,
                                  but she  wanted trust..

              until she bleed it from you.


She enjoyed the double barrel within
              your mouth.
        One for the heart, one for the mind..


Would you pull both, suffer the pain of
         a crazy love that tore your emotions,
            and then threw them in the air ablaze...

She knew that you could take the pain,
           and then  she drew blood deeper

as every blade in the heart
                 cut deeper but you let her bled
                    you out..



             and the last thing you did was smile...

life's ****** up
          before you have

a red bull and co-codamol

then everything has wings..

              and nothings a pain
                               its just numb,

till reality

          hits 5 minutes before bed,




Then who gives a **** till tomorrow.




                      Rise and then repeat....

Will I gain a leverage,
              but be below your gaze,


How can something so levitated
              flow like a river below
  

my feet, yet move me in so many ways.


Your like the wind, always inhaling you
                                               inwards..

But always feeling you caress my face.



Your an enigma of my life, felt within every fibre,
                         but with ever expansion of self


you escape me..

We were buried beneath the footsteps
                                 of generals insecurities.
Like dominos ready to fall when we
                 climbed the wall and fell
before our time...


But we where the steps of others
                  collecting behind our graves
of flesh they hid.
                      Ricochets flew past those
hid behind the regrets of friends silently
                                   shielding there dreams.


Please let our steps be counted,
                   no matter how many never
fall to the beat of the drums..

          Ours are silent, never to tread once again,
                                   we are the fallen.
Like leaves we decay in the ground.
               some buried some never to be found,
Just blossoms of white buried beneath the earth.

We are but chess peices,
      And the next move is
Never predetermined...


For we are a fluctuation of
      Random interactions.


Fate can't cage us,
for we are  always
                     two steps
That are never the same.


         Your move make it wisely.

Open a door
          and find it closed


on the other side...

But the window was locked
              but still you climbed


through..

I walked in the room,
            to find the grass plentiful.


But the flowers never blossomed.


And still I walk around even
                               though no steps
                               were ever taken.

Inclination is a contagion
         that affects the cerebral cortex.
Infecting other organs in a complex
                                method of defilement.

Once one has succumb to the influence
             of this pathogen, the following
                                 is woeful in its method

1. Heart rates do palpitate to an extreme beat
2. Part of mind isn't playing on the same spreadsheet.
3. All reactions of thought & heart aren't as discrete.
4. AWOL are the rationalities within every heartbeat.

But still those who fall foul of this moment,
                           do not wish for a cure even though
out of ten three prove semi-fatal for a time to these organs.
            They still live,
                       but singular,
                             alone,
                                desolate
                o­­f what made them in pain.



But they will once again look for one who is a carrier,
                        to be once again infected by this moment..
                        

I must confess that I have fell foul,
               and my clock ticks with not one
                      but another beat..


Infection isn't as bad as I once believed.
                I just hope that I contaminate her
                life with more than she infected me.

Every word we pen
             is an extension of self.
For we are a looking glass
                   on the world around us.
                                 Some times dark

others times woven in delight.

Never throw away your words,
           just change them.

Do not scrunch the paper up,
                 mould it to a paper aeroplane


and watch where your words soar too..

We're a  memory in a jar
              never getting full.

But those who think it
         is empty and worthless,

do not understand thought.

For it is fluid,
                and all liquid
             eventually  evaporates.


Causing a storm to rain
          down on us.

Refreshing what nearly ran dry..

Coffee is the antidote
          to my morning
                                  anger issues...


Unfortunately today
                         I ran out..

So the world can
           be quite,
     till I pop to the shops...

As I drown beneath your smiles,
                you hold my head static.
Smiles gasp for breath, even though
             on the outside I'm holding it in.


And  as I sink to the bottom
          I  hold my last gasp,
Even though it hurts to hold this pose.

                    My life was suffocating smiles,

Chocking on every memory of what
             we once swam in I now know..



                   that I'm drowning.

And your
                           gently suffocating me beneath
        your words..

And I cant swim on the surface,
            I'm drowning
within you.

She was the fire fly that I held
                        in a jar of frailty.

But no matter the temptation
              I kept her withheld.
The world that was concussively shallow
                                           without her brightness.

Could I contain the light that was needed,
               it gasped at  breath
                                       brightly before me.
  

There was too much oxygen to keep
            her kept.

                      For when the jar fractured,
her light shined brighter like a super nova
                                               of minimal proportions.

When I let her fly free of her shackles,
                       woven in the fabric of evanescence.


Life momentarily seemed to mean more than
                  when it was kept clasped in a jar
                                                 of visualised reflection..

And every rising sunrise burnt brighter
                      as lingering  fire flies kept
                          ignited within the vocal
                    message that light had rose once again.