This Journey

I'm thinking quietly
there's nothing in this noise
I couldn't ask for
places I've been
they're not calling out to me
this isn't where I should be

We've carried nights
it's not up to us to not know
weightless, there isn't anything left
we don't find ourselves—
on the street,

On a journey
the morning sun
on our back,
in our eyes—
dreams,
crumble

As we walk in
with questions,
no doubts
in the dark
nothing's clear,
our night
stand for who we once were
we're not ready, nor young,
everything to fear
but we will survive

In Leather, Words Bound

The lovers of yesterday will remember,
the sonnets,
the words chosen carefully,
select
deliciously sensual,
the lovers of yesterday...

The lovers of yesterday will remember the look in his eyes,
her eyes,
glazed,
full of desire,
skin sweaty,
sensitive,
wanting,
yearning,
the lovers,

know passion,
seek it
want it,
live for it,
it's written in history
in leather bound volumes
on parchment—discoloured
aged
delicate,
the lovers of yesterday

Oh, if only to be born yesterday...

Foolish Love

If I knew that today would be the last time that I would see you,

I would hug you tight,

pray, the Lord, be the keeper of your soul.

If I knew that this would be the last time that I would see you pass through this door,

I would embrace you, 

kiss you—

call you back.

If I knew that this would be the last time that I would hear your voice,

I would take a hold of each word and store it,

pull them out one by one, and listen to them over again...

If I knew, 

If I knew, I would tell you that I love you,

Shout it for the world to hear,

If I knew, 

I wouldn't take you for granted.

I'd want you to know—

foolish love,

If, I knew.

A Ride to Nowhere

Come, she said
on a trip that will astound you,
I'll make it worth your while, she said
Why...
What need have I for a trip?
What need have I for something I do not need,
nor have I asked for?
Why? Why, not? She reiterated.
Life is like this,
Like what?
Surprising, surmising, fantastical and whimsical, she said
I no not what you speak, I said,
these things mean nothing to me.
My life is perfect, just as it is.
Ah, the life of the non believers, the rule followers, the dare I say it, sticklers...
a cackle loud and piercing,
Look here, I said, I have said, no thank you, I've been polite, what more do you want of me?
Time.
Tick tock,
time,
tomorrow, there will be no time,
What ever do you say? I don't understand your hog wash, babble, incoherent, nonsense...
Dear Sir,
I'm sorry,
Sorry?
I am, for you,
you'll never understand—
this I now see.

Stories told

I write in my native tongue,
the language of my ancestors,
I re tell the stories passed down to me,
stories fantastical,
mythological,
too unreal to be logical,
but too logical to be unreal
I speak in words that were spoken to me,
when I was too young to understand their meaning,
meaning to understand when I was young,
and remember when I got older,
and I think I did-
I sing songs that I don't remember the words to,
to the offspring of those who came after me,
after all my own are too old for such things,
I write words in my native tongue,
lest I forget from where I came,
so the words will be there,
long after I am  not.

On this Day

And on the day they will come for me,
they'll remember the heavens opened and drowned their souls
trying in
vain to purify the rotten heart that beats within them,
they'll remember the sky darkened before it's time,
into a colour no artist had ever seen,
would see ever again
the howls that escaped from deep throats wild with pain,
anger
and a cowardliness that only comes after the fact
regretfully,
or not,
they would remember,
they would,
for time has a habit of holding on-
history has a habit of being relived
and mistakes of those who came before us
are repaid by those who are yet to come,
on the day they come for me

Don't be afraid

If you take all the bad in the world
bundle it up into one hazardous waste to humanity,
don't be afraid,
don't...
then stand back and take stock of all the other things,
it's amazing what you'll see-
beneath weeds,
sprays of violets,
daisies and wild irises
flocks of feathered friends calling for family,
come,
eat, is there anything better than this...
trees green, uplifting arms to catch the warmth on budding leaves,
smell the air,
smell it-
children screaming without inhibition,
in the streets,
parks,
in packs too large to count-
envious adults standing close, arms twitching,
mouths moving silently
wanting to break out in song,
the elderly tapping their feet to tunes only they can hear,
or smiling to voices of yesterday,
blue skies,
stretching as far as the eye can see,
and then some,
clarity
serenity
peace-
freedom,
don't be afraid,
don't.