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FoolishExploding over the walls,
your personal Jesus can't save you.
Why, why, why
her demons scream in her face.
Blinding and illusionary in the dark,
but you and she can't see,
all pent up and foolish actions.
Does it loose meaning?If I say I'm sorry
does it change a thing?
Would to keep saying
that one word be demeaning?
To say it today
and then say it the next
to say it again and again
does it not loose meaning?
Should I say that one-
for just a small taste of:
anger, annoyance, bitterness,
a raised voice in a sentence?
Should I say I'm sorry?
But, still this image...I remember the days
of sunflowers and daises;
of passion flowers blooming
and the consciousness of a lotus.
Memories of wind and sun,
water lapping upon coasts
and tidal waves of revolution -
the true beginnings of a peculiar bloom.
Washing up on stranger shores,
staring at a new symmetry,
the forming of a unknown world -
the starting of quiet discontent.
An invention, a discovery, outlandish!
Growing faster, faster, fast -, fa -
to a grotesque transformation
into an astonishing reflection.
Expanding and contorting,
flowers bursting in fire and rebirth;
from marvelous and into extraordinary
but still, this image...
A Glass JarI fought with a pen instead
never thinking to use a sword.
Words flowed unbidden, non-rhyming,
the beginnings of a strange symmetry;
These words whispered across the pages,
ink constantly flowing, flowing -
rivers of words pouring out of pen
into a glass jar full of dreams.
Alas, these images of past, present
and the future of my yesterdays,
are only just a glass jar full of dreams.
Glimpse, A Glint, of possibilitiesA flash, one moment,
just a simple glimpse
one whisper full of meaning
and eyes shining out bright.
The sun catches upon a shine,
a glint, an echo, a brush,
a field of a soft golden glow
and trees of deep, deep roots.
Promise, promise, promise,
a promise of something more -
left or right, or walk off;
Make it quick! Make it quick!
Brimming full of the more,
bubbling over, flowing out
quickly take a sip from it
or the moment is gone to soon!
A moment, a glint, an echo,
one glimpse of what could be;
if only, if only but for one
moment to make a choice.
Suddenly, but oh so suddenly
It is gone.
The Wind RagedRage, rage, the wind went
it whirled about in discontent.
It never seemed to stop it's lament
and neither would it relent.
It cried and cried and cried,
having no where to hide.
It just could not seem to abide
being so very cold outside.
All the wind wanted was to find peace
and yet already had it's release;
The wind just did not know how to cease
or even remember how to be nice.
Jar of DreamsShe collected her dreams,
one by one in these glass jars.
She had a giant collection sitting,
always sitting on a bunch of shelves-
they were tucked away between books
and lost underneath papers, hidden away.
Sometimes she would take them out to see,
wanting a view of what she had once dreamed.
Never ever did she think or wanted to release them
for doing so would meant to shatter her precious jars
and she was ever so afraid that those shards would cut,
cut and cut and cut her, leaving her shredded into pieces.
So on rainy days, she would find them, take them to the window
and put them on display as she counted them all, one, two, three...
she would cry and cry with the rain always wishing, always dreaming
of the day that maybe she would be unafraid to release the precious jars
Flower's InstructionsWith tender care a seed
was planted into the garden.
It's life grew fast as children do,
from seed to bud to bloom.
Flower greeted the world with
its beauty and petals almost overnight.
The flower told the gardener,
as it bloomed it's colors:
Treat me well fair world
for I am small and delicate
Give me gentle winds of words
for hurricanes will blow me away.
Give me tender kisses of light
so that I may not wilt from harsh love.
Give me soft rains of kindness
so I may be kind and strong.
If you do these things
I'll be beautiful for life.
Desire Has WroughtDesire found itself upon lonely shores,
washed up on an a tiny island
no where to go except
in a circle around an island.
There is nothing to do but think before ,
stretch out upon sands;
come to terms, accept
what Desire had done.
Desire, Desire, the waves whispered,
expressing the loneliness of Desire
of knowing what once had been grasped
and what has been lost.
Nothing Desire thought of could deter
the thoughts of what had transpired
what desire had almost clasped
but now knows the cost.
One tear... dearly spent. (Act-I)
I see their faces, they, the unloved ones, dry eyes, no smiles, just a stark and desperate gaze, bereaved of care, hope, love.
Each little face gazing bleakly on through the fractured glass of a picture frame, but not at me...
I lay it down, gently. For I'll find no comfort in it, only remnant shards of a forgotten memory, one soon to pass with me long into the halls of eternity.
This the equal sum of all my years. One just memory, fare earned, bought at a fair price, one of ill deeds and a blackened soul.
I feel pain, for myself, for this world, for the last time. Also fear, so real to me now, that he, this dark loathsome one, would leave me behind.
Unwanted as unworthy, to remain here, a fool in purgatory.
The cold now grips me as if embraced by it, just as a mother would an inconsolable child.
I look into the deepest dark, and ask him. "What is Hell like?" He took no notice, and ask me for the time.
But his question went unanswered, for the
PetrichorI walk without an errand for the mind.
I must be homeless.
Neighboring enclaves separate our spaces,
belie their builders’ mirthless exhaustion.
Not even necessity can be blamed
for these mud-struck, brittle gourds,
these quick nests of vasculous organs
pulsing with their peculiar tyrannies,
briefly scuttling from their hovels
like sun refugees
darting into gleaming storefronts
waffled in concrete misery
all to forestall the end of their souls.
Where can we go when we only want to breathe?
Sitting in a park bench,
trillion-visioned, crowned with galaxies,
I can rest my weary invention.
I sense the weight of an unseen player,
a secret stratagem
as she moves her piece into the glade.
I’m set in place, yet unopposed.
Uncombined with lovers, children,
the slow parade of trees and heat,
I lay beside these stalwarts,
at once, still and hurtling
throughout the travesty of time.
I assemble a cumulus intelligence
near the playground,
threatening Summer with three days
EnchantedA golden apple tang
Heralds summer's brightest fire
But I prefer to amble in
In the darkest corners
There are no haunted whispers
And only caramel shadows
Transfer daylight's memories
For unto me the stars
Snapping leaves leading moonlight
Are not my coldest lonely hour
But a renewal of soul
Desperate for YouDay by day
Block by block
Tree by tree
Tear by tear
Day by day
Trials and temptation at my door
As the grass grows in the world
My soul being put to the test
Day by day
Every hour and every second
Realizes that I am desperate for the Lord
For the Lord to hold me from falling
Lord, I'm desperate for You
My heart tears and wears from a lack of Your wisdom
I thirst and hunger for You
Lord, You hear my cries and You know that I am desperate for more of You
Lord, You are the only who fills my lungs with air
Lord, You are the only that speaks words into my mouth
Lord, You are the only one that makes my heart beat louder than drums
I'm desperate for more of You; Lord, I'm desperate for You
Teach me Lord to worship You with all that I am on my knees
To depend on You and have Your way in every part of my life
Lord, I am desperate for more of Your love
Lord, I am desperate for more of You in my life
You are the only one that will last forever
You are the only one that will love forever
You are t
hauras (fragments)English version below
kastepisara kielon luomessa
peitteesi lehden suojassa
heräsit unestamme aamuun
in a dream,
a dewdrop on a petal
in the shadow of your leaves
you awoke from our dream
a new morning
your tears and i to mist;
yesterday to oblivion.
Soul of fire;
Yet always the same.
Shall I write to thee
On this hot summer day,
While I wait for the paint to dry?
Who so many fear and loathe
To the very last day that they live.
Who so effortlessly stole my heart
Before I knew I had one to give.
Parent of monsters;
A term so subjective,
As you and I know
So very well.
Shall you smile again
In the face of adversity,
And every wound and weakness belie?
As you do,
By telling naught but truth.
As you must,
To frail sensitivities soothe.
You are not,
Though you'll pretend to it
You can be,
Upon no terms but your own,
Free and untameable spirit;
You belong to none
Yet, for better or worse,
To any and everyone else.
Psychedelia Dementia.Yellow night,
this alien world is so bright,
there is no darkness here only glorious light.
The grass is red and gold,
and the trees are shades of purple,
I feel this world is old,
in the distant there are mountains of silver and marble.
With every breath I take,
with an easy pace I make,
every step takes me closer to a lake,
am I dreaming or am I awake?
The lake is liquid glass,
sparkling crystalline gas,
lightning trapped underneath,
beats with a rhythm of a heart!
And as I draw closer,
I hear the music of this world,
I feel it's taking me over,
suddenly the surroundings whirled.
I look up to a familiar sky,
blackness of space greets me,
something inside me feels hollow and all I want to do is cry,
if I close my eyes forever then maybe I can come back and see.
The absense of colour drives me insane,
this place is too plain,
I must find a way to go back and stay forever,
and I don't want to leave ever.
PurposeFuturistic elements of produce and will
Define the rationality of wisdom and skill
Greatness transforms out of the might in understanding
Conducting with love, truth and commanding
Time dictates the depth of exposure
And ruptures the walls of insightful enclosure
Within is the key to open your heart
Uniting each piece in equal part
Messages are received in moments of glory
Bringing treasures and gifts embodied in story
Yesterday's thoughts hinder space
Wisdom comes through in faithful grace
"Knowing that it is not who you are
Sheds the wound revealing a scar
You are a star
With unlimited potential to raise the bar"
Harmony brought through balance of kin
Sharing in fears the healing begins
Concentration a strength to shift roads
Fighting for rights and releasing loads
Allowing for acceptance from others
Our friends our fathers, our beloved mothers
Will fill cups and fire homes
Reaching over and under and arriving at thrones
Destiny is in the making of men
Playing a melody that in
StrangerKill me now lest I dream to deep
or to fast that I am swallowed
by all that is and was.
While chasing the white stag,
the trees melt and seas boil
the world seems repugnant.
From the land of frozen
lips become black and blue
with stiff movements of uncertainty.
From the land of the scorching,
the heart melts and explodes
while the minds discovers phantasmagoria.
And within the realm of copse,
the mind discovers the unearthing,
and there is silence on the lips.
Oh where oh where have I gone,
where is this stag and feast
taken me that I am a stranger?
Within this flow of possibilities,
a sea full of obscurity and absurdity,
there is a stranger staring back at me.
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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