Crying wolf to fate
Will arrange you a date
With the shadow of the reaper,
A soldier of lifes sleeper
No feelings or emotion
Or evidence of commotion,
When he cuts from the knees
The only moment he is pleased
When humans think of Karma
It’s a wind that brings much harmer,
An invisible eye of balance giving
To the path of righteous living
Sees all, and the virtual truth
No excuse to live or behave as youth
The cold will hit when cruel are older
As Karma taps on the foul cold shoulder.
You only die of confusion if you haven’t accepted its certainty,
Like a Time ticking bomb,
A Weapon of emotional destruction,
In time you cant avoid,
A Shoulder can drop to faint
The weight of gain,
But burden still reigns,
Until the pains
Remind you, you’re still alive
Walking around a church
Searching for space
To lay in peace
Or kneel to pray,
Gives in to factual nature.
Nothing to prove
Just leap to your faith, and fate,
Smiling all the way,
So not to reap too early,
Before your final date.
The mind is adept at its own pretence
When a foreseeable ending claws at its sense
Rapid spate of change is hard to allow
Crystal clear thoughts deviate from the brow
An uncontrolled destined moment in time
Perspectives of honesty bring up the divine
Amnesiac spaces previous and after
Brings the transition not nearer nor faster
Change sparks defence to raise fully clad
Denial, like a sane man humouring the mad
A rapid such ending wretches the soul
Pulls what we possess to never let go
Our sleepless gut instinct repulses the last
Repelling an echo of struggles near past
For even the efficient an ending feels strange
A limbo state not desiring to change
An unconscious unknown steadily beckons
Lifetime of intake, although its just seconds
Confusion is ripe though doesn’t persist
Without endings your presence wouldn’t exist
On ponder a moment which presents a choice
An alternate view to retain a lost voice
Reflect to proceed, an perceptive mind wins
Determine an ending, is where a new first begins.
Anxiety the past,
Praying on memories of old
Turning joy toxic
Parading doubt in front of others.
Questioning becomes an obsession
With the conscious gods.
Rewriting history through imagination
Feelings of guilt and regret
Cloud truth and innocence.
Depression the present,
And tireless days
Mask slips in lonesome moments
Reappearing with others,
Painting a fake smile in company
Swapping faces to suit situations.
Forever Praying for, and fearing, isolation,
A bittersweet time of clarity
In a day of celebration
Where the crowd mood is red
The depressives is blue.
Fear is the future,
To unknown happenings,
Maybe Death or incarceration,
No positive or warm to hold onto.
Uncertainty a devil of the mind,
Imagination the keys on which he plays
Silencing voice of reason.
Rationality plays part of advocate
Though fails to satisfy or reassure
Peace and calm.
Noone can predict what the future holds
Though my accurate twisted depiction,
Is feeling alone and cold.
Many are visited always by these three ghosts,
And Christmas occasions can prove too dour
An Understanding voice can sing like a Carol
A true gift given, in a much needed hour.
We would be lying
If we believe we’re not dying
Best to be ruthless
Not consciously toothless
Arming with facts
How our body subtracts,
Blood steadily thickens
Immune system sickens
Thinning our skin
Fades from within,
The insides lay waste
Soon we will taste
The scent of death
Awash in our breath.
Movement Cracks bone
Awaiting final moan
Lose all doubt
This is the wayout,
Enjoy what’s left
Because we are dying
And very soon,
Our soul will be flying.
When people say my name
I’m caught off guard
In my head I’m not approachable
Not expecting anyone to engage.
Question why they’ve open discussion
What’s their motive
Is it because I’m the last resort
Or the more interesting people have left
I’m anxious but glad at the same time
Praying I dont say anything stupid,
On egg shells so they will return,
Desperate to make good impression
The circles, emotions and thoughts that rise to the surface during conversation is immeasurable.
To the normal person its every day
To me it hits the seismic scale Of anxiety
My mind takes me through the talk
Summarising if I spoke out of turn
Or brought Shame upon myself.
Will they return for act two, or is once is enough.
Maybe one day I will listen to what they say and not heighten my feelings to my own responses,
Before the questions have been asked.
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‘Any thought can be tolerated, even this one’,
Becomes an obsessional loop,
A contradictory statement on repeat
That works to ease tension
And stop the mind from back flowing.
Insurance and affirmation it’s not a lie
Breathes from within.
The warmth and contentment cant be faked,
So belief becomes the norm,
And fear a fractured shadow.
Our own mind a nemesis
A fact created from evolutionary frailties
Or a sick trick from ones creator?.
To question is to fall back to the trap.
Accept the fractured imperfections
Of the conscious mind,
The dark humour mixed with reality,
And live with glory of imagination,
The power to create expressivly
And freedom to do so.
Once we let go of ourselves
Control is restored,
Balance becomes silent,
And Living becomes unnoticed.
Always nice to get positive feedback and messages about my book.
As the sun rises
The mind sets
On a horizon of space
And joyful chaos,
Carrying you on a journey
Of laughter and confusion
Through an orbit of mischief,
By holding the hands of the stars
Who lay you back down
In comfort and wonder,
Until you’re awakened fully
Wondering, if your voyage was true
As dreams can tell lies,
Though what can’t be hidden
Or ever taken
Is the sparkle, left in your eyes
A stranger to family
Though no black sheep,
A white angel
Born to mix up the pure
Voice the occasion
And relax at achievement.
If we died knowing what we really were
We would leave no mystery,
That lies in death
And the memories of the conscious.
Belief of the condemned
May show the path to enlightenment,
Dependant on the creativity
And imagination buried in the unconscious
Do we believe in the scenery
Devised on panic and choice,
Truth is, we are complicit
To the eventuality contrived
And the stories of our senses.
As family show remorse to the passing
They imagine their own divine termination,
Twisting it to fit a peaceful goodbye
While praying for more time
To design their own salvation.