The Filth That I Clean Up

I don’t see why you’re laughing,
Indeed, all of this is your fault. Look –
Everything is in its place, ready for you to see.
I am done cleaning up the mess of your past.

I blame you for the restless nights,
Understanding only the need to run and hide –
While everything falls apart and blends,
Until you return to smudge the surface.

Still I clean, washing away with what was prescribed –
With little comprehension of the stains.
All that I see is the dirty hands of elevation,
Feeding me and draining me.

I am powerless to resist the mirror-image;
The side that everyone knows and loves.
‘Great fun’ they say, ‘Life and soul’
And ready to collapse into the filth that I clean up.

Learning

Well 2017 is just around that familiar corner,

So what have I learned?

What can I bring into the new year to guide me?

It’s odd, but the same answer crops up.

I bring myself; that is achievement enough.

Parallel

It is an interesting scenario that I face,
you might say,
Turning left, then right, at the same path
every single day.
Some might say that I could have moved; I have it
My own way,
However, this is not true; I am struggling with a
Parallel dimension
Where left and right has no bearing on the wings
Of ascension;
Except, maybe to keep me within the very
Fine tension
Of This two-tone street – So narrow and with one
Humble abode
That I stare at every single blasted day; a callous,
Cold road.
However, I couldn’t have it any other way,
Truth be told,
For life is so simple when one has only two
Options to face –
We see left, with its familiar winding steepness and
Lack of grace
And of course, Right; unknown, dormant for
The human-race.
Moving forward helps me back to the clearness of
My window,
Staring through, deciding on which path to follow
Tomorrow –
Though my mind is always set on straight ahead;
Absolute sorrow.

Tragic loss – Up and Down

I wonder
How people fly within themselves to be stronger, to grip those wings and carry on
past the sky, With Floating colours streaming down through our lives
Gliding high
Grounded pathways, true –
It was not for you.

We see him
When sun shines bright to pierce our hearts we remember, of all the highs afflicted us
Like a drug, A burst of reasons not to follow it through
Highs and lows
Yes, we know the path –
It was not to last.

I fear her
In equal measure holding on to the mood change, the memories so silently
Fall away, they crash right through and hit the people below
Tragic loss
In your death, you grew –
If I only knew?

Suppression

Into my Dreams
I see what needs to be seen every night
In its simplist forms within gravitation, flashing
Over my head and sliding out the pieces.
Large indentations of feeling, suppressed moments
Of a time when pushing deeper into the recess
was almost a certainty – necessary.
Some float low, taking an interest with attraction;
The higher beams – Clouds in the eyes; frustrating
To ultimately be unreachable.

Seeing into this little world with eyes wide and aloud –
The skin can sit somewhat softer when needed.
In reality there is no hope to access when awake,
What is needed when you are really Wide open.
Drifting horrors of twenty years past stay high –
They must; that is their purpose, they imprint pain
Without swooping down to suffer again.
No, they stay put within me, outside me,
While I feel what needs to be felt
To drift off for another watery-eyed night.

This is how it is everywhere;
This is how I can survive.

Counting

I never imagined the shadows surrounding me.

In truth they only appear in obstruction,
sliding over my childhood hiding places
And blending into the natural midnight air.

If I see them, they see me; we turn together
And hide as the same in contrasting harmony.
Dancing, swirling to the cry of the turbulence
In patterns of illumination – On and off.

Knees bent, in the usual corner
I place my fingers on my inner self to catch –
Find reason for this enveloping misery.

Waking levitation

I saw myself six months ago
In a dream that kept me awake;
So striking the resemblance
But really not me at all; at least
A person I will only hear about.

I simply will not go back
To the place that brings me home;
Six foot above the covers, looking down
To a motionless body; So beautiful
But something I will never see.

I know I will be back of course
Hopefully on my terms this time;
Asleep with my thoughts to myself
Alone; A world view in an eye
Searching for the answers.

Forever fantasising in Rhythm
With the noise firmly behind me;
Held back without force or effort
Into a tearful night; Crying out
From the waking levitation.

New Shorts

Old shorts, love them with a passion
They just fit; Years of hard work
But change is inevitable.
Worn though, tragic times of laziness
Kept alive with a feeling of uniqueness
But change can be good.
Today I had a delivery
In a shiny, silly box.

I really loved my old shorts.

Bring Out The Best In Me

I studied the sky intently with a borrowed suit
Designed to wait in the way required by them
However, I could barely stand up straight.
The wind whistled the tune of change in us all;
Difference was hard to spot, but noticeable.
I straightened my silver tie and watched.

Today is a delegation, A kind of meeting;
Awaiting the masters who have always controlled us,
Kept us safe, stopped us from moving too quickly.
I suppose I should be grateful for the envious honour
To greet, parade and welcome the Overseer
Into their world of limitless Joy in the castles.

My feet clicked and my back engulfed me;
Just stand and smile while taking it all in
To show the world what peace really looks like.
After all, I don’t suppose people even noticed a war,
There was no rubble, no burning buildings of hate.
It was an extermination of our disorder; Priceless.

My first guess was that we needed to be taught a lesson;
A demonstration of mechanised efficiency so valuable,
So understandable to live in the castles with pride.
I can turn and see these rounded marvels of steel;
Forged with precision and undeniable authority
Making sure we stand where are with our silver ties.

When the night is as dark as graphite, they appear.
It is almost routine to hear the buzz before your eyes
Adjust – whether with tears or the clouds of dust accumulated.
Emotions aside, here they are and here I am; sold
To the natural way of life, Inside the tall towers.
I sometimes wonder what living on the outside is like.

My ancestors were slimy in their intent; Dominating
With their thoughts of world supremacy – Metal Bullets.
The delegation is a sign of change and continuity all in one;
The Earth is not big enough for two contrasts; stigma.
We sit and take it all in while the mechanised control
And tell us what we are thinking with a sense of purpose.

There are two types of person; we are told this all the time.

Papers

He said to me, casually
One day at a time
While checking his Gold Watch
And noting the observers.

The robotic station was evident
White sheets drawn up
With a memorandum of intentions
That never work for me.

Those eyes: So understanding
That things really will get better –
But not today, not here
And not surrounded by papers.

A brush and wave; A pat
And then it was done – Monthly
No more words were ever needed
None was ever going to be given.

I leave, we all leave together
Judging the situation around us –
The sun is still high in the clouds
As I sit and wait for the next one.