Up, down, left-right...

Sometimes, you just can't help it.
The moment just catches you.

Be where it may,
the beat is just right,
and entranced, you make your move.

It may be slow, at first.
Uncertain,
in the starting steps.

But momentum builds,
thoughts become movement,
and in movement and sound,
there is trance.

We move with our music,
forgetting our surroundings.

And we enjoy the motions
until only silence remains.

An uneven battle

From the early sight,
the darkness ran from all light,
fearing it's pure blight.

In moments of wordlessness

The same image,
again and again.

Have I run out of options?

Have subjects I know
given their best,
and now I'm at the bottom of the barrel?

I look at the tools left,
wondering how to piece them together.

What will fit?

What will take what I have,
and make it into something
wonderful?
engaging?
living?

And suddenly,
the pen slips,
and inspiration
strikes.

The pen falls in hand,
the words flow through,
and it begins.

While scraping the barrel,
the tank below was revealed.


So much has been left
uncovered.

It's only fair if I make these wrongs
write.

Admittance

Humanity disturbs me.

As much as I paint myself cruel,
it's not really true, see.

It's more a knack
of seeing my flaws,
and wanting them to be fantasy.

Humans are limited
by being themselves,
and all attempts to escape
don't help them to not be.

There's no room for advancement
for we're all locked in place,
in the illusion of free.

No matter the case
in which we plea,

we are still human. We are we.

The Hard Way

The signs are purposeful.
You cross to your place of labour,
and run across a building.

Had it not said "SMiLE",
would you have?

It's fun to analyze
how the subconscious works,
sometimes.

And then,
to throw that
curve ball
right out of the blue.

Refusal
can be so entertaining,
especially when you are pleaded
to accept.

Stubborn minds
will hold that background noise,
that will,
for you.

But stubborn
may cost you more than you know.

What happens to that refused path,
that chance life gives?

You may see it again,
or it could vanish off the map.

Careful about what you refuse.

You may find your wanting of it
to be more than the loss
will equal.

Definition

The world named me wanderer.

whether by choice,
situation,
influence
or voice,
all point to this path.

To not be lost,
but to never be found.

To have stability,
but choose the most broken of paths.

To be close to others,
but always at a distance.

To help, patch up, heal and restore...

But never leave proof,
and to disappear.

I may guide you to the oasis,
but the sands of time shall erase my footsteps.

And then yet again,
my irritating self
will push me to
the road again.

I wonder where I will go
when my path is
mine to choose.

Will
my whirlwinding path
ever cease?

I doubt it.

I wander for
the answer to it all,
anyways.

Why stop what
gives you
resolution?

Observe and release

Paranoia rules the fearful,
pushing them to do
insanity
to be free.

We fear the impossible,
the cursed moments,
the paths that people could take.

Why?

Because people will take those paths.

We've seen it happen.

But really, if we know it's possible,
we should just let go.

Because there's no stopping
what we know is coming.

Unwandered path

More than silence,
less than foolishness.

What lead us here,
to this exact moment?

More than alone,
less than together.

Does this qualify poetics?
Does it pull strings
you never felt?
No, for emotion
does not come from beat
(sorry, percussion).
It comes from
mad scramblings,
etchings in the wall,
not out of suffering,
but love.
Those words
bring tears to his eyes,
for they are painful.
Painful enough to die for?
Nay, for he survived
scrawling it out,
through think and thin.
Not everything needs
the ultimate price.
The effort is what's due.
And the effort was worth it,
in his eyes.

More than moving,
less than almighty.

She watches the city,
high from her perch.
She invited me up,
and taught me to draw my wings.
But this brief meeting
proved to be too little time
to learn to fly.
Nonetheless, she described
beauty she had sought,
and wished onto me the best
in finding my view.
I could see the length of her road,
the bricks that held her from flight,
but could never stop her desires,
nor her work.
Sacrifice was not in vain,
for what she makes shinew,
is blessed with time
she never wasted,
was molded by
a being
who could never be discouraged.

More than human,
less than ruthless.

These were never the words
I had imagined,
starting these few verses.
But visions have ways of fitting.
These two beings
were more than something
created between suns.
as I snapped from their view,
I wondered if this was
something new
in the circle of repeats.
What an odd collection.
The painless engraver,
the angel who carries her wings,
and a wild, road-lusting dreamer.

More than imperfect,
less than permanent.

And equally absolute.

Useful to the Useless

These steps, barely used,
shine in the sunlight.

I'm not sure what to feel for them:
Happy for their beauty?
Or sad for their wasted purpose?

There must be parallel for every good?
Must every cloud that shines
turn to darkness and pour out it's woe?

Must every good bug be squashed,
out of either fear or ignorance?

We seem to live in a world
where the sides must be even.

But they lack that equilibrium,
don't they?

After all, both good and evil win,
if we are to label what is pure,
and what is corrupt.

We see what we want,
when it comes to the sides of all conflict.

And if we were to,
would there be balance?

I don't really care,
to be honest.

What is right now
will not stay forever.

So, as I add reason to beauty,
sitting on these steps,
I will decide my small part
for what's my
proper path.

Lies to the truth

"If this started as a lie,
how surprised would you be?

Kindness, caring,
passion, quirk...

That wasn't me.
That's not me to me."

Living a lie
isn't always wrong.

Evil isn't always
in want of evil.

But does evil know
anything more?

So, it can only pretend.

The foolish become intellectual,
the cold become kind,
the fiery, cool,
the weak, strong.

And in their lies,
they change.

A lie isn't
always a fault.

Sometimes, it's
the start of new truth.

What is the worse crime?
Standing still where malice lives,
or walking some weird path to peace?

I wonder if you can quote yourself
if your "self" fades from time?