Tell

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Won’t you tell me of the things

That make your soul stir

And your breath shrink

Of things that set on fire

Your mind and you feel it burn

Course through your veins and reach

The tips of your fingers, tingling

And your palms itch, curl into fists

And make your eyes electric,

Diamond mines in coal lines

Tell me of the things that

You’re scared to say out loud

But the tip of your tongue

Has lost taste from being shut

And numb from suppression

And your ears long to hear

A sound of your kind

A sound that may rhyme

With the beat of your heart

And the whisper of your flaws

And with the sound of your soul

A silence that echoes within

Won’t you tell me of the things

That we share in broken glances

And broken sentences

Within broken caresses

Tell me what I want to hear

And our fears might live in harmony

 

 

 

 

 

Fair Maiden

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Her voice
when flows
Flows like honey trickling down a warm picnic toast

Her eyes
When smile
Carry the suns that when set, drown in rivers divine

Her hair
When flies
Paints a trickle of belief and hope in these eyes

Her lips
When cry
A thousand heavens break down to light the sky

Her hands
When dance
Weave a tapestry in air, threads in all shades of joy

Her silence
It echoes
In empty dreams of desire

A damsel
Goes to show
Need naught but beauty for survival

Fair Maiden fear not life’s ugly facade
For your existence is but a poem to devour

Beauty

It’s strange how we find beauty in destructivity. The night sky intrigues us. Trillions of magnanimous balls of burning gas capable of frying anything even a few million meters from them intrigue us. Sun sets make us feel at peace. A ball of fire large enough to fit a million earths, close enough to be witnessed from our tiny planet, inching further closer every passing decade, capable of boiling all land, makes us feel at peace. The moon, the beautiful, cold, lifeless, lightless, barren moon overwhelms us with emotion on a lonely night. The vast, never-ending, land-engulfing, moody sea brings us serenity. The beautiful sea that deceives you with the many colours it wears as times of the day change, should you discover what it truly looks like. The same sea with the potential of dragging you into a wet, painless embrace of sweet sweet freedom. Yet we lay in the sand and let our feet touch the shore and pick shells from its floor. We watch the sun set into it and we watch as it bleeds into the sky and we watch it bleed into the waters, adding another colour to the palette of nature. We watch the night sky imprinted onto its surface, distorted by the ripples created by waves that can engulf an entire city from the slightest nudge of a plate.

We find beauty in all of this. We find ways of incorporating it into poetry and art that we create. We define it in ways that best suit our interests. We calculate and measure it using systems that we pride in creating from raw thought.

Because accepting the meaninglessness of our existence in a gloriously self-expanding and self-sufficient universe prickles at our prides as flawed human beings.

Because for once we want to feel like we have control, like a child sitting amidst skilled architects showing off the fortress he made from building blocks. Or a drug addict thinking he controls what he feels, all the while rotting inside, enslaved to the withdrawal symptoms of what he calls “control”.

We think we are entitled to celebrate what we believe to be rightfully ours, drunk on delusions of being the sole heirs to an entire universe. Giving in to self-imposed falsely created megalomania.

We find beauty in destructivity because arrogance blinds man worse than ignorance.