"life turns into a muse"

tra la la
little timmy sang a song
tra la la
timmy wrote love songs
tra la la
little timmy sat by the ocean one day
tra la la
little timmy went away

it's just across the street

They caged memory
in glasses of exquisite crystal
and danced;
the merry dance
of youth.
The colours of spring
took them across meadows
of peace
and skies
of golden-purple
where they promised
to be children
forever.

two boys

Two boys sat one night and talked away their lives. Morning came knocking sooner than they’d imagined and took them away. They soared high above the rest and noticed the sun shine on them and heard drops of rain drum on their yet young wings. They watched the sun rise and set over new villages and old cities. They rested a while on the old branches of the oldest trees, always watching for strangers who would smile at them, and they would speak to the strangers, each separately, and try to find a family. They would spot little huts of pleasure and palaces of shame, knock on the doors, and run away from the pain. They opened their minds sometimes, inside these friendly caverns, and squinted at the light that hurt their unlearned eyes. They waited impatiently for signs from the strangers, of recognition, and for this strange feeling called love. Never could they fathom what it was and what it would do. They loved, without a doubt, and they faced the friends of strangers and they faced the friends they had been given at birth, and never knew what to do. Their hearts told them to change and the forces of a life lived long ago bound them to earth, where they must return. Their paths were not the same but if a poet ever stumbled upon the wasted years that they had painted black then you would see a portrait of each not unlike the other’s.

Two boys sat one day and talked about life. Evening stayed far from the heavy shoulders of those who should have been alive. They showed each other the scars they had bought, two dreams for one. They pulled out pictures from their bags and stories from their pockets, spread on the dusty ground maps of places that were no more. Words came easily to them now; the teachings of the world slept quietly in the vaults of their minds, but always behind the words crept the hollow knocks of prisons and smiles. Music from distant shores came to bid them goodbye but held on, clinging to the toenails of their feet. Many a battle each described, many a battle that had been lost and some that were won. Not one defeat was as bitter as the few victories were sweet. One talked about love and the other friendship, one hoped for neither while both wanted love. Poets came and looked upon these lost souls, watched them flail hopelessly as the world caught up with them and painted portraits streaked with bright oranges and reds that swam all too soon into the blackest of greys. And they poets lost their minds to visions unknown, hoped love would wait, death not so, and they cried tears of bleeding stone for the children that had died.

empty chairs and empty tables

lines on my face
that your hands drew
before you left to find the happiness
that i couldn't sing

and they said
they said again and again
that darkness will conquer
and the words will kill everything

and the story has a different ending
and we dont share anything
dirty seeds
be happy and please dont cough

words run off my mouth
into alleyways that are long deserted
no minds wander here
pick up your emptied mind and walk on

and the writing is sloping down
and we dont see anything
anything thats good
go away

words and words and words
lighting up random spaces
that lie waiting to slip through
your soul and tear you apart

sister morphine, let me out of here
in the land of emptiness
to drown
drown myself in little bottles of freedom

stars are cleared from home
the sky is created
little kids like to play
with yellow green eyes

everything is banging
clanging, strumming, cryin ta ra ra ra
until i'm high on your low
leave me

jarred memories
broken colours
carry visions of life
end

i was gonna pull over for a stop
but gambled with the moonlight
slashing across bare daylight
good luck, i'm scared

high above
and i jumped
from there
again

come back now
in white flashlight dreams
on a soft whiskey table
in a last goodnight

repeating
empty spaces
walking through blackness
eyes of clouded moon

and stop me from rising
and giving myself away
dont be my angel
be my world

by Rorschach and Peter Pan