The Cold is there.

The Cold is there
Warmth is nare despaired
With it, you’re lost in it.
Warmth is there, like anything else
But Cold, Cold let’s you know its there.

The Cold is there
Like the biting of the flesh
It slips between you and your dress
In between your sweater and your vest
It creeps into you

The Cold is there
Clutches to you and your breast.
Slips into you, catches your breath.
Nothing takes it away. It stays right there
But it takes with it, everything.

The Cold is there
Struck by arrest
You feel it hold you about your chest
You struggle. It is a test.
No, the cold does not let you rest.

The Cold is there
And it makes it hard to bear
Soon it leaves it all like splintered glass.
And then it’s gone.
At least warmth leaves it in ash.

I’m no light-worker any more.

I put a halo on my head
I fought for good
My struggles on the path
Deserved recognition
And this prized O was to be it.

I’ve started to detest the halo
Because it does worse than horns
Let me not be mistaken
The evil are evil, but the good should be more feared
For in their vain conceit they are so very blind

They strike up their pomp
And act with such an air
As if they were god’s gift
So worthy of distinction
That we should put down our tasks
And clap at their recognition
Of being such a good, good, person.

Good on you, you didn’t throw the stone!
Instead you watched as they were stoned to death

These good men are frauds. Afraid to take responsibility
Afraid to fight. Afraid to die for what is truly right.
They will not take up arms, because it is not ‘good’ to do so.

But when their devil comes and gives them a scare
Then with one mighty prayer, God sets all right.
This is their divine rite. How almighty these beings be!

They’re scared rabbits, afraid to be cast as evil
So they throw their lot in with the good
But have no intention of picking up any responsibility as such
And they drain vigour of truly good men.

They dare not take responsibility,
They dare not act,
It is with the ‘good’ that the might of life is sapped

An evil man can achieve more than a good one, why?
Because they do not need to keep everyone happy
If you want to get something done, pick the evil man.

More than this, good men are weak willed.
They can stand up against evil only for so long
Before their courage leaves them
And they hide their tails between their legs

Good men are untrustworthy
You can trust an evil man to be evil
But when has a good man ever be so
Other than when in direct light
He acts so… divine. Any soul can worship the divine
But to advertise it, ugh. To be better than the average man,
Because you are invested with goodness.
You are such a fucking fraud.
Give me another sign as to why
Good men deserve to die.

I am not evil, I have my code of morality and that is that
But I will not be good, because this a weakness
A weakness in the hearts of men that lets tanks roll over them
I spit at good men, I call for just ones instead.
Because when evil comes, I’d rather have them by my side.

The Guiding Light, and the Lanterns I stop to glare at.

This is the shadow I cast,

When I walk the path of righteousness,

It guides me right, straight to the good.

It’s firm in its blackness, its entirety, as it should.

The shadow from the sun shows the real I.

I sometimes stop and stumble in the darkness.

From the lanterns I glare at, my shadows have split.

Looser in its connections, there are more of them

And I glory at them; they blend in deeper with that darkness within.

And I follow on them, losing my mission, losing my guide,

For I seek the true light.

I love the lanterns though, that split me so,

It adds to the ambiance and the fixture so.

So much so I think they’re mine, these masses of shadows,

But they are artificial, they are not real, they are not mine.

And they’ve made me lose touch with the light that guides.

These created, these fabricated, these splits of shadows,

Are deep in that blackness, more so than most.

I know mine own could never be so divided and reckless,

In this darkness, these lights will pull me apart.

When dawn comes I try not to stare at the light.

It is blinding from the night, and its truth is readily known.

I must walk on when dawn comes, I hope they’ll forgive me,

For the shadows I’ve split so recklessly

Now must converge in me. I hope I will see,

That these shadows of me, though they are many,

Do not matter to that Eternity,

Of that One shadow in me,

That guides me to the light of reality.

Lie to a mirror, what’s the difference?

Lie to Me, Lie to a Mirror

What’s the difference?

Look at me with disdain,

Do you hate the image in the mirror?

Can’t you recognize yourself?

See yourself in me; I try to see myself in you.

Pain is an illusion, open the eye.

Open the heart, and reveal the truth.

Heaven on Earth, there is no sacrament.

Life is a no punishment. Death becomes us,

So we can become life again.

God is within us all.

Even if I’ve never seen a man walk on clouds.

Your body is not an individual

Pure as we begin, we all return again.

You’ve tricked yourself, been tricked by yourself,

To feel guilty, to feel sin,

To feel unworthy!

WHO’S YOUR JUDGEMENT?!

Who is your arbiter?

All by yourself to yourself.

You feel sin, because you can’t feel anything else.

Lie to me, Lie to a mirror

What’s the difference?

The truth still scares you.

Of the sea, set for the sun.

 

O low does my soul toil

You’ve had me; despite my lacking respite.

Taken my cause for yours,

You’ve left me without my course.

 

I drift. I drift. I drift.

 

Let loose the sails

I wish to sail into the abyss.

I’ve called for you,

Only the winds answered.

 

Disembark from the bank,

Set sail, brave the seas.

These are our miseries

But we will see the sunlight soon won’t we?

‘How are you feeling today?’

This ain’t a fuckin’ cry for help

It’s just a method of release… Fuck me…

I’ll say this though. I’ve been caught somewhere between

Apathy and lethargy since I was about fifteen.

What I actually want to say is that I think today

I’ll have a bath and slit my wrists

So I can watch the blood leak into the sink.

Actually, fuck that shit. That’s so unimaginative.

How ‘bout I pop some pills,

Hang a noose around a big clock and throw myself off.

Dangle and squirm until its quarter past six

Til the rope comes off from the notch

And I’ll fall, fall, fall. I feel so ill…

My brains will splatter all over the fools’ polished shoes.

Fuck it; I’ve got nothing to lose.

They used to say it was all in my head,

Well shit. I guess I would be better off dead.

Just back the fuck off me! When I say I am lonely

I don’t mean for you to come accompany me.

And come around trying to console me.

I like misery. I actually do…  That’s fuckin’ sarcasm.

But I’d rather suffer this alone,

Then pull you down with me. Fuck, are you deaf?

Just back the fuck off me. I don’t want you near me.

“I tried to talk to him, I tried to reach him.”

Oh good for you… I hope you die too.

There is nothing I hate more

Than a whore for life’s’ abhorred.

Help because you want to help,

Not because you want to be see helping.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

It makes my head begin to spin.

I’m a piece of shit it’s not hard to fuckin’ tell,

I can’t wait until I get to sit around in hell

Like I’ve got somewhere to be with things to yell.

I bet the Devil likes listening to pain ring.

I hear nothing but gloomy blues, cruel melodies and evil sing –

It’s all painful remedies from violin strings.

Perhaps I can get him to strangle me with ’em…

I want to I pour gasoline all over me and down some mescaline

Can ya light a match and set fire to me?

I’d sit for centuries and burn, burn, burn.

I’d run around while my head churned

And pretend to be en-light-ened.

Fuck…

Sometimes I really just want this shit to end.

Sometimes I really think it’d be better if I was dead.

But don’t you dare cry for me coz I still wouldn’t ask for a remedy

Because deep down, I’m glad this is my melody.

The waves bring us back

 

I don’t get it either.

I should be concerned really.

For myself, I guess,

But I just can’t seem to find the interest.

I don’t see the point in resisting the current.

 

I am where it takes me,

Being there, I be what I am.

Then I depart.

Leave because I feel like a river

And I need to flow on.

 

I have always felt closest to myself near water.

I blended evenly with it,

There is a lot of it in my soul.

And so, I search for brittle fields, burnt forests.

They shall all be evergreen because of me.

 

I know what I am doing,

I know I should stay.

But I am a wave that draws out to come closer in,

So I’ll reach for you as close as I can.

At times I may just be the light rain on a summer eve,

Perhaps the rich mist of the morning.

Or the thunderous storm when the Earth is scorched.

 

I have been frozen with deep long winter

For many, many years.

Locked in ice, I held these waters

Out of fear, people may drown in them.

Now, I rush, rush rampantly down.

Down the mountains, I bring life!

Let me spread it out over these withered grounds.

 

But still I am worried.

What if the frost returns yet?

I like not to think what might happen

If I restrain these vivid streams

Letting no one enjoy their warmth

Not even me.

 

So I must do what I love,

Be who I am, and flow with the waves.

I am carried down the gulf, but I come back.

I do. I swear. I do.

I might just be a bit cold,

But I’ll warm soon.

 

 

Let them be free to run.

The scene is such:

A few nights hence I crept through the night

And climbed into this man’s fields and released his horses.

For they did not deserve to be locked as they were,

I know he has no need for them truly,

So why shouldn’t they be free?

Our fields are joined, his next to mine,

I felt the urge to open the gate which blocks them,

And so I did.

I have long thought that all beings being equal,

Are beautiful when they are as they are.

As long as they attempt not to hide it, or lie of what they are,

Or worst of all, when they are forced to obey by charge–

Then I am most utterly outraged.

 

“I’ve come to see you about a horse,

I did not attempt to steal her,

Merely let her free.

I do not think it right my friend,

You should lock her up in a stable,

That is all.”

 

The listener is not impressed,

He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

I wonder how I could reach him,

I stare out of his cabin into the fields.

 

“The night has been quiet,

And I have slept. I have finally slept.

So now I came to speak to you

In depth, about the depths I delve into.

For when one is raged,

The mind is definitely caged.”

 

The listener remains unmoved,

Staring into my eyes,

I surely do hope he listens.

 

“They say those who hold onto anger,

Drink the poison themselves

And then they hope it wounds another.

My heart could have wept with rage.

Instead, I sighed quietly with respite.

And I let go of my anger,

For no good comes from this ache.

Therefore I have drunk no poison

And I hope you do not seek to drink your fill yet.”

 

This listener is a true man,

Yet still I ache, for in my attempts at kindness,

He appears still to disdain me.

 

“I, who can be judged,

Will not cast any stone;

So I have given it to you.

I wonder evenly though if you have the right to heave it?

You truly are a better man than I, Gunga Din,

That, I do trust, you know,

But all creatures do deserve to gallop.

I ask you, neigh, I beg you

Let them run free!

Let them be free to run!

You must understand,

I am solely a dog, a hound formed by sin.

Even so I try to move with virtue,

And when I see a being chained,

I need to break the shackles.

I seek not to hurt you.

Yet, all beings deserve to be free.”

 

The listener shifts from his seat and stands,

Moving to the window he looks at me with a glance.

He stares out towards his fields.

I pray he sees how it is truly better for us all,

To enjoy these fields,

Rather than lock ourselves in our own prisons.

It is as if he thought I meant to burn them.

Rusted sickles and broken hammers.

 

Long has war been cold.

No longer hot blooded,

The boundaries of countries

Is fought through different forms.

Banners locked in mud,

Are easier to uproot.

Flags flying in the fires of conflict,

Are easier to burn.

Yet, the blood begins to boil again.

 

A man jokes that they should resolve it

Through a boxing match.

“Putin and Wladimir Klitschko

Fight head to head. The catch phrase should be:

‘Crimea river!’ Hahaha!”

His laughter penetrating the ears

Of all around him.

One begins to think of Crimea,

To distance oneself from his laugh.

 

How valued this piece of land is,

Which is caught between two forces of two kinds.

Borne in the middle of the sea,

Nations foreshadow its drowning in blood.

All for a piece of land

Which belongs truly to no one.

And no amounts of metal forged with hate

Will change its allegiance.

No matter how determined

The mind of man maybe to change it.

 

Vice And Virtue

I have written a novel which you can look up here:

Vice And Virtue

I would greatly appreciate it if you were to take a look at it.