I dreamt the stars could whisper truth,
That mass itself could hum the tune —
A hidden fire beneath sunset and cloth
Of time’s eternal afternoon.
Energy, the soul of form,
Mass, the anchor bound in space—
Each mirrored in the other’s storm,
Each wearing the other’s face.
From sunlight’s kiss to atom’s core,
From gentle spark to blinding flare,
The universe began to roar—
A single law, both vast and far.
So simple—yet it holds the key,
To birth and death, to light and sea,
In every mote the cosmos shared,
The quiet truth: E = mc²
They ask what I long for, and in my silence, the answer weaves itself,
I want to calm the restless hair framing her face like a story.
I want to capture her falling tears in the vault of my deep eyes,
To abandon her pain in a nameless alley where memories dare not reach.
I want to gather the lonely roads of her heart and bring them only to me,
To shelter her smile in the most hidden, divine corners of my soul.
To carry her smile as a secret treasure in the depths of my being,
To be her refuge and solace in the magic of starry and cold nights.
I want to protect her from the world's shadows, for my arms to be her home,
To gift her the tranquility and peace that only love can paint in life.
To soothe her soul weary from searching and bring her eternity as a gift,
For us to be, the two of us, a universe of dreams, an esoteric and rare magic truth.
The night unfolds like ink in water—
a cascade of darkness over the hills,
dripping slowly from the corners of the sky.
Above, a nebula pulses,
not with light,
but with memory—
a soft, aching breath of color
too distant to touch,
too alive to ignore.
The river winds in serpentine motions,
its skin moonlit,
its voice a lilt against the rocks.
In the reeds, something stirs—
the subtle slither of what does not wish to be known,
but cannot help being seen.
A myriad insects chant the language
of things that were never written down.
The moon—
that cold, familiar lunar sentinel—
hangs overhead like an old regret,
casting a pale, indifferent eye
over the ruins of our intentions.
Even the stones are glowing now,
faint and phosphorous,
as if remembering the sun
in the hush before dawn.
And somewhere—
somewhere beyond this moment—
the sky forgets itself,
and begins again.
And the way I love is a sin in itself, a dance of shadows,
but who will stop me? I have committed no injustice, no theft of light.
Sinners sin, just as the sun pours warmth over the earth,
it is not a choice, but a thread in the fabric of nature, a melody that echoes endlessly.
Illusion? Please, I am the supreme illusion, the paradox walking, dressed in truth,
dragging shadows through the light, leaving traces of dreams in the dense air.
I kiss with lips soaked in sweet poison, yet my heart bleeds purity,
I am not made to be tamed, nor meant to be healed by the art of silence.
They pray for my silence, but I roar in metaphors, a hymn of the damned,
with petals for scars, a garden of words that blooms in the dark.
And the sinner? Again in agony, because I dared to sin, to breathe.
But who will tell them the truth buried deep within me?
That I am the one who is not the curse, but the wound, not the blade, but the blood that blooms.
And I will also be the victim, bearing the burden of my own truth,
a soul struggling between light and shadow, between love and loss.
Fear not..Yet be concerned.' The false informations wagon is
Heading back to your town.' A pandemic is planned and it
May well be one of lies... I mean bird-flu?? Thats so 2003
In Hong Kong..Do you remember..That subtle nudge.' Our
Mentality was in the sights.' 2020 was the goal of the
W E F..' and gaol was one treatment they considered best?
And that invasive intervention.? No lets not on it dwell.! eat
Healthy and fear not.' All the best stay strong.' And we will live to
To tell.'
I go out into the bright morning,
into metaphor and the clear, autumn air,
hoping to find it, perhaps around
a corner or further down the street
where the bitumen meets
and dissolves into a panoramic
view, a portal -
but it's never there.
I listen out for it in the pause
between waves, silent places
and in the quiet lee of myself.
Sometimes when I close
my eyes I can almost hear
its presence ease softly
into a sound -
but it's never really there.
I have prayed for it to appear
in holy places, in tall forests,
running streams and deep
in the solitude of stony deserts.
I've searched for it in the stars,
in the dervish dance of galaxies
and in the smallest particle -
but it's not there.
I have sought it in suffering,
in the ecstasies of love
and in all the threads that go
together to weave a life.
I thought it would be near
when the world around me
was hurt and crying out -
but it was not there.
I go out into the cold evening,
into the dark, pitiless air
still hoping to find it just beyond
the night, a few short steps
away, through a shadow,
past a fence and the perimeter
of me, to where there is nothing -
but Being itself.
Your eyes have grown tired
hunting the fox and owl
You no longer hear peace
when the ball is in your court
Pay attention to yourself
The fields have grown trees
you walk bare footed on sandy loams
As the World seizes and falls on itself
The voices stand 40 seashells away
Wanting to walk on water
Are you taken in by their promises
I love all the love you give to me
Speaking truth and gratitude so easily
Digging deep to plant a seed
Of respect you fill each need
And I'm mystified at your loving heart of purest gold
As each day comes to show
reaching high to conquere each goal
You take time
To find a road
Of peace and ease
My special gift of love
Your purity stands untouched
And I need to say
I love you
More than life itself
boxed into self-inflicted confinement
reverberations intensify shackles
towards the pinnacle of circular charge
blow out the fuse they emphasized
we need a circuit breaker for the echo
when the surge reaches its pinnacle
thoughts and beliefs amplify the crest
of what turned out to seem a battle of words
a coat of arms painted in repetitive darkness
polarization and confirmation bias within
a closed system insulated from rebuttal
dead end roundabout impasse and stalemate
as the echo filters reality illusions concur
with distortions half-truths of corroboration
testimonial endorsement of fantasy worlds
when the sieve becomes strained and deluded
the drain overflows with misinformation
perspectives must change to reframe the mind
ample proportions need not succumb
to fortified chambers of stagnant circles
hashtag rehashing in order to heal reflect
01st December 2024
Building something
that no human really needs,
that is flawed, makes errors and hallucinates,
that is costly and won't make a profit,
IS a really bad idea destined for the scrap heap.
It will feed upon itself,
cannibalizing its own output,
becoming inbred and biased,
making more and more errors, faking it.
Yes! If you build it,
some will come,
some will succumb,
some will forgive its flaws,
BUT, most will see it
as really hum drum,
dumb.
The corpse of this world has been easy to find
it has followed my footstep,
and yet,
beauty is here to astound
its glory confounds.
A bell in a towering light
knell's as it weds death to life -
the hideous to the beautiful.
The loathsome spins its exquisite webs,
The world nurtures both nectar and venom,
perceptions sleight of hand
mocks and bedazzles. One beholding eye
always opening, one always closing,
while my beggar's bowl is emptied
and washed
again, and again.
*Is there a remote control?*
*Is someone controlling us?*
- 12 year old me.
Our mind sadly not to be honest.
You think we getting protected right?
We do, but we also do things by urselves.
We tripple because we chose the wrong,
and fall in the end in the mud.
Smelly and dirty right?
But what do you know after that?
Not just to avoid that direction,
but to not go out on a rainy day anymore.
Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral,
And can only live through brief stints, sporadic in time and deed,
Through the harshest force of terror, its heart locked within shadow;
It silently prepares to rule through fear, for such is its path to ascend.
"Children of the world, unite!" is the cry, but it's a cry muffled by deeply implanted fears,
They hammer nails of "justice" into half-informed minds as into hard, thick wood,
To steal away the thought of self, to wring out reason to the last drop,
And to build within them a clean conscience for the dirty game they are doomed to play.
Crumbling on stage, this globalism cloaks words in noble masks of care and well-being,
But beneath them, the whisper of ancient chains lays upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting.
A world that rolls towards unity, yet breaks into pieces of ice and silence,
In their play, we become unsuspecting pawns, in a game that pawns its future for naught.
A guide suspended by the thread of time offers itself,
Where the soul clothes us in garments of flesh and beginnings.
The filigree of words breathes on the parchment of eternity, intertwines,
Speaks of sunsets as embraces of gods falling into sin,
Of celestial concerts, where the wings of dawn fade into shades of oblivion.
Of bursts of laughter woven like secret torrents from deep within the earth.
Of love, of the nebulae of the heart stretching over an infinity of realities.
But the guide to live it—routes lacking the breath of life,
Like maps to a continent of the soul, born from mist and dreams.
The brochure, like an oracle, speaks in whispers of shadows dancing on walls,
And of failures, perhaps like frosty days taking root.
Death is but a signature, a nail placed in the wall of fate.
We wander through the odyssey of words, seeking the essence, a candle to burn in the darkness of uncertainty,
A guiding star to wrest us from the march of clay puppets and breath.
And we find, finally, serene upon the scriptural horizon line:
"The realm you build is yours—beyond the gate of beginnings, time is a river without bridges."
penning soul’s musings each morn
spontaneously arising from within
rhythm in heart is magically born
causing poetry in mind to spin
there then thus is no one here
all that is, is but universal mind
wherefrom we see forms appear
with heart’s core instincts aligned
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