What if I just let go?
An Architect of Ruins: built upon an unpredictable,
Sandstorm. With full knowledge of its consequences.
The contractor's role in assisting with the outcome.
Was the price to pay as tools used to construct the
anchor that is already sinking?
This is the familiar toxicity of a well-known friend.
While displaying their fully furnished turnkey.
Craving stability, but chose the sandstorm.
Like cutting off body parts, then stitching them
together with thorn wires, suggested by the hired
contractor. Who has made it a wreckage, and now grasping in corrosive shattered sandstorm, having,
shown the turnkey project.
Subcontractors are now on the punch list.
Where is the willingness to surrender this pain?
These hands are the only thing that’s binding time.
Of your own undoing.
To stop the bleeding, you must drop the permit.
Pure instrumentation,
a dance for the senses.
Full pit orchestra eyes.
This sounds so cliche’..
You give me butterflies.
Pure instrumentation,
touched by a silent song.
Facing complex rhythm
you have a sweet timbre,
flashing like a prism.
Pure instrumentation,
the more the merrier.
Nuance is the turnkey
to charge an ensemble.
Each note joins seamlessly.
Pure instrumentation
arranged for all to shine,
I cannot look away.
You dangle a hard hook,
all I can do is stay.
There is no appointment necessary,
you are free to saunter right in;
Just be sure to read the sign on the door,
mind the subterfuge of fine print;
Results are built out of high maintenance,
don’t mistake turnkey for easy;
It takes alot of effort to stay clean,
our clients reap the benefits;
Be mentally prepared to do the work,
you will cross the finish line first;
Effort needs to remain invisible,
pay your dues with repetition;
Sign on the dotted line the fun begins,
do not be shy we take walk-ins.
The turnkey to my heart? A skeleton;
It’s understanding the rhythm and more
importantly? The rhyme;
It’s hearing my past and calming
every thought of the future,
listening as I reveal my soul;
Shattered or in one piece
I relish every sip of you;
So go on, taste me;
It’s opening the closet and being
okay with the chaotic mess
because it made me who I am;
It’s dancing with two left feet
just so I can feel less awkward;
Still loving every minute of it;
So go on sip on me,
shattered or in one piece;
I relish every time you taste;
It’s knowing I’m not always sunny,
but loving my moonless dark sky;
The portal to my heart? A skeleton key.
Aromatic alleviation that you need;
the secret to having anything succeed?
A blanket fort and peppermint pillow mote;
Sea of calm spiked with crimson passion;
If you get high on imagination?
That’s the turnkey to get inside;
I dare you to try and break the fire wall
if there’s nothing of childhood you recall;
Forever locked outside your psyche;
Fragrant aroma that allows you to breathe
free to rejoin what lies underneath;
Inhale exhale, roll back in time.
Take my guns?
It’s too late
Way too late
I’ve already dipped my head in the well of hell
And sucked the knowledge of devastation
Your attempts to curb my mental masturbation
Have only further fueled my fascination
You should understand
That in murder land
Guns are the turnkey solution for the lazy
Point and pull
click click click
Convenience with a choice of colors for the sick
LOL
So absurd
You naïve turd
Death is overrated, or haven’t you heard?
Everyone is doing it night and day
Risking it all for a lil gun play
Buying another day
With brass and lead
Gotta keep my paranoia well fed
Other wise
I may end up dead
Then where would I be?
In a box
And unable to take you with me
See ya around clown
I gotta go down town
To see the man
With the eternal frown
You know?
Wears a red suit and full of brown
LOL
Eric (and sometimes not)
The promise land doesn't come turnkey and move in ready
It's a self-assemble
New build: customize your own heaven or hell
Remodel: Pimp a dinosaur
Facelift a grand Dame
Restore a Hiroshima
An eyesore into a Picasso
For you can upcycle the pieces of your broken yesterdays
into vintage tomorrows
Your bitter blues into your giddiest bliss yet
Locked in this prison, still doing time,
No escape no matter how high I climb,
Solitary confinement in a deep dark cell,
Far from Heaven, too close to hell.
All by myself, a slave to sin,
Trying to please God but just can’t win,
Where is the courage to set myself free?
Escape from this bondage I cannot see.
This prison has no bars or walls,
My prison is my weakness when the devil calls,
Unable to get this millstone off my back,
My prison is really the faith I lack.
It’s the same old thing I can never see,
Total trust in God is how to break free,
It will not work with God and self in each hand,
A house divided will never stand.
I am my own jailer, guard and turnkey,
It’s simple to leave this prison and be free,
By walking with God every single day,
You will find your freedom and stay that way.
Life is a journey that is anything but turnkey
Full of many doors that we must open
As we find our way through another day
There are so many doors to choose from
Before all the opportunities
Will just flee or get by me
So we have to try to always reach for the sky
Turning all of life's opportunities on high
We have to let some pass us by
For every new door that opens
We need to test the waters
As they come ashore
We must not ignore what makes us soar
Before the next door closes
We need not worry or get in a hurry
About all the doors that are so blurry
For every new door that brings opportunity
Should allow us to foresee
Which are key for us to agree
Moving forward before the next door closes
We have to let go of those doors
That brings the doubt without clout
That turns our world all about
Making us want to shout
Why we figure out
Why we all stumble and fumble
Surely these are the doors that we must close
Because everybody knows it all makes us grow
Into the person, we have come to know
So take it nice and slow
And just find the right flow
Life is what you make it
So don't fake it
Or break it
But rather
Make it your own
getting up and getting away
no coin toss or real reason
you have a tasted for some buttercream cake squares
i have a taste for a butterscotch mikshake
afterwards we drive to different areas and check out some houses we saw online
we learn that you do not like modular homes and i am not crazy about well water
you like hardwood floors throughout and i dig wall to wall carpet
we both like turnkey ready and absolutely no exceptions
fixer-uppers are not even close to an option
we then decide out of the clear blue to drive to a particular park
there is a walking track above a hill close to the Heavens where held hands inside my jacket pocket on a very cold winter day
we converse while at the same time take in the moment and the moderate sun
it is then that we (aka SHE) decide to do some "window shopping"
you pull me into your world, and i end up buying some island fresh febreze, some fresh spring waters purex crystals, and a dr. pepper
inside and to myself i just shake my head and wonder where we will be heading to next
with the way our minds work we both never know....and by golly that seems to be the way we like it!
No-one sees this but me ,im slowly falling apart
Seem im always losing the things that are dearest to my heart
Its nothing strange I know i should have seen it from the start
yet somehow life stepped in again and left its ugly mark
Master of my destiny thought to have had control
Not knowing what was waiting for me at the end of the road
Thinking I was tough not knowing that I would fold
As all the stress and strife in my life finally took its toll
It was me that turned from GOD not him that turned from me
He had shown me the way to go but I was too blind to see
I myself chose this path thinking this is where I wanted to be
Now im stuck here in my own prison waiting on God to turn the key
The monitor beeps,
With each caged breath,
And labored heartbeat.
Snow piles in drifts, cars crawl with fear,
December outside,
December in here.
Candle wax drips, telling a tale of time,
If only it were faster,
Too end this torturous bind.
Bound and broken for far too long,
Family tithing for misery,
Hoping for better days, maybe even a song.
Delusions of hope for some selfish needs,
To reconcile future false void,
That should be filled with a man's life deeds.
His gaolers break down and frequently have cried,
Keeping body preserved,
While essence has long died.
Holding on to mortal coil, waiting for the dawn.
With spirit eternally withdrawn,
The total man long gone.
A younger turnkey came asking "What can I do?"
"Quit crying, go away,
Let me have my due."
Sunken eyes devoid of light, curdled skin, and feeble bone.
"You are holding on to nothing."
The man has long since flown.
"Everyone dies alone."
-Comments are appreciated.
Limerick: Once a Prince from the Kingdom Toikey
Once a Prince from the Kingdom Toikey
Insisted on being wed by his turnkey
But his you may know not
Got stuck in a chamber pot
That’s how the Queen got wed by her lackey.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
ever drifting,ever shifting
sifting through the mountainous debris
it often seems they never rest
like snow upon the crown of Everest
are the gulls of turnkey.
The ego is a tyrannical beggar.
A loud, pitiful, empty-handed turnkey,
Powerless but for charity,
Living in fear of death by discovery.
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