Sunday, 30 November 2014

Open Book

Every person is a book, 
I read when I take a look.
Through the window of the eyes,
I can see through your disguise.
Masquerade if that's your plan,
If you need to..I understand.
There are places I still can reach,
bring out your diamond that lies beneath.
The mind is just one handy tool,
to understanding what is true.
So walk with me down this path,
as we calculate and do our math.
Use our failures as stepping stones,
providing strength we have never known.
Phoenix Rising to become anew ,
Shedding fears of a fool .
So go ahead and take a look,
Read my soul just like an open book...

Saturday, 29 November 2014

Black and White

Black bird flying in a white sky,
Or white bird flying in a black sky.
Black not giving way to white,
Nor white giving way to black.

What is black but the absence of white?
And what is white but an absence of black?
Alas there are more colours to see,
Red and yellow beckoning to be.

Black is the negation of all colours,
White is the amalgamation of all colours.
Two opposite ends, with nothing in common,
But the emptiness defining this continuum

When will black and white ever learn?
That they can’t do without one another?
Red and yellow wait to be draped ,
In the beauty of that singular gray.

/ yes it has lateralus references/

Borrowed Scent

I plucked a rose today,
Now I am left in dismay.
The rose tried to leave its scent,
But my mind had one slippery bend.

Dreaming of the golden years,
I slept away all the time that was near.
And all that’s left now is mixing tears,
In vain trying to fight human fears.

Lost in the drops of the first rain,
I didn’t wipe the eye’s rain of pain.
And in those rainy reveries,
I wished to stay forever merrily.

Those dreams of the misty mornings,
In the hot afternoon firings.
And the benevolent sun shining ,
And this majestic plan transpiring.

Blossomed roses cannot unblossom,
And their scent lingers long into the morrow .
Golden years never return,
yet their light shines on all dark paths.

If I could, I would grow my roses ,
In that wonderful rain of that golden year.
But the roses’ scent lingers as does the smell of the first rain,
As I continue on a solitary path with its myriad borrowed scents.

* So , first post in a while. Now where do I begin to say what this is all about. It's about this idea of perfection that <some> of us stupid guys chase. And the fact is there really is no such thing as absolute perfection or absolute truth. I mean everyone has some good qualities and some flaws . And if you start moving away from people just because of their flaws and ignore their good , you are gonna end up being really miserable and depressed and lonely. Fact is there really isn't much black and white in the world outside science text books. And as that cheesy cliche goes , go find your own shade of grey . Anywho , you can't measure yourself or anything else by this golden standard in your head , because then you'll just push away all the good that comes you. And even if you push all that good away, their scent lingers on like roses you once held. The least you can do is not let that scent fade away. You can't look for perfect in an imperfect world. And I wish I knew all this before. But, I guess that's the thing about maturity, it comes to you when it has to. *