There, far, where the sky meets the earth
on an unbroken line of stark reality,
sparkle the infinite lights that beckon my heart.
There, far, where the eye sees the birth
of an unpolluted, crisp morning;
there hides the magic that war can not part.
Utopia; you know you’re here,
when we say we don’t give in to fear.
We wear the panic around our necks
and sleep sweetly hoping the need does not arise
for us to awaken and in shock, widen our eyes,
press the button, hold our breaths waiting
for help to arrive; assistance in this situation
when we don’t give in to fear even though the panic is here.
A haze builds up in front of my eyes,
clouding all the bits of universal data I ache to analyze.
Experiencing a restlessness of an intensity unusual;
growing, changing, almost exponential.
Judge from afar
I hear booming voices analyse;
their biting comments criticise
obvious, terrible wrongs,
and many oppressive goings-on;
but none of them find strength to pray
for their enemies, for these oppressors.
They can only find hateful things to say
of these tyrants, their moral lessers.
The beats echo…
resound on the walls of my innermost cave.
The patterned sounds come and go,
come and go,
and set free my hidden-most slave.
Ignite your Might
Ignite. Find your fire.
Aspire. Reach. Reach upward. Reach inward.
Grasp at the glittering fragments of God and the Universe within your being.
Don’t deny the destiny of the ions within your living crust
that long to break away and connect with the Consciousness of the cosmos.
Emotions build a giant mass of towering obstruction
blocking off the sun, the air; the rigid, reassuring reminder of reality;
not allowing the usual broad-minded deduction
that the eye within the spirit can clearly see.
Courage – so easy to speak of this concept of fortitude;
the display – not so simple, is it now?
The presence of which in one’s context may elude,
the elusion of which we should not allow.
Buzz away the robots
like the unremitting ebb and flow of the tide,
the interrupting, enabling commotion does not dawdle,
the visits are short and pointed.
Objective: to interfere
with the Electricity jumping hoops
between linkages in the circuitry of our Thought.
My being is scattered
Frantic pin-pricks poke metaphorical holes in the fabric of my being;
the soft cottony material that envelops my thoughts, actions and words.
Holes stretch, become gaping voids, contents expelled into the universe,
searching for new quarters wherein to quarantine their quota of data.
I am humanity
I am broken,
tiny shards of my being poke holes in each other.
I am open,
shiny holes of nothingness beckon curious passers-by.
I am bruised,
lines and patches draw maps of mayhem under my skin.