the return...

the sweet nothings you whisper,
a reminder of the times that we had.
joyous, reckless, young.  

tonight i ask you to stay,
but once again you don't listen. 
so is it ever going to be over?

you and me.  


***

the clown returned. crept back inside my head and told me things i needed to hear. filling my head with thoughts that are now words. goading me to come back. six months. six years. doesn't matter.


its not over.

never.

twelve past twenty...

the mighty grinding of cogs n' wheels,
heaves these afflicted hands
from one to twelve & back to one.

here each minute an hour beckons,
each whispering two different tales.
one of the moon & one of the sun.

from within the infinity of the numbers twelve,
the admonishing tick-tock tongue
asks of me but one question

"what will you do with this gift, my son?"

....

happy new year folks. 2012 is here. so what will you do this year?

the great journey...

as the pale mist rides across the waves,
men bid adieu to those left behind.
for all journeys begin with farewells.

...it takes great courage to let go that you have come to know. gone are the days of strange discoveries and majestic wonders. the stars are the same in the night sky, as is the dull throbbing in your heart. memory fails as to when you last tasted true adventure. the whole world is one big cocoon. or so it seems... 

still, there is one great journey in all our lives. 

do you know yours?

caged words...

to decipher the written word,
was e'er a foolhardy quest.
but wisdom, once freely whispered,
now languishes in paper cages.

and thus man tamed the beast.

...

the written word has come a long way indeed. but was there ever a word to pen down the 'true' nature of man? i think not.

the boy in the trench...

distant memories of sun-soaked fields, 
lemonade & cotton candy dreams.
in this darkest of nights, 
the snow falls ever so gentle.

and the light in his eyes is long gone.

the kiss still sweet on his lips,
parted now evermore they be.
smiled once he down the gun;
fickle, the dices today turn.

and the light in his eyes is long gone.

the cold embrace of sudden sleep,
silences the din of midnight's strife.
amidst the walls of fox-dug grime,
echos of his last laugh ne'er cease.

and the light in his eyes is long gone.

 ...

the day of days...

once again we find ourselves on the cusp of a moment filled with such immense possibilities that Churchill would have given his last cigar to have one of these. and yet, how do we choose to play it out? well, in pretty much the same manner that we have played each and every day of the past week, the last millennium or the last 200,000 years if the damn archeologists are to be believed.

...we exist.

yes, there are those who have hoo-haahed over the giant leaps taken in these archeologically-consented years. we could not go pick dirt on the moon before. we can now. still, i like earth dirt better; personally speaking that is.

going back to Churchill's last cigar, the man once said, "if you're going through hell, keep going"...very wise words indeed. it is best to keep going. move onwards. keep toddling on. cause, sometimes the view around you isn't pretty at all. 

i care not for the immense possibilities of the future. i care not for the greatness that begets the search for the Holy Grail. nor do i care for the pride of belonging to the nation at the zenith. the only thing i care about is my next filling meal. i am poor. what do i have to give. what do i have to receive.

humanity is overrated. monkeys live equally well.

rogue word alley...

aah words, you irascible rogues.
what is it that you whisper into my ears?

"for old time's sake, my old friend,
let us take a walk down the alley."

take me back if you will,
cause the truth be told.

i missed thee

the greatest show on earth...

"cause the times they are a changing."

...and as always the show must go on.

rage...

rage. it is an inscrutable thing. absolute in itself and without a reason...it justifies itself in the same manner as God; by manifesting itself out of nowhere...

anger is caused, hurt is imposed, vengeance is brought upon, malice is induced...but rage...it comes from nowhere. or does it?

...are we all filled with rage? our entire being crafted out of sheer madness that every once in a while takes over and compels us towards the edge. an chasm that seems so enticing to leap into. to commit such violence that wild beasts would be shamed.

for some men, their rage is what makes them who they are...for men like Ahab.

*follow the link to experimental soup for the rest of the post.