Next year

Next year, maybe next year
it'll all be back on line

Somewhat wiser over night
less the fighter without sight

Next year, maybe next year...
you won't take it back


..

Seamless

Rules and regulations state
it takes lots of space
to fly

Hearing in rewind
you take chances
to realise what you’ve got
and leap into the sky,
forcing liberation
to clear the mind

and that is where you find
… it not

But when every open door is closed
there is we, face to face,
clinging to the soundless
confinement
of our subconscious space

A merging of thoughts
beneath the surface
of this troubled sea

Such an unsuspected precision
resonating
bound and free


..

Dividend in diffidence

It is a careful process,
slowly sinking in;
a wave of conscience setting sail,
and no opposing argument
to resist the track
of this reasoning’s trail

As oscillating comfort goes,
safely washed ashore,
it’s a deceptional effort
-this accomplishment-
that leaves you slumbering
for more

Is now the time to realize,
a better swimmer
would’ve known the cost?
That with the tug
of undertow's e-motion,
it is courage I have lost


..

Tie

your intention was not to hurt me
I am now sure of that

impetus decline was already steep
before you caught on

over the rim beneath the waterline, I fell
while once -still sure- on shore we sat

wrapped now in your soothing arms
your lips whisper a mantra in rhyme

take my breath away
and fill me up with light

… but I can never find myself
when I find myself
in darkness

adjusting to drowning

and I wake up

in the middle of the night


..

Travelling

What ever happened here
must have happened while in sleep

A dream fragment slowly travelling
on dissipating currents

Sounds that were revealed,
(hear them) re-deform their static

Clear impressions suddenly flap
their beautiful wings
like ghosts of thought

Soon it'll all be forgotten, and gone

Prove of your existence
will no longer be needed
neither missed

But what I always wonder, is,
that nibbling voice inside
your ever inquiring mind,

what would have happened if you knew,
that when the dial broke,
it was Time, you watched run out


..

Interpolation

in retrospect
our history
is somehow
more complete

one silent joint
in frozen time
from which to radiate
transition's
point of view

I scrutinize
and cross examine
thoroughly,
search through stills repeat
- never, to rearrange

but when silence was,
in retrospect,
abandonment …

history changed


..

Challenging ISO

You were wrong
to mark it Personal
…
It never was


Enter the great white open:

cans of spray paint
find their way
from night
into exposure

shutter speed playing field
it is here, where I am
…
somewhere

never crossing the outline
to your world
when placing my tag,

saying:
it would've been wrong
if I didn't make it personal


..

Distinct

There are many words
reminding me of you;
Distraction is none of them

Coated in your colours -
a distinct mixture
of sound and poise,
all of which trembling
a song, seemingly sung by you-

is a strange attraction that strings,
reeling all the ships
into a beautiful current
to hold on to and never let go

There lies depth in the distance
and I wonder

How can it be wrong
when all are headed
in the same direction

Who am I
to recognize a distortion of light
that makes me see beyond

And then I know

when one single tear
in each eye, wells up

…
it must still be worlds, that we are apart


..

Picture (im)perfect

It is a perceptive gaze
that sees the creases;
those shallow lines
and hidden canyons

No one knows
- really knows -
the exact meaning of all of this
The constant balancing
to make it all worth while
The sum of gain and loss
caught forever by the painters brush

A cautious stare
catches that fading twinkle
to sudden sadness

And silence intercepts

There must have been, initially,
days of joy
that strayed into tomorrow,
untainted and full of light

Where have they gone,
I wonder
What has gone so wrong
to cause this binding with doubt
Was there too much caution, unwarranted?
Or too much pain, implanted?

A denial of joy

There must have been
(at least) moments
where wonder reigned
and curiousness was still
a first step forward
Abundance, waiting to be assigned

Those must have been the days …
I see it in this picture
I see its prove reflecting

Then why, oh why …

stuck
in the mirror’s mind


..

Tuning

how do you explain
what does not want to be explained

is it
a futile attempt
to accept the want
or need
what eyes cannot see
and hands not reach?

explain while you still trail …

your fingers search to outline the form
over and over
inside your head
until you dream

feel its structure with imaginary tips
and leave it with your fingerprints
of fleeting image,
screaming
I am there ..

but
what-if …

this is freak coincidence
an incident of foolishness

...
we are too cast into reality’s spell
to even consider otherwise

and broad horizon
stays
- unread
- untouched
- unpronounced

- un – wanted, eventually

for its reality is moot

we have written the manual
and analyze it as a chart to everything
a set manifest with all the answers
from structural stature to diction
...
that actually leaves me chilled and wondering

when did we intend to become a work of fiction?


..