Mistaken IdentityI gaze upon a warped face
As my fingers attempt to trace
The pattern of this awkward figure.
Their appearance does not mirror
The first thought I had
Of a beautiful mind.
And so I become unkind,
Turning away slyly,
I smile wryly
At my failure to have correctly perceived
That false figure my mind first conceived.
ContactFeel her. Be felt. Caress her. Be caressed.
Kiss her. Be kissed. Embrace her. Be embraced.
Relish the connection,
Two souls mirrored; a reflection.
Breathless, hold on.
Hold her. Be held. Touch her. Be touched.
Smile at her. Be smiled at. Gaze at her. Be gazed at.
Eyes bright and shining,
Comfortable, together there you're lying.
These are the moments.
Crave her touch. Let the feeling take over.
Like an addiction, it will overwhelm you.
But slowly. Slowly...
Let soft fingers feel their way;
Let the emotion bury you and become enthralled.
It will surround you...
Drop into it,
and just feel.
Necessary?Is it necessary to sacrifice the soul?
The desire to obtain,
It remains an ever present passion.
Should we be striving to observe,
Reaching what we feel we deserve
From a world that struck at our hearts
But then demolished all its parts?
It's not enough to cope
To hold onto what hope
We lack in our core
Yet we yearn for more, (more)
From a world that drove us insane;
A never-ending struggle to win
And one which causes my soul to sin
And is never still
So I strive to kill
Running so I don't get caught
In the crossfire
And be called a liar
For my trouble
With that double
Personality that resonates
My true self, I, me, my
Wishing truly that it could die
And be extinguished
So that I may relinquish
That which torments
And spews foul comments
At my already antagonised mind;
Ever more I grow unkind
To the knowledge of fear;
The flame it goes on to sear
Even in the falling rain
I continue to feel its obtrusive pain
And suffer more
Shunned from th
The WandererListen to the tale of the Wanderer.
A man whose journey grows ever longer.
In need of hope he drifts idly;
He seeks without eyes,
blind to the world that lies before him.
He listens without ears,
deaf to all the aid that draws near.
He speaks nothing but, well...
a voiceless victim of his own accord.
Where is the hand to hold?
With fingers so affectionately entwined
The loving embrace?
With arms so beautifully in place
The caring shoulder?
With the softness of silk but strength of mountains
Where is the beautiful soul to turn to?
The dove remains in the olive tree;
No peace or respite will there ever be.
Yet time continues to question its return.
Even as sunlight fades and
- its rays hindered by a shield of shimmering grey -
He continues to drift through the day.
The Wanderer of the World,
Waltzing the Never-Ending Earth.
The Wanderer, in his silence,
A Thousand ThoughtsShaken and disillusioned,
I am flooded in a thousand thoughts.
Like an arrow through the heart.
Precision pounds through me and
The dense thudding pulse intensifies,
And pain blooms a crimson explosion.
Blood beats beautifully, after all.
Ideas arrive breathless,
Their paces quickening, lungs losing oxygen.
Their lives leap in their last moments
And invisible hands squeeze, they grip like a vice,
Compressing the life,
Clutching, contorting and twisting,
Snapping before breaking them altogether.
A desperate charge is what it takes.
A scramble for that perfect thought before it dissipates, fades.
In that moment of madness
You will truly experience life.
A single instance of pure passion erupts, surges,
It grows from within you and forges together.
Fusing pain and pleasure as one.
A New EndTake a step and feel the Fire.
Let it caress you, embrace its warmth.
Let it envelope you.
Celebrate its comfort.
Feel the rush.
Revel in the adrenalin.
Let it course through you.
Shy from heat.
Shield in vain from the searing flame.
It will char you. Scar you.
Stand as it claims you.
Feel the Failure.
Believe in what it is.
Contemplate what you see.
Look beyond simple sight.
Feel the Truth.
Mankind's sickness in life.
An inability to comprehend.
More will come.
The inconceivable inevitability of it all.
These are the things that make us human.
For the truth is all too fleeting.