The illusion of realityIs this the real world we see?Or is it just an illusion of reality?Will death be the thing to set us free?Or is that just a weird mentality?Is life just an illusion?Do we perhaps preserve things differently?And is this all just a big delusion?We want the people to think freeBut can they be free if they need to follow the rules?Can they break free,Without being branded as fools?If we want to know moreAnd learn the real truthWe have to venture in the unknown moreA wise man doesn't take the road everybody seesA wise man travels off the road and leaves a track
Swing life awayGoodbye my dear old friendHow I wished it did not have to endHow we laughed and sangTogether with the whole gangGoodbye my dear friendHow I wished that changes that now impendHow we once compared our scarsHow we once gazed at the lone starsGoodbye my friendHow we stood together till the endHow our days were filled with laughter and joyHow you made fun of me being a mama’s boyGoodbye friendOur time was not misspendWe will meet again one dayAnd we shall swing life away
TearsFeel the rain dripping on your faceSitting somewhere in an unknown placeYou might just had your heart brokenThose feelings of yours go unspokenLet the rain wash your pain awayLet it wash away and find your wayLet the rain slowly heal your woundsIt heals your heart and will hide your woundsThe rain will stay with you for yearsIt's one of those things that always caresBecause in the rain nobody will see your tears
A poem about loveLove consists out of painLove consists out of desireLove is what I admireLove always fights against my brainLove is despisingLove is passionLove is not a piece of fashionLove is always surprisingNone of these things are untrueLove is enough to make one weepThat is love as it seemsYet when I think of youI simply can’t fall asleepSince life is finally better, than in my own dreams
Beautiful dayForget all the problems from the past,Life sometimes just goes too fast.Don't blink, because it can be over in a flash,It might be fast, but don't do anything too rash.The future will always be uncertainIt stands before you like a big dark curtain.You will always carry the past with youBut don't let it turn you blue.Follow your dreams and hopesDon't get dragged down by some dopesJust follow your own wayEven when all turns grayYou might not feel like doing that on a rainy dayBut luckily for youToday looks like it will be a beautiful day
mirrorsMirrorsThey show what we areThey show how others see usOne person judges another by his looksWe all do it even though we say we don't...A mirror is a powerful weaponIt is objective and has no opinionYet a mirror can't show us our heartsThey miss the most important feauture of usThey can't show us who we truly are...
PassionPassion is like a flame,It's never the same.It will bring inspiration,It can bring frustration.Passion can make you create,It can irritate.It can destroy,It can bring joy.It can make you feel sad,It can make you go mad.It can make you smile,It will make your time worthwhile.Passion is what drives us,It's what makes us work towards success.The meaning of passion is up to yourself,Just like my meaning is up to myself.But remember that your passion helps you realize your dream,And remember that even if you are working hard, you should ''carpe diem''.
Stars in the nightThe sun is just a star,Like the others we can see from afar.The sun is a source of life and light,So why not the other stars we see at night?Countless other worlds could exist.They might be similar to ours but with a twist.So maybe when we look up at the sky,There might be someone looking back from up high.There's more to this universe than we know,But we are uncovering it's secrets, even if it's going slow.
PainAn unpleasant feeling you may thinkThe feeling cannot be described in only inkIt can come and go in just a blinkIt would be the bitter taste if life would be a drinkIt's what gets us downIt's what leaves us with a frownSometimes makes us want to leave townAnd sometimes makes us want ourselves to drownIt sure isn't much funWe always want it to be over and doneWe can't make it undonePain, is a measurement of will powerRecovering from pain may take more than an hourBut in the end you will blossom like a flower
Breaking Through□□□ T E A R □□□□□□□□□□□□□ D O W N □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□ E A C H □□□□□□□□□□□□□W A L L □□□□
Sense MemoryI developed taste.We lost touch.
WondermentSome days, I find myself counting the s e c o n d s and the thump thump thump of my heart and pondering quietly what I could have should have would have said were I better braver stronger and a lot l e s s like me but all I can manage now is . . . . . . . I'm sorry I miss you I love you i love you i love you
moonsongthe crescent moons bitten into my palmsbreak apart the hard worn lines writtenthere. a fortune teller told meit was just a matter of time before myuniverse crashed in on itselfand my stars ripped themselves apart.your gray-sky-eyes swallowed me wholeand i fell down, down, downwhile your piano key fingers playedmy melody one last time.
siren's abyssyour metallic voice drips off your tongue,acid burning through my paper skin.a siren song drifts though my mind;i am a ship crafted from the daily newsbeing pulled in by your gravity,sinking your raven colored abyss-eyesand crashing into your rocky shores.
Purpose.Purpose.What would a story be?If there was no one there to read it.What would dreams be?If there was no one there to conceive it.What would a picture be?If there was no one there to see it.What would a secret be?If there was no one there to keep it.What would love be?If there was no one there to feel it.What would a song be?If there was no one there to sing it.What would the truth be?If there was no one there to admit it.What would advice be?If there was no one there to give it.What would life be?If there was no one there to live it.Kela Lewis-Morin
The Art of Detachmentdehumanized:I am a stirring in the breathof an unswept sky, an itchin the throat, a tear inthe lining of the sleeve youkeep fingering- like reminiscencewill repair loose strands(I woke up this morningin a new carcass, trapped,by fleshed out flaws anddismal dreams and thehush hush thrum ,steady,[pulsations are riddled withintent] of my veins)I am the dents in the floorboardwhere boxes of I-can-never-forgetslay, I am the aching cold of wallsuntouched, I am the callousesof your fingers forgettinghow to work.(my voice will melt the icecaps,it will draw all salt fromthe ocean and carve a carefulcoffin of carnal desires)I am a cry cut shortin the home of the deaf-I am skin, I am loosesinew and sincerities mistakenlystitched to the bones of a crowand when the night clears I amnothing but doll eyelashes andspider legs, [at the end of the daythe two are indistinguishable]I am nothing
Summertimeit'sriding down cracked-asphalt roads,sweet tea beside you in the consolewhile you sit, knees bent back,languidly slouched so your toescan soak up the sun heating the windshield,making the dashboard almostburn your tender solesif not for the cooling windknotting your hairlike the fingers of a drunken loverit’sthe way the intercostalis still lukewarm at night;the memories made at one a.m.staring down hungry herons,shrieking like children whensomethingbrushes its slime against your toes,and drying off in the stern breezethat curls your hairso you don’t soak the seatsof the sand-floored van you borrowedto show your friends the nightlifeit'sthe scent of super-heated asphaltscorching the bottomsof your knock-off Rainbowsas you weave, in Daisy’s cut-offsand an earth-toned spaghetti strap,through the glistening crowdof foreigners, vendors and locals,and meander around shady tentspeddling everything from hand-crafted,pearl-and-turquoise wired
justit started out as a message of honest to god tearshonest to god honestyand she was saying she was saying she wasa mistake and we were we were mistakingmeaningless signs for road signs to somewhere wherethe great elsewhereand a qu-quiet whisper-per transformedtwisted twisted and bent and bled andher voice her voice became this monster this monster offeedback and static and feedback and feedback and heartache(the sound of heartache rips the space between your ears till you are nothing left but lightness and heaviness all in one space all in one spaceand you can't breathe you can't breathe you can't fucking breathe or hear or see or taste a goddamn thing)it was all noise noise noise noise no-oise-sebouncing in the fissures of a love-torn mindand it was it was the sensation of falling awaythen the greatness of the jumbled sounddissipated like a f o gandyou saw along the path w
misunderstandings left. youwhen we finally felt right, turns out, we were wrong. I fell.
Between Heaven and HellEveryone has a story to tellThe time and place the falls from grace.We all walk at our own paceforever attempting to win the illusionary race.So I took the time, to sit and rewind....granted pause to the cause, reflections of the mind.Years upon years slowly drifted on by...Journeys left behind slumbering alongside the road of unknown,collecting dirt and debris, anxiously awaiting to be set free, but could not flee...no one to save me and turn the key.Everything has a time and a place within the enchanted space.A story to tell of heaven and hell...Realise this upon states of bliss,In the beginning we all fell--in the end we all shall fall.Can no longer ignore the ancient call.
I hope you are reading thisthe person I love loves music much too muchand the person I love loves that I love the quiet and easy days loves that I like to stay up late (or early) till the birds sing of morning andthe person I love loves that I love to hold hands and hold a body but only when I know them fullyand the person I love loves listening to my songs and listening to my voice and to my poetry and storiesthe person I love has songs to share too and a voice that melts my heart and words that mold it back into something nostalgia old and inspired newand the person I love loves to look around and take it in once in a while and wonders why we can’t just run away to a secluded place in the forest with a cabin that harbors all of our needs, keeps you and me in a space apart where it rains when we’re sad because we would always be sad together and where the sun is warm on our skin when we are smiling together and laughing together because I made a spectacular pun out of seemingly nothing sp
apatothe ocean air is sellingmoist and salty caressesthere is a metaphor to takein each skimming wavebut I am tired so Iso I willwill let it restmy turning mindwith the tidesand breathewith the gilled creaturesbelow the rhythmic surfacegulping gaping gas-gasping fish mouthsmine will open too andopen till wide enoughfor the cry clenched in mythroat to caw-clawits way out till I amchorusing with the seagulland if I fallinto the water nowit will envelop mewrap its foam arms aroundmy corporeality touch its crest to my headkiss me deadI will be complacentin its sea indoctrination this is how I will stayabove the darknessinfinite below me
Messsage in a bottleSometimes people cry out for help,I think we all have witnessed it,We watch them break,We watch their tears,And we see something in their eyes,The last piece of hope,The hope that as well could be a message in a bottle.Who will ever know if someone noticed that tiny little bottle in the ocean,Or if they did,Did they pick it up?I have seen a lot of bottles in my time,And most of the time I pick them up,But I notice quite a few times I don´t,It is like they become invisible,Even if they scream loudly right in front of you,I think something is wrong,Why do we leave the bottle in the ocean?I clearly can see they need help,And I see it,I really do,How can you pretend not to?
Short and SweetPainting cardinalsThe artist is unawareOf her own beauty
Paradise.My arms ache from digging throughrough and ruin, in search ofparadise.I saw it in a whispered dream,there, nothing hurt;we were unspoken.With winter came warmth and summer snow,And nothing died, just ceased towalk with mein paradise.
Buried BeatThe emotions I seekdeep below, out of . . .r e a c h. . .At times it seems safe that way,no one knows,no one speaks.Of the pain in the shadowsan IMPULSE,something sparks,something weak,something . . .b e a t s. . .A long forgotten charma play on melodya song, a sigha familiar chord...an echo,A longing, a piercing so deep,Coming closer,the soul (heart) ache of the tragicsoaring to its PEAK.