Monday, January 20, 2014

Snow by a Graveside

A Book of Poetry in Prose

Paul Fearne

There are timings for things that are never there.  When the hourglass bends its bow, it will discover that what is wanting, is never enough.  I will fill your basket with bread and olives, and know that when the simplest things are at rest, there will come a mighty hollering.  I can never be sure of myself.  Not now, not always.  But when the time has come for delicate nuances, I will be the one to carry the smoke, so that it doesn’t blow over anyone (or anything).

A catching is what I will accomplish. I take risks, but when the sand is between your toes, I will take stillness to a new beginning.  Holding on, this much I have read about.  There are chances that are not for the night.  They are for the ages, as they pass from one place to the next.

I can feel your breath.  It is as if I was wondering in storyboard skies.  I will go the front way, and know it to be a thing of glory.  I am friendly, and believe that small things are the touchstone, as large things are the watering hole.  Come and be precious, there is nothing else to be.

When the rain comes, there can be no other vector.  It changes me, as the sunlight changes me. I am nothing now, as I am great.  I will be what we can never be, and then change the world by the drop of a hat.  I don’t know which way to turn.  It is only because I bleed, that I have solace.  This much is true. But what is also true, is that when I am submerged, I live.  I come up for air, and am forgiven.

I have been perfecting this craft for generations.  Only now do I see its weight.  Its weight is gold, and its meaning is pure.  What I thought I had left is not here, but something else arises.  It is the something else of tomorrow, and the need to be is squarely placed within it.  I have gone, and now come back.  But that is not a promise but a fact.  Be plentiful, it suits you.

Clawing my way forward, I am the one who suffers.  I feel nought, and have no climbing guesses.  But this is okay, as I have always known it to. I have believed that things will right themselves, and they have.  But what of the stakes at hand, are they finished? I sincerely hope not.

What is forever, but a dream? I will know myself to be a whisper that has no taste.  Can I do this, this adventure without end? I have some time to spend to reflect, and then I will jump in, and who knows what will happen.  I am limited in my soul, but I have the sense to see what will come – it will be all.
There are dragons that do not sleep. They are the ones that bite the hardest.  I will find their lair, and know it to be a place of reverence.  The test will come next year, when I have full use of capacities, and enough fight to see the landscape for what it is – a wasteland.

Having the time of my life, I will thrive in times of difficulty.  There are always things which are sent to tear into us.  But I will be cleverer than the rest. I know things don’t work as well in the dark, but this is my place of speciality.  I have special feelers than are wont to be the testament to the stars.  Come for us, we will capture you.

I thought I would be the one to see things anew.  But I am more like a phantom that doesn’t let the gauge go.  I have never ending well-wishes at my disposal.  I will win, so that time will not let me go.  I have more fight than a sermon, and more reminiscences than Proust.  I let you go, so that we will never see you go.  Be like the past, and I will sing to you.

There are things that we should not tell of.  I am like the hills, that do not bend. They are my bastion, and my need to breathe.  I do not know what will come of me, but I sense that all things will come, if the time is right.  Be the soldier, and I will be your muse.  Be the light, and what is next will never come.

Am I mad? Yes I am.  But what comes next is not a fray, but a further glimpse of what is possible. I know this will hurt, but I have a sense that the nightingale will re-live the moment it came into this world.  I am at a loss to be the saint.  I will be the sinner, but am like the wind in times of need. This much is true.

There is time to say a few goodbyes.  There are treasures left in this vault, but they are not of this earth.  I am here now, like the daggers in autumn night.  I will find what it is that keeps you ticking, and I will hold it aloft like the time that is left.  Be my saviour, I will listen to your call.  I have many things to say, but few words to say them.

When the accomplice of the night is here at hand, I will be like a weathervane that cascade down on lonesome earth.  There are charges to be had, in this river of desire.  But I will not hear them.  I will only sing your name when the dust settles on the lonesome floor.  I have caught much, but this much I know.

I am the thing which preaches.  I am the thing which rolls over on the side of fate, and listens to the elderly statesman as he gives credence to the lively.  There is no more to be said, and we can go home.  Do not believe me, you should never believe me.  I am coursing through fate, and have the nous to be what I want.  This is my kingdom, and my life.  I will never believe, I will always believe.

What could ever be, but all that is?  There is no difference between the milling sky, and the solid ground.  It comes at us like a switch blade, and has the time to wrinkle with age.  There is no time for disease, there is only time for the most compassionate of things.  When will I rest, not before too long at least.

A class of container ship winds its way across the sea.  And when I know the drama of it all, I will sleep a deeper sleep than has ever been known.  Come for me, I am here on the balcony.  No one can see us, and we are alone.  The distance I sense between us is like the belief that transitions are what the night will have as its own. I know, in my heart, there is goodness here.  It spills, and is in love.

I have found there to be a wish in the string of things, and I cannot let it go.  I have found the right passage, and am slowly seeing things as they are.  I believe in what is said in the stars.  It comes for me, but I am quick.  I have done many wrong things in my time, but this is the worst.  I sense, that when the mildew is at its peak, there will come a way to get home.  This much I am sure of.

But do not come for pleasure.  There is no pleasure here.  There is only the time it takes to wind back the years, and have them say, what is this for?  There can be a peace here, I know it.  I wish I could find you in the mist, but you are gone. I am the travelling that barking dogs do to find new food. This is written on the clouds, that have no height.

There are dreams we have, that have no light. But in them are the fragments of a worn down story.  There are things in these dreams that save us from ourselves.  I am needing now to send fruit to the homeless, and gather them up so that we may sing their praises.  I hope, that in time, they will have their fill.

Bringing something new to the table.  I hope that when the night falls on me, that closer strangers will embrace, and have their needs met by larger forces.  I have climbed a very steep incline, and know that when the sand has erupted, there will be more than enough time to fill my shoes, and have a far gone conclusion reach its end.

Be with me muses, do not abandon me.  I am part of the solution, or so I think.  But do not part from me.  I am like a domino that brings carts and belief to the wanting fellowship of people who know no pain.  This is my pain, as I handle something else.  What will be next is apparent.  It is written in the less we have. But I will have more, and be that thing which grants night to the chosen.

There is in between the sea and the sky another accomplice.  It is you, as you spend time at the coalface. And then there is me, as I descend into that darkened pit of benevolence that is the sight of so much destruction.  I am here to cool things, but I have more to say than ever before.  But this is not your concern, it is the world’s.

When the simplest thing is at hand, here the devil rears his head, and begins again to taunt the weary traveller.  We should have more insight than that. But we can only trust ourselves that things will get better.  This is a good one, one of my finest.  But I must keep writing, and never give in.

What have you to do? I am guessing that the life you lead is a good one.  I wouldn’t know, because we hardly speak.  But when chance has had its say, I will come for more, and know the tempest to be a stranger.  There are things I will fathom, that have no sense at all.  When I capture the secret, I will let you know.

Be resilient, and I will be with you.  There are chances that the steam of forever have only glimpsed.  I am here to do more than glimpse.  I am here to say the last word. I am not here to let the side-glimpsed harp spill on the ground of meaning.  I need more, and I will have more. I can overcome any wish from any believer, and be content to say what is more, rather than what is less.  Champions come.  I have seen it all.  I have known all.  But what I haven’t known is love.  I have caught it for brief moments, but that is all.

Treasures are my game.  They stay inside me as a little part of the lingering is in effect laid to rest.  I am at your graveside.  You died last night, and have come back to haunt me.  Will they pursue me, these wraiths of the damned.  I am like a rock, and I will pay in the end.  Until then, let us dance.

I like to think the harrowing night is mine, and at my beck and call. I hear the call of lack lustre boulevards, but I am a stranger to the night.  I wish to hear something more in the call. Keep up to date, you minions. I have followers on the other side of the sea. It is not you who I find in the twilight.  It is the governesses of ill repute that I find most appealing.  My life is hell, but I am here for a fight.  I must break free, and come to be closer to God than ever before.

Having said goodbye to the sheep of winters past, I hail another sense from the beyond.  In this I am lingering, for I have doubt as my accomplice.  I am doomed to fight another day.  But I will win, in every encounter.  There is nothing that can stop me.  I wish to do things like never before. I am here to change the game, and that I will do, with bow in hand, and stallion at my feet.

I have seen my share of the lure.  It is in the same every time. I like to think that the travelling I do is worth it.  But we must be sure that the tempest is not too close.  I am happy with the sight I have.  It leads me to interesting places. I feel comfortable here.  I am writing for life.  It is not as if I have tried.  I have believed, and believed again.  This much is in sight.

I can only be that thing which listens.  There are more places to hunt out, but I will be a still slope, and have adventures at the drop of a hat. I feel what is most important.  The rest I disregard.  I am happy to simply be, but will have more time to do this important business that I thought possible.  I will write books, and know the hourglass to be a friend, not an enemy.  This is my wish.

Gaining ground, I love to spill things out of this mist.  A mist surrounds me, and I must be sure to let it into my lungs.  Here peace will reign, and the feelings I have for tomorrow will be placated.  Decisions are nor easy. I have felt something that is not of this world.  It is of the outer regions, and can be nothing more than the testament of life, as it cascades through our veins.

There is something gargantuan in the way we both swing.  I am teetering, but will not slide.  I feel that most abused dissemination is more than we can hope.  There are turnings, and throwings, that cost more than the sense we have to be.  I am looking for things to keep me company.  I will not repeat myself, but will come in shards of red.

Watch me as I light the sky.  It is as if I could not fall. I have faith in one thing, and that is myself.  I can handle any eventuality, and know that when it is time, I will jump at the chance to gathered up by the autumn snow, and have it sprinkle on me like never before. I am away with the gulls, and am cautious they do not get me.  I am not theirs, I am the world’s.  I have patience enough to tell of other things.  

Do not invite a response, it is not mine to give.  I will have feathers that bare no load.  I am with you fate, just as you are with me.  I see your strategy, and know how easy it is to walk in the fire.  I will be like never before.  I will sound the victory cry above the houses and above the castles.  And then I will really know farthings to be a sign post, just as Strindberg felt.  I cast away the shadows, and believe once again in the power to surprise. I hope you are watching, because I am neither here nor there, nor anywhere.  I have felt your pain.  It is my pain, as I come once again to understand that the treasures I bear are not for you or I, but for the sea, so that we might quell the tempest, and be heard to be doing the right thing.  I love you life, and I herald up the whites of our eyes, and let them come back down, in times of hardship, and of faith.

I have never felt this.  It is a sweetness that bends the bow a little stronger.  I am going for it, that lofty belief that contains more than we know.  I am of the vapour that gives life as it gives sustenance. I hear no thing that will unseat me.  I see in many colours.  I will write until there is nothing left. I am well, I am well. Do not deceive me, I am of the comfort, not of the sand.

I will teach you many things.  I have come through a vast array of nothingness to this point.  I believe that, when things are still, there is a boon to be had in the trail of dust that lights the way.  I can only sense one thing, and that is truth as it comes to get us, and the needs of strangers as they meet in open dark.  I am with you, my muse.  You cannot get rid of me.

I tell of strange things.  If I foretold the end of the world, would you follow me. If I let you pass, would you be that thing that lingers. I cannot contain my joy, as all things are set up.  I will press onwards, and know that temporality is a thing that saves.  Am I what you want? I am the devil as he seeks for something new.  I am the well-spring that traipses as he curses.  I will go through anything that comes, but I will not wait for you.  This much is sure.  

There is something in the wind.  It calls, as we all call.  I am like that which has no space.  It is what I live by, and what I need to be.  Commiserations for the aplomb in which I write. I am well schooled in the history of art.  I know that when the power has you, you will never give the snow a chance to breath.  Snow by a graveside will get you there. But before we are through, there are things I need to tell.  Life is strange, but time is a stranger.

What is it like to be cold?  There is no greater feeling, than to be in touch with the primeval.  What is grander, is to be the bolt which fastens the centre shut.  When compassion belittles us, we will come for that more noble sentiment, that is what all the sages have sung of.  I am a miser of the soul.  I expect little but deliver much.  There is a control here that is not of this earth.  Shall we call it ‘The Powers’ as Strindberg did? Lets.

Much of the time when time itself is wasted, there is a measuring that uplifts as it curtails.  I am like the night, in that, when I am through, I have found my life of rest.  But until then, there is much to do.  There is much play, much frivolity, and much that has no time to reach.  Come and be a part of this grand adventure.  There is nothing like it.  It is full of holes, full of sheets of broken glass. Full of all we should let go of.  But I am aware of one thing – I will not let go.

Maybe when the tempest is through, I will find new ways to be in tune with life.  Do I need new shoes (I have them!), do I need what it is that keeps us quiet, do I want anything at all? There are tunes we must sing here, and they will be my swan song, and my everlasting need to find the new.  Will I succeed? I know I will.

Catching something in my grasp, I know not what it is.  But what I do know, is that fate is with me, and I will succeed at what is important. I feel melancholia, and know it to be a gift.  I am hoping that the sand will not swallow me, and that the chances in autumn light are like I remember.  I am not good at everything, only that which has been given to me.  I will be with slumber in my dreams, and won’t know if the light is on.

Fellowship is a thing revered. I am standing now on the precipice of something great.  I come with arms wide open, and have the sense that distaste for adventure has left me.  Life is a challenge, but I know where it ends.  Secretly, I yearn for the torch.  I want to see what I am made of, and maybe know who I am.

There are chances that have no milk. But then, there are chances that do.  I am at that place that I never thought I would be.  I have no money, and I have only guesses to fund the adventures that lie ahead. I will take chances, and know them to be that which keeps me going.  I have said many things, but none so important as this.  Be what you may, but always be.

There can be what we want in the night.  I have been to many places, and seen many things, but I have never seen the curtain fall. I am the space between things, I am the light in the morning, but I am not you.  This much must be written in the stars and their accomplices.  I will use my days to be prepared for the night.  This is true in two sense.  I work in the day, and write in the night.  But also I will use my experiences in the good times, to prepare for the bad.  I have experienced so many nights, dark nights of the soul. I have experienced what is present, with what is past. I have had them all jumbled up, and cast into oblivion.  And here is where I am my most comfortable.  And here I will lay my head, so that the stars of heaven will not leave me, even when I am in hell.

What is this? It is a new power, that takes nothing as its prize, but gives so that we feel the pain that has always been felt.  I am like the wind here, gushing, and swaying, and knowing myself to be right in all respects. I will conquer all before me.  But there is no sense that the snow will melt.  It will stay frozen on into the recesses of our worn out souls. Be that which will sustain me, and I will be yours. I have what it takes to belittle the sun. But he will not have me, so I must change course, and find what it is that keeps him happy.

The thing that keeps us going is not the night as it is presented to us, but the day as it is taken away from us.  I have a feeling that sense and senselessness are two sides of the same coin. I am driven to do more than I have ever known.  I will wreck myself on talons of mere destruction, and then come back for more.  What is a second wind but all that is.  We humans have a predilection for the impossible.  There is more to say, and I have the time.

Be calm sister, there are winnowings that have no name. But we will fight them, and know our journey to be one of greatness.  I will take the time to teach you many things, and when I am through, there will come a resounding victory.  I may be no good with money, but what I have is yours.  I am worthy of something that begins with hate, and ends in drunken song. I am a risk taker, but have salt as my major accomplishment.

The time it takes to write these word is etched in snow by a graveside. I have known what smothers, and what soothes.  In the temptation to begin again, I have fought the long held dream that the last laugh is not enough to find our voice with.  Commiserations are in order. They come from somewhere deep, and will never let us go. But what I expect to happen is nothing other than a sense that the sea is a conquest, and the coquette that lives in all of us is the same that belittles the stars to reign once again.  We will never let go.  We will never let go.

I am riding on coach pulled by stallions of the unreal.  They are my companions as I stretch and pull my way back from forever, and into that misty place which is my home. I have many friends, but none are with me now.  I strike forth, with sword in hand, and the fire of millions of souls at my beck and call.
What is there, but everything? I will find a way to smother the embers of the noon, and have a chance to regain what has been lost. Simplicity is the key.  But it is not what we expect.  It is something more, that has the tail of weather in moonlight wanders. I believe in many things, but don’t have a say in how it unfolds.  Fate is the timer in this regard. I will only be the chosen one for a short time.  And then I will bend my back through esplanades of unconscionable desire, and find my way back home.

When the dark has descended I will be the one who nestles through this land – this land of my being. I am the one who has light, in the same measure as dark. I must continue.  To fail would be to let the tendrils of forgetfulness lauder there most inner secrets.  I am happy with where I am at. There are dramas everyday, but I am up to the task.  Forgive me, oh sleepers and seekers, I have had your mark for too long. Will I be the one to open the casket, and find the truth.  I hope so.

Withhold, and then come to me. I see you now, and am forgiven.  I long to see the stars in your eyes, and have thoughts of being solid in the mess. I am one to never let go.  I have the passion, and will always be what it takes.  There is a well that has no bottom.  I am that well, as I cascade through time, and into tomorrow.  What must I take, but all.  What must I be, but everything. I will sing to you, until you are through.  And then we will die together, and have nothing to regret.

There is in me a need to escape. I follow my inner aegis, and cannot be more in the mould that was my fathers. Considering I am a feather in this mighty existence, I take my hat off to the sea.  It is more than I can hope, to be the one that brings the castle down.  I feel there is something more, something that I am expecting, something that never comes.  But we are here now, and I am loathe to be the one that is interned in that closing vault that has no end. 

Why can’t I see the end? It is because it is not there.  It is shrouded in mist, and has only itself to blame. I will win this game, and have it in my grasp. There are motions that show no heat.  Only they are to blame, and nothing else. I am the wedge that cures. I have more to offer than bread on a frozen plate.  I see you sitting, and believe once again that time will heal (or maybe just leave us wriggling).
When the simplest things are heavy, here we will find ourselves, and be content with the march.  There are dreams that do not rise, as there are sands that do not sprinkle.  I am at that point where action must be taken.  And so I sit to write, and have done with the day.

Measures of autumn mist come as a god-send, and they are here to quell the nerves of a thousand nights labour.  Just call be Baudelaire, I am in his, as it shows. How did he create so well, but nothing stood between himself and his dis-ease? I like to think I am the wanna-be, and you are the tinker. Is there a new ‘you’, maybe in the moments between this disaster and the next. I am a man for the adventure, but I have a kite I wish to play with.  It will send me higher than ever before.

Sing to me, sweet mistress. I am on my knees, and I have nothing but the keyboard.  Tell me your name, and I will find flights of eagles to come down from their resting place, and saddle us for another, more endearing, ride. I have lost faith in the machinations of hell.  There is not enough here to sustain me.  I have had a dressing down, but it is not the sale on the ships prow which propels me. It is your invective, so save the missing pieces, and have them buried deep in line with the chosen few.  What can be done, I know not. But I know I must continue, and in continuing, be ripe for the picking.

Cold, and unpleasant – snow by a graveside.  But what I have always hoped, is that sense would prevail on the uncanny, and have it be like it was before, harmless and in need of luck. I feel a power – is it Strindberg’s power? I hope it is, so that I may rattle the bows made from the finest china, and have them bring back to me all my mothers milk. This gesture will fill me with solace, and be what I need to fight the day. I am languishing where there is nowhere left to go.  I have new thoughts, and old inclinations. There are times when I would pass, and times that are for the reckoning. What is it that we need? It is something like this – we need it all, and then we will have a treasure.

Sense is something that is paid for by the dawn. It is a coin that defies what it preaches, and says to the dreamer – be with me, and I will be yours. I have thought of things that are not of this world.  But there is one thing I can do, and I am doing it.

Find yourself a masterpiece, and throw it as a disk. In this motion there will be placards that tell of secrets and distillations. I am a risk taker, as I have said, and I believe that fate has much to play, and much to be understood. What is this? It is the watch that knows no time, it is the feathering being that contains all the water of the world. I will content with only one thing – and that is all, and all that will come to pass.

I have waited longer than anyone for this moment.  It has twisted into my lack of soul like a moon that has no right.  Be with me muses, and I will sing a chosen song. It is the night that defies the beggar, and has as his accomplice a catching rain. I have long fought for a derby of deliverance. It can no longer be mine.  But I pick up the shards of what is important, and scatter them to the outer regions. I have a new need, it is young, and full of life. It sees me as a testimony that casually belies the fact that the sun is no longer with me, and the pen is all I have.

What separates us from the depths, is one thing.  And that is strength. It is in all of us.  As a species we have thrived under very difficult circumstances.  And when that moment comes, when we are at our lowest, we draw on that strength, to overcome.  The shadows of ill ease are constant, but what is more like the throw, is the sense we have that motion is for catching, and dreams are made from the same.
The true test comes in many phases.  There is the initial nomenclature that guides the soul through the stages of release.  Heaven is a thing best left unsaid here.  For when the sun washes up on the beach, there is a chance that the mighty embers will serve to ignite another fire of the mound. Be sure, there will be a time for reckoning, as there is a time for release.  Be proud of your accomplishments, they are what sustain you. But do not let the vagabond have his way with the sense you have left behind. I say many things, only so that the wife of our forefathers will be content with the nod of the head, and a scratch of the arm.

There are things which the weather cannot know. In this investment, time is like an accomplice, and the wind is a stranger in the dark. Be powerful for me, and I will show you many things. Come what may, I will feather your arrow, and know it to be a gift of the highest calibre.

Bend the bow, and see how far the night will take you. I am at a loss to say how far my arrow will go. I used to see things so clearly, but now I am not so sure. I have been to that beyond place that is neither here, nor there. On my journey, I saw many things.  But there is nothing like what the future will bring.  Hardship, and a slice of the present.

How do I tackle this adventure? When the back is ready, it will bend, and know the source of the troubadour’s harm to be a priceless fake. I am stuck, but I will go on.  Into something else, and all that we are after.

Now that I have come full circle, I will be in charge of my own fate. This brings with it many things I do not wish to discuss. I feel that writing is like fire, and when it has lost its way, I will be at the point that knows no prisoners.  Be prepared for something more.  It will shock you.

I am languorous in this heat. But what heat cannot do, is undo the past. We are locked in the symmetry of the founding.  I am trying hard not to break, but the finding is hard in itself. Be careful what you say to me, I have neither hearing nor speech. I am cuckolded beyond my means. Each day brings new knives, but I have a quick fix.  It is to live spontaneously, as mothers do with their young.

I am full with the marrow. I like to dance on my own feet, but when I need a hand, I beckon to the accompaniment. It keeps me breathing, and weaving shadows in full splendour. I can feel what it is like to be the sycamore. It is a slowness that has time to bend, and a bar of ice to contend with. Warnings are the start, but what is it that we really seek. It is something more than we can possibly imagine. It is ice, it is fire, it is the soul that will never return. I have the conditions – let us play.
What is left of our lives? I am looking, but cannot find anything.  What I have found though, is a pile of gold where our lives used to be.  There is no denying the fact that such a treasure is worth more than a single life.  But do not scare me, I am worth more than that.

You are what we want.  Only in the middle of a great catastrophe can things be seen with clarity. I am standing on a brink made of glass, and I know that one false step will tip me over. I am fathoming bottomless dreams, and as I do, the world falls in on me, and all that I encounter.  Being apart of this newly spun web, I fall down, but then get up again.  I have letters of recommendation from the highest, as well as from the lowest. I hear what the badgers never knew of, before they became mired in silk. Do not disgust me, I will only want more.

There are feelings that the highest pinnacle cannot dream to capture.  Here, where I sit with untold riches, I fold myself into a betting knot, and gamble my life savings on one thing.  And that is you fate, and everything you will put me through. I am like a caged tiger.  The one thing I must do is stay alive, and I will have the net to broach a thousand seas.  There can be a sense in the senseless, all you have to do is look.  I am chained here, before any witness can free me.  I will not take precautions.  They are not me.

The story I tell cannot be comprehended in a single sitting.  This story has turned serious, but I laugh all the way.  I am new to this game, of ducks and side glimpsed arrows.  I do not think that the enemy will have me, but that is something I must endure. I want to discover what it is that keeps gold being dug from the ground.  Is it the ground that yields, or the gold? I have no idea, and so to continue is to let slide the most difficult thing we have yet to encounter.

What can I say?  There is nothing in the grains of sand that propel us onwards.  We are left to be in that solemn state that curtails the need we have to chase the dawn. I am completely unconscious here. I do not know if I will escape. I have entered now a dream that has become a nightmare of solemn acceptances. I will fight on, and know chance to be a withering ghost.

There are new ways to be that have not been taught yet. I will teach them, and be a stranger in the dark.  Be with me, you powerful ones. I have not seen the dusk for an infinity of years.  All I can do is write, and be done. I see myself disappearing, but it is not my fault.  I have written letters to you, and ask for no response. It is only because I care that I see you waving that golden wand.  It is more than the accomplice can divide upon. Oh, I do speak, and there, where moisture is like turf, I will bend myself away from you, and into the next block of forgetfulness.

Come and be the centre point to my wing. This is where the dance is at its height, and the moments we have left are more like the wind than the sea. I catch what it is that you leave behind, and spread it to the gulls. Be the middle, and I will be the outer. Be with me, and I will change your world. There are motions that have no force, but I am not for reminiscing. This will tell a tale, and I will fall down just to prove it so. I am on the right side of the moon. I see the earth, and everything it entails.

Cast yourself off this drifting sea. It can never be enough simply to be. We must find our directions before it is too late. And here, where the sound of noumena racquet through the skies, I will have my taste of the sunset, and know myself to be calm.

What have I thought, but everything.  What have I sought, but to have it all. I am content with the travails of a summer night. I hand everything back to the devil, for he is my muse. Baudelaire triumphed in this vein, as did Huysmans. I come for the slack, for he is gold. I bend, not knowing where I will fall. I come to say goodbye, only because I can.

Why this summer won’t give me is contentment? I hold onto the dreams of strangers, only because they let. I have the light set on full, and know that when they come to get me, I will be ready.  There is no hope in my life, only the shards of deliverance that I sometimes forsake. Be a player, and I will be yours.  Be a soul searcher, and I might not come.

Forever, this is the key. I am linked to the sky in ways untold. I blow down on foraging scoundrels like they are a troop of the night. Feeling good, I come from the stalking good like a meanderer that has lost his way. Come now, we must not be so solid.  We must fly, and let the rainbows of eternity play their tricks on our lives. Be what may, I am at the crossroads (once again). I can feel great things being tucked in the parcels of great regret. I have done many things, but none so odious as this.

What is it that keeps us going? It is the promise of better times beneath, and happier times around. There are classical paths that have always been trodden. They bring us to a place that has no vow, and no sense at all. Be what may, we will find what it is that keeps us moving, and hold on to it with victory in our hearts and souls.

For the time it takes to wander through an art gallery, I will link the shadows of midnight bliss to the embers of our own fires.  These fires are bright, but will only be enough the shield the day for a short time.  And then we must go it alone, and have wanting ease as a simpler way to be.

I will be careful not to tread on the toes of the host. There is enough blood on these banisters to allow all to be what they want. I have always gone to that nether place that is the sunset after the dawn. It takes time to be more than we want. I am envisioning the time it takes to gather up the parcels that bind us, and fling them to each point of the compass. I have lived like many, and I wish to die like none. When the effervescence of a lightning strike hound the weary, I will be there. When time has stood still, I will be there.  When the stars no longer move, I will be there.  And when I am through, there will be nothing left.

What can we see that has not been seen before? I hold onto the lamp, because it is the only one there is in this place of cards. I sit forthright on the chair that was given to me by my father. I look for tidings to soothe my mind, but all I find are tears. I am heading to the consequence, as this is the action.  I will only let go when the testament is unfurled, and death looks me directly in the eye.

The niceties are long gone, as the milk which was my mothers stains the throw rug, and leaves its mark. I hear what you have to say, but my mind is travelling over vast terrains. It is like I am the godsend, and the treasures we keep to keep time at bay are another bite on the cheek. When will this mighty adventure be in the middle, instead of too the extreme.  All I had to do was watch, and gold would be mine. I will follow what my mind says, and I will achieve much.

I am like the furthest shore.  I go out, but do not come in.  I saddle the stallions of deliverance, and know the dark to be a long lost friend. Be that as it may, I am a long time coming. I sense great things ahead, but I don’t want to become a victim of my own mortality. I wish to live, and wish to hang the tendrils of the other side amongst their own brethren.

Dancing, I know no other way. It is in me, as I am in it. I cannot breathe because of the glancing light of the window. I have cheer for you, but do you want it? It is like the smashing of candelabras that have fallen from the ceiling. They do not break, but have more ounces of salt than the tidying we do before meet someone we love. I fall, and am fallen. I change, but only because I can.

Foraging for the sense that makes this nonsense a lie. I hang on, and tiptoe around the edges of things. A calm comes over me, as I wish for something more. I cannot contain the laughter that fills my lungs. I have a chance to be alive again, and be with the most precious thing in my life.  And that is the dawn as she spreads her rosy fingers through my hair. I love the sight of dew on the grass in the morning. It soothes as a balm that has no chance at success.

A contagion wells. It is the night as she slips through my fingers. I am like what can never be found. I am the day, as the wind is our friend. I settle in for a gathering, and then no one turns up. I placate you, as the wind placates the semblance of the distance between the south and the north.  Be prepared, what is to come has been transfixed, and let go of in the traditional manner.

I sense a new fledgling in need of solace. It is the fledgling in all of us, as we step down the ladder that divides our lives. Being careful not to tread between the lines that divide the hanging branches from the steeple, I gather myself for another adventure. I am one to take on the night, but only before it has given me its inclination to start. I will weary you, only because I can.  There are feathers that do not float. I am one of them, in my closest hour.

Stand up! And deliver the world a new kind of hope.  There are trees that have none, and I will be sure to give it too them. Be prepared to jump when you least expect it. Jump for the joy it brings. Jump to nestle down to the embers of a forgotten fire. Be in the company of angels, but do not rub them the wrong way.  They will fight.

Listening I hear much. I am on my way, not before time.  Being incredulous is the centre of the lake that has no name.  I fall into the niceties that are like milk. I drink from them, before I die. And then I raise myself on the pinions of learned desire, and feel free to be who I am. I cast things down, and be content with how the sun spreads its light.

Further from the disabling I feel, is a long list. It is a list of all the things I should do with my life.  I am the one who stands together with fate. I am resigned to what ever happens to me. I see the travesty of togetherness, and the long to be that thing burns the sky down. I have the need to send barbs in all directions, and sense that the ease I feel is a temporary thing. Be with me now, oh slivers of autumn. I call on you to send me back down the drain from which I came, so that I might rise like the phoenix. I have hope, and through that I will live.

I wait, until there is nothing left. I have the time to push back armchairs, and know them to be things of delight. But do you know the real truth? I have no soul, and have only the sketches of brotherly consequence. My soul was sold to pay for my capacities.  Who would want a soul anyway, things just don’t work in this realm of ours.

The dance is all there is. I felt many things, but none so sure as this.  There are always complications that shed on their bones, but I will not have it.  What is this? This semi-temperate attempt to becalm the noises that bite? I am the tailor who believes in himself. I am the one who sits cross-legged before the dawn. I can always be more than the sea wants. It is a true feeling that senses all that lies before me. I will cast you off, and be without the next edition of travail. When consciousness comes for me, I will sack the land so that I will dream. Be careful, I am not alone.

I will only wait if you ask.  Up until now, I have only done my own thing.  But now I will take advice from the slipper, and be sure that his council is of the utmost sense. I am clear of wrong, only because I have done so much wrong in the past. I am turning past the simpleness of things, and being more single minded than ever. That is the way things turn, and the way belief sings.

I say things are not for the wary. I sit at this table, and believe that the tempest is a wandering fool. It is all in the intention, this life of ours.  Don’t call me wise, just call me simple. I have a load that bares no sparks.  This load is a messenger from the gods.  I don’t believe in what the horizon will whisper, but I have found harbouring ships that are bound for the dark.  I think they are new to this, and so I guide them.  Be blissful in your sleep, it is the day that carries us onward.

A dark figure I cut. When, in a past life, I nestled into the depths, I always new I would come out the other side.  This was not a conscious thought, but one I new would save me.  Come, come, come. I am a machine that has no barbs.  I am weak, so that I will become strong. I love the deep, just as I love the sky. It’s height is a testament to the ages. I come for clarity, and know this place to be a boon, a limited boon, but I need the rest.

When the dark is an enemy, there will be time for rejoicing.  I have it in my heart, not to stray.  I have it in my bones to begin again, and again if necessary.  I am lost at sea, but I find my way by the star light.  I have many things that I will encounter, but only one thing will stop me.  And that is the sun as it glances off stained glass.  I will find the emptiness that I longed for as a child.  It will be cold, but not as cold as the wind. I will find shelter, and be that type of person that never gives up.  We must try, and in trying, be the foundlings that we always thought we would be.

I will tell you all a tale of forgiveness and regret.  It starts with a hum, and builds.  Its building is of life’s essence, and a dream I once had.  I think back to this dream whenever life takes me astray. It is a monstrous thing, and lives in me like a buzzard.  The bird is rife to encounter the happenings of strangers.

My bones are eager for the release of death. But I have more to do, chances to take, people to be in love with.  Life is full, and death is but the only way to sure that life is in the marrow. I consider myself lucky that I have goals, for the foal does not beckon with showing teeth.  It courses in veins, and says to the raconteur, ‘be with me, and we will both strike’. I forget what I am doing. And so it is.

I want to be that thing that drives like a knife. I am against the simplicity of the tails we find. I come in good faith, and know that when the stars and like ice, we will find the strength to carry on. There are always difficulties, but when the flood comes, we will know where to stand. I love this, as I love life.  It comes to me now, now that all is over. I have shown hubris in my time, but I now know its dangers.  There is poetry in fate, but not enough to stop us.

I cling to something I don’t understand.  It is enough that the light has faded.  But what is more, is that the darkness is itself full of knives.

Be content with what you have, this much I am sure of.  Never be one to dance that macabre sabre, and be with the wind as it carries you. I will be your guide, as you simmer on the hot stove.  There are things that are not for the fighting, but for the loving. All I can do is be at peace.  Everything else has failed.  My beloved sense of adventure is at its peak.  It will come down, when the time is right.
What is there but dust? I will come for you, until light has seen its last night. I am coming for the fathomable, and know that when the dust has truly settled, there will be a sense that time can no longer capture us. I have found a way, I know not how.  There is debris lying beside me, from last nights adventure. I believe in one thing, and that is hope.  I will give it, like never before.  And when I am through, no one will doubt me.  This much is true.

I will find new paths to reckon. But the true reckoning comes when the clouds meander through the vault of our lives, and come out the other side.  There is magic here, as there should be.  I have known…..suffering that is not for the weak, but only for the strong. I gasp at what I have been through, but I love it. I love the many hearted well-wishes that are my birth rite. I will not complain, because to complain is to spoil the stillness. I have found a way! I have found a way!

What is next? Is it slavery, is the manner in which you speak? I have known suffering, but nothing like this.  But I do see clearly. I am reckoning that I will go to that place that is for the adventurer.  I cave in, there we are.  Be beautiful, my love, this might be the last time you see me. I gather up all that has gone before, and send it to the masses.  There is spark here – it saves me! I will not give up the fight, for I am in that place of darkness. I repent, only because it is a thing I do. I am found, but not quite. I am being brought to my senses. Be careful, I might bite.

Come and be apart of this spirit. I am the one who never leaves.  I am the one who rains in shards. There is nothing else to say here, but only that the sense the trees make is more than we can ever know.  I come to be the centre, and the stars will be the periphery. I know, that when we are through, there is something to hold onto.  Will I make it? I hope so.

Sometimes, when I see you smiling, I am reminded that the gulf between the renaissance and the dark is a gulf that will always be traversed. I have taken a risk, and now I will see if it has payed off. I come for the newness.  I come for the stark reminder that we are alive.  There is power here, as there has always been.  Will the curtain fall?  I hope not.  But this is not for me to say, only for those who will remember.  I see things that little bit more clearly now.  I will not act suspiciously, I will fight for what I have, and know it to be a well-spring, that trickles down a lonely mountain, and sees itself in its own reflection.
Forests have an awareness of what it is that calls our bluff.  I have never been good at poker, but know a thing or two about what it takes to save a hand, and also to have it washed from my grasp.  I love you fate, as I always have.  You are the one who soothes, as you are the one that burdens.  I have known both sides of your coin.  But I wish that the sound of your echo would let me live.  I am your solstice, as I am your flair.  I will not hurt you, even though you have wronged me a thousand times.  I believe in you, and I will always follow you.  Do not give me up, it is not me to decide.

What have we become? I have know the fight, and I have known the pleasure.  But I come to you now with a different journey. I long to feel the release, but it is not something that I can achieve.  I am locked into the night and her ravenous demands.  I come to sell potions of recovery, but the testament to this fact is lost. I am what the daylight can never be.  And that is shaded in the bands of time that never release.

What is it that we seek? I seek semi-conscious whistles that bend themselves to the edge of things, and wander down into the sorrow of a thousand dreams that starlings have.  I must succeed, there is not other choice. I have fallen over many times, and am at a loss to really be what we want.  But come again, and I will show you what I am really made of. There will time to play, and time to fathom what it is that keeps us going.

I am down, but I will not count myself out. I have inspired eagles, but I must inspire myself to keep going.  I will type, and know no forgiveness. But when I am done, there will be nothing to say, but lay down.  Does this make sense?  Yes it does.

There is nowhere else to go, and know that my past is in the present. I can see what it is that keeps us moving.  It is like I never was, but only in shadows.  I live there, and know that the simplest things are drawn from silk, and have as their base the neverness of one that I can’t see.  Be with the now, and I will show you a special place.  I have fought many battles, but this is my greatest.  It is in me to follow my aegis, and now it to be good. But when the battle is joined, there will come sparks that hold, and fires that never burn. I will release you, and have you sing.  I am not yours, I am the night’s.  This much is true, but what we can never have are dreams in winter. They are too much, but we will have them.
The travelling we do to turn back time is enough to help the distance that separates the stars to be at one. I believe in the strength of the sun.  It is a source that captures the warning signs of the day, and lets them breathe that deeper breath.

There cascades a dreaming that is not of this earth.  It is of the benefactors, and there chance at the never ending.  I feel rushed, but I will never hurry.  I feel the pain of the blister, but it is an invisible pain.  It leaves no mark, and spoils as it leaves.  Why are things about me, when in actual fact they are not.  It is because we wish, and have the anger of the stars to contend with.  I will be with you, this much I know.

What is it that buries itself so deep? It is our hearts as we look for that bolder adventure to do away with our fears. I am one to seek.  I have searched far, and this is what I have found – it is something that beckons. It is something that keeps us still. I have never felt this, this great assault on the senses.  I am coming through now, and have always been this way.

I am in the depths, but I still breathe.  I love to linger, and know the truth to be a victim.  I see you, but before I do, I come for that liquor which is like gold.  It is the mana of the gods and all they represent. Their gold is our gold, as we set ourselves again for another chance at simplicity.  I will not give in to that which is no longer there.  I will fight, and in doing so, be content that death is just a bridge, and the nethering of the firelight is something we must always hold on to.

I am coming for the chance, be what I may. I am coming into fruition, and know that the journey ahead is not what we expect.  I will be with you, and then bend down on one knee, like I did many years before hand.  This is my chance to escape, and I will do it with utmost courage.  In reality there can be no escape, but I do not believe this.  I believe in other things, things that erupt, and things that sing.  I am found, always, on the bottom, and then, when the distance is a travesty, I will find happiness, and know it to be something well-worth the wait.

Can we see clearly here? Of course we can.  It is up to us as to how we proceed.  I seek the impossible, and in this, will be reticent to share my secret. Considering the size of my dispositions towards the infinite, I laugh at what is never enough. I swim, so that I might escape.  I dance, so that there might be nothing left. I believe, so that I might find myself at the heart of things.  I will win this victory, and there will be nothing left to ponder.  I am at that point.

Despite what I have said, there is no time to hesitate.  I can always be in the light.  But when the lamplight fades, there is something more.  It is us, as we climb to that higher place; a place that has no height, and no bench to rest our weary bones on.  I am closer than ever before.  But there is so much more to be accomplished.  I will not rest.  I will only rest when the be and the not-be are at their rest.  I come for gatherings, but solitude is all I find.  I will not rest. I will not rest.

There are times that are for rejoicing, and times that are for recompense.  And here, where I find you laughing, I will laugh out loud, and know the sun to be a visionary, and the clouds to be the keepers of a great secret.  What is this secret.  It is all we have, and all that shall be.

When the sun has delivered its final say, we will run for the mass which is the distance between this and that. I have heard many things, but none so tumultuous as this.  There is an even playing field for only some.  The rest of us must wait our turn.

I am thinking of another deliverance.  The test comes when sight is diminished, and the tails of our ancestors are the pinnacle of what we want to achieve. Forever young, and forever full of the need we have to relinquish the sands that are our true friends.  Be what may, I will come.  I will be here in spirit, if not soul.  There is a taste we all have that the remains of the day will be enough to calm us. We must be careful.

What have I got? But all that is.  What have I lost? But all that is. I seek recompense from fate, for in my marrow are all the dreams that staid with me. I can no longer feel, but that is okay. What has been given to me, is a greater sense of what time can give.  I seek shelter, but only because I can.  There is a night that has no end.  I have been there, and I have found the end.  Come with me, I will be yours.  There are sounds that bare no witness.  But despite this, I will live.  This is all we can do, and then die.
When I sing, there is a sense that the despair we feel won’t last the distance of a worn out soul.  Be calm, there is hope.  It slinks like a demon.   It catches on fire, and is at ease when things are left undone. I will seek more, but will have less.  I am one never to give in, and always to recount the gold I have been given.  But do not discount me, I can live in any clime.  There are things I shouldn’t say, but will.  Neverness is a song, and we are the singers.

I beckon to you, feel the wroth of the ages, and let it bury into you.  I have come full circle, and know now that suffering can take you places. I am listing on uncharted rocks, but this okay, for I am friends with time, and all that she will give.  I have at my disposal a cache of arms, arms that trigger as they delight.  I will push myself, and bury blaggards to there ultimate demise.  I am writing again, because I can.  I will not relinquish the solemn rite that is my birthing.  I have spat at the line that divides the window from the sea.  There is no line here, only castings away.

When troubadours bury their faces in the sand, there will come a new need to call out your name. I am like so many, that I have not had a chance to feel the writhing force of a sentence to bid me farewell.  I come in spades, because this is all I can do.  I sit for a while, and send embers back to their beloved.  I wish to inspire, but don’t know what to say.  Maybe I will just act, and feel steam rising through the dreaded woods.

This will always be with me.  I have strength, but not this much. I cannon into life, because it is all I can do.  I have life left in me, as long as I don’t get caught.  This haunts me, and sends me once again into dreams of dismay.  But wait, there is more.  There is the simplicity of hope, and the disaster that care can bring.  I will not stop writing, for I am a mistletoe on the edges of a far away land.  My theory is true.  The right situation gives you the fight or flight response.  And here lies a truth.  Be calm, relax, and adventure into the unknown.

I am in that place that has no light.  It is a tidy place, that rings in the ears of all those that try.  I cannot accept fate, for she renders the soldiers we keep bustling into troopless wonder.  I am scared, like never before, but I have a settling that eases the pain, and sends it wandering. Ah, to wonder, that is the rub. I feel like a caged animal that soothes itself but watching the clouds.  There is power here, just as there is trepidation. I am wanting more, but seeking less. I come into the night, so that I am able to see clearly. I will come, when you least expect.

This is what I want, to lead a life of utmost purity.  If I am caught, there will be fire in my eyes.  If I lay low, I will have the emptiness of a thousand nights labour to sue me. Can all we ever do is sing a song of praise.  I have escaped, but know my time will come. This is what we seek.  A sense of the right that overcomes the wrong.  Which court case will I end up in? The one of my own choosing, or the one forced upon me. Hopefully both.

Again, I hear you cry.  I am appeased by fate, but I linger by the aperture to see which sense of the right is most at stake.  Dream, it is what makes us.  Dream, and you will come to see heaven in the wild oaks that are our home. Be little in the face of time.  Be big when it suits.  They will come for me, but I am not afraid.  I am the sense in the senseless.  I am the harp, where there can be no music.  This is my spell, and I cast it on all.  This is where we are at.  In the middle of great lake, where a multitude have drowned just to see beauty.  I come is peace, but I have the sword.

I am seeing things in a new light. I have never before seen the dawn so splendid.  It keeps me yearning, so that when the silence has me, there will be a new need to dust off the cobwebs, and gather in all that I have.  There is a space in the middle of each raindrop as it falls.  The trick is to find that space, and let it fill your soul – then you will be truly walking between raindrops.

Coming to a close, I rejoice.  I have found my centre, and my left.  I come to bury the dead that are  littered around me.  But this is no easy task.  I have found hope in the strangest of places, and I know that when the curtain fades, there will be time to lay down again.  Be what may, I will come for you.  I will not let you down.  I will always let you down.  There is a wanting that has as its base a seminal type of accomplishment.  There will be time, I know it.

When we are left to our own devices, there are challenges that have gold as there milk, and winnowing regret as their guide. I look to the past, only so that I can see better. I am writing as well as I ever have, but I must not complain.  I live by the easel, and die by the righteous.  Come and be an accomplice.  It will lift you, and carry you, until all that has fallen is ice.

There is dust where there should not be.  There is chrome under my soul (or where my soul used to be). I have found happiness in a flower, but then it is gone again when the rain comes. I sample mischief, so that I might lie on the ground and cry.  Be what may, I will always win.

Come to me, and be my bride.  I will love, only so far as I must commit. I will do to the ground, what the simplicity of the stars has done to your smile.  Raging, rampaging, I will fight.  And then I will lay down my arms, and sink further into the abyss. I write! I write! And then I come home for the nearness it brings me to you. There are catchings that defy the horoscope.  But that is not what we were supposed to hear.  We want freedom, and then a touch of class. I will run for you, and have you for the dreaming we are want to pursue in our rest.  This is more than enough. I hear myself beside you, and I fall.

Touching on the gravestone, I lie asleep. I feel something that hasn’t been felt before. It is like I am winded, and have no strength left.  May I continue writing, and saying, and being.  That last one is the key. I have tried to take my life a number of times, but something always gets in the way. But we must not reminisce, we must move forward, and onwards, and through.

I am here to lay down my arms. I have sensed what the delights of the feather has always known.  Coming to sentences like prisoners, I release them, and have the courage to soothe the travesty of what is most at stake. I do things anew, and become what I have always feared.  Be my guide, fate, and I will be yours.  No living thing will tear me away.

A conscience I do not have. I seek pleasure, only in the tendrils of desire. This is my accomplice, and my searing heat. I live for the adventure, and know the gapping hole to be a passenger. I must not stop. I will always stop. I go for the former, and then transcend to the later. I tap, and toss, and be one with the world. I can never be a solstice, only a withering. Be kind, I am one.

There are strangers in the dark.  They bark, and have need of something we cannot give. I finished my allotted tasks, and now must go home. But before I do, I will ask you one question. Which side are you on? Are you on the side of that which does not speak, or on the side of that which vanquishes? I hope neither, because then we can be friends.  Do not look, because then I will be with you.

When I have found that which I am looking for, I will be in that land that harbours no fear.  It is unlike me to flinch, but when I do, it all falls apart. I am under the spell of something that is like water, as it is like soot. I bend myself for one last look, and here, where spells diminish the land, I will walk once again into travails that are not of this known earth.  All I do is look, and I am there. There is a sense to all this, but I can’t work it out.  Be my dithering, and I will scoop you up.  It is as if I have faltered, but I am still standing. I will find a way.

There are passions which I do not have.  But the ones I do have, are the sort that clamber for life. I have sensed the harrowing, as it goes to the sea, and reaches up once again for air. I believe that I will find my solace when I am dead.  My world is too full of adventure, and my longing too rich. I cannot see the sky, for it is shrouded in mystery. I will come again so you do not lose me.  And when the lark sings its final tune, I will raise my head, and have it wilt before the fire.

Feathering, I hear you say. I am not what this life wants. I am more, and less, and everything in between. I have the conditions to truly write, but I reminisce too much.  There are longings that bite, and I am in sand.  I be, so that I can chain myself to the rocks, and let the majesty of forever have its say on the eyes that are like nothing. I hear what you say, but I am deaf. I select what the night will have, then load it into a gun that defies description. I will do what has never been done, and that is win from here.

A sweet sound interrupts my bathing.  It says to me that I will never be old, and that the rectitude of forever will rain its shards upon my life. I am looking for that deeper truth that abounds in never ending delight.  I work unconsciously, and see in the willows a firmer desire to give back to the beings of time a new note.  Here where sound is like ice, I will bury the dead, and have them live again. I have made a mistake, but I will only think twice.

I have decided that I will go on. This is because of two things.  The sea is my confidant, and he has said, that while the way is fraught, there will be a mighty ending. And the clouds, who are my guides, have said that the demons beneath are not enough to take me. This is what I have sensed all along.  But I need my winnowing to be in tune with the morrow. Then, when things are right, I will myself once again, and let the travesty of justice take its toll.

Tell me what you think, and the size of this mountain will only increase. I sense a new timing that hides as it uplifts, and lets the dance unfold as it should. I have no time for second thoughts. If I can do this, there will be nothing left.  Only the measuring of the wise will be enough to save us, and then we will come to the distance that cannot be surpassed. What is this I write, but all? I have an idea, it will keep me going.  I will write what cannot be written.  This is my oath.

There is something about snow by a graveside that epitomises all that is.  I have looked many times on its composure, and have see my life in a flash!

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