Shots

One for the world's treachery,
dreams they are and dreams alone.
Two for the listless night,
the silence and its embrace.
Three for the games i lost,
rekt is my own name.
Four for the loving friends,
with their refrains constant.
Five for the women on the street,
their smiles and gestures beckon.
Six for the chair squeezing me in,
uncomplaining, untiring and supporting.
Seven for the memory loss,
or block, i forget which.
Eight for the pillow,
kissing my face goodnight.
Nine for the wall,
which deserves the glass i throw.
Another daylight refused.

Magic is words

Words are my trade and if you so choose
I shall darn you a sentence.
To sit with you on a sweltry day,
when the sun leaves you
parched and faint.
To dance on your tongue
as you taste the rain
and the earth floods your brain.

Somedays though, my words look lost,
wheezing for a letter to make them anew.
Stumbling behind, I herd them into a pen.
Later, I will squeeze some out,
braid their hairs, softly whisper love
and coax'em on to a line.

Let me seal those with a lingering kiss.
And deliver them unto you,
the only begetter of my hopes.

Read them loud and long.
Smile maybe at those waving shapes.
It might do them good.
Your breath may hearten than mine.
The artist has no magic
but what the audience gives.  

Now my words are never born
or face clothed indifference.
Words are easier wished than tried.
"Everything under the sun" is a sham
and so die words of import.

My red letter box has started to rust,
the words unasked.
And half-hearted gestures
turn them gray.
One day I shall take a bat to it all
and feel the wood quiver with the paint's kiss.

Soon, I will sunder my pen
and turn the words loose.
May a handful whisper to you.
          
     
          
   

Is Solitude a dream?

We live in quarters
set to a common link
Some live off the dream
that solitude promises
While some shun the
chance of blissful aloneness.

Solitude rests with non however
For we are more surrounded
than we care to know
Joined among the spider's many
threads if we ever choose
to stray afar.

Slopes and hills and crags
and many miles higher
matter not anymore.
If you truly seek it
cut the thread, fly far
far far away and run.

But wait, three minutes
to the dead of night
and Vidar smiles.
 It might not be
so difficult as
led to believe.

Running

This world of toil
is full of running.
Rushing and bustling
to be everywhere.
Exits to freedom,
cheer and life.
But the circle grows bigger,
never straightening.
We keep running,
blind to the bends. 

Relief

I remember

The days I suffered

My muted Breaths

My shut eyes

As the devil burned me

He brings before me

You in all your beauty

Eternally beautiful

And eternally far

As the devil burned me

Not Satisfied with

Anguish and Pain

He shows me you

In another’s arm

And I Burn.

It’s not the fire

That burns my flesh

Not the knowledge

That I am forever damned.

That I was never

What you deserved,

that my absence would

have meant better

in your life

is what kills me.

burns me.

And I lie there

Burning one eternity

At a time

I only stopped

When you said

I mean the world to you.

Death Count

Did you stop to think
that there was a lover,
a sister, a mother,
a father waiting for them

that there was a life
which was taken away from them
waiting for them back there.

did you stop to think
how that one bereavement would
leave some few with just anguish

don't think of numbers
or how many died

think how many people they had to
leave behind for no fault of theirs.
remember them for they are no more with us

Remembering

You look through pictures
and videos
and old chats
and even older memories.

What you see there makes
you smile and sigh.

all the words they said
all the smiles they smiled
all the laughs you shared
have come to mean nothing now

or that's how you see it.
What do you know about them?
To judge them for not being there now.