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.