Park West and Bethany

Say yes to all.
Fade and fall, mistaken only by the river.
Washed through like summer rain and the thoughts told to make you go away.
Cashing and catching the lights of the big city.
Money in your pocket with children’s teeth.
Rattling.
Looking for a god you needed then, but not now.
Built up your good intentions like the skyscrapers around you.
Spires into your sky, piercing the blue heaven you stuck there with hope and sticky tape.
See this soul, from Jacksonville. Holding out their hand and cup for dollars and sense.
Shiver into those thoughts of home. Idaho Falls and the sound of honey.
Yellow spaceships that hover and take the scenic route back.
If you lived there, you’d be home soon.
Circling the city and the moon.
Transfiguring the trauma to trees to breathe a new air into your lungs.
Lungs holding on, yet crumbling into a Moses dream.
A body holding out for a prophecy.
Killing the kings and setting the soul aflame.
Wait now to be alone once more with god;
to sip from their coffee cup and slip into the copper lake of content.
Bronzed into eternity, never losing your shine.

The Buildings melted

Watching the horizon through tempered glass.
Silhouettes that block out the sun.
Only for a moment.
A moment too long.
The flames lick at his desk, eating away the wood.
Tapping on his soul.
They corrode the walls around him.
Destroying fibreglass and dreams of tomorrow.
He tries to block out the voices.
Scratching inside his skull like rats in a well.
Closing his eyes. Out through the glass.
Trying not to think about the ground.
Going to the place a million miles away.
A place his family dwells.
He feels the rush through his bones.
The ache of his heart.
The monstrous shadow of hate.
Oil soaked fingers opening Pandora’s box to fate.
That hostile future carved out by domestic architects.
In his long way down.
His final symphony of strings and sirens.
Crumpling into the dust as he sets himself free with a final tear.
Watching from above moments later.
As the realm and the buildings melt.

A thing or two to loose

How long until I screw it up?
Watching the fuse of your patience disappear.
Feeling overwhelmed yet repeated. You set my machine to high.
Of course you love me, what am I thinking?
Yet only if I’m perfect. Run, jump, swim higher faster. Better.
The strength within cannot be graded by your yard stick.
The one you beat, trick ad strike with.
I feel small and defeated. Lost in the forest.
Looking beneath and seeing no safety net of you.
Just a stern ringmaster, cracking a whip.
It comes down to the fact I haven’t got it all figured out.
And I ask, who does?
Allow me to spin in my chronic chaos, and love me for me.