Beauty in the chaos

To catch your life in a dream or a swell.
Pulled by the lunar tide.
An electric blue that pushes through my veins.
This memory fuses and counteracts.
Seeped in the pressure and the pull of your eye.
Your storm that rages.
A beauty in such chaos.
Entering, as if on cue, your third act.
Gaining speed and precipitation.
I’m lost in the moment, catching debris in my heart.
Trying to keep you from peeking outside, out of this love.
Hiding the sunsets and sweet golden blue skies.
Do you remember you?
I ride out this terrible storm.
Promising salvation in these scared arms.
That bend and shake in the winds like the trees uprooted.
Running to the sea.
Thrown out of heaven.
Yet, I am still not afraid.

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Yeux de Dieu

To see, with our eyes open.
Is true sight.
To reveal what is hidden.
That is what my feet touch this ground to do.
A reason for this earthly dwelling.
These veils that block out the sun.
Which stir the hurricanes in my world.
It’s all an illusion.
To see, with the eyes of god.
Born out of my own skull.
Is to know what life is all about.
And what to transform.

Dusk of the innocent

They didn’t see it coming.
Always bouncing on to something else.
Ignoring the ghosts in their eyes, or the oncoming headlights.
Those April days of innocence.
Flying over schools and mountain tops.
Elasticated minds skimming the Tokyo suburbs.
Never finding time to hear what love sounded like.
Letting it all fall away like a crumbling cliff, on the sea of something.
Were you ever sure what you fought for?
Always in the eye of the storm of your halcyon hurricane.
When April faded to December, what do you cling to now?
Freeze dried promises that never seem to thaw.
Mislabelled and mumbling that nothing seems clear.
Only the icy ground beneath, forcing you in that straight line.
Towards you losing yourself.
And lowering into soil.
Could you ever tell who liked you? Did you ever really care?
Needling the hay to make way for a forgotten tomorrow.
Singing into the dusk of the innocents.

Weather in your storm

The battle cry down the line.
Marching towards another front.
The sweeping gales of isolation. Threaten such havoc.
Why do you fight for no reward?
Sending lightning bolts through my battle scars.
The ones that prove I’m a warrior.
My emotions hunted close to extinction.
Tapping Darwin on my veins.
The tattoo that reads ‘Forever your Wallace’.
You naturally select the sharpest blade,
and cut me so deep I see the stars in your storm.
Do I hunker down, disconnect the phone line and lock up the animals?
Retreat and retract. These statements of intent.
The reason in your anger.
The weather in your storm.
As I pour the red over my skin. Drowning in war paint.