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Sunday 28 July 2013

Poem: Dreams awake




in the back seat of our parents car
we made up dreams as kids
roll down your windows
see the land fall beneath you
as if on a feather you ride

hundreds of colourful balloons
each carrying a piece of your innocent wishes
taking you on this rollercoaster ride
do you remember how things felt
seeing them for the very first time?

and how parents kept
the lastness of things a secret
had to learn on our own
with each passing place
we found ourselves at another crossroad

before too long it's you who takes the wheel
a lone rider with anywhere to go
chasing god where starlight kisses the sky
where sunlight touches the horizon
only the shadow of a tree marks the passing of time

balloons burst, one by one
those innocent wishes making you smile as they rain
when you find yourself at the crossroads in the night
you realize as long as you keep dreams awake
you won’t fall down

with keeping your promises you make your turn
doesn’t seem like the first or the last time

*
This was written as a prompt by the mag: link. 
I usually give up quickly on prompts, but this one kept going...

Saturday 13 July 2013

Poem: Mechanism of war




the things you've said are written on pieces of paper
clipped on the wire like washed laundry
somewhat heavy and somewhat fresh
they seem like ghost letters pleading to stay
                - the way they flutter in the wind
when we sit in silence about the truth
our lives are long car rides into the unknown
our dashboards collecting scent of our days and nights
there it all lies, life in its’ splendour

among billions, my life is just a whisper
but will it ever carry its' own voice?
for I am a writer without a name on the run
if every road leads from birth till death, what's more important,
- the ride or the road?
convinced myself believing my greatest pain
was being misunderstood; in truth,
it was never being heard at all
if we exchange our keys will our hearts finally be quiet?

sometimes we fear where others will lead us to
the walls we build are not high enough
people will climb them or break them down
in the end it only matters what will make better memories
- those you once loved
do they hold a tombstone in your heart
or are they like butterflies who ease your breath?
living is a war, where you recognize what's important and what not
and if it doesn't change us, what's the point of living?

*

Tuesday 2 July 2013

Poem: When you hear yourself think




if I spent spring sitting at the river’s edge
expecting nothing, I was probably just waiting
for the sun to ignite my skin -----
                I still ponder there, like the last raven
in the autumn dusk, not quite feeling at home
but close enough to that everlasting light
to stay awhile longer, breathing the sky
knowing you could be more
than this skeleton you've become
                quenching your thirst
                               forging your words
flying your dreams on a kite
only to be shot down
dragging assumptions on the floor
when they should be lighter than air
if there was a washer of our minds
up where the clouds are born
he'd grew weary a long time ago
and quit his job
when you hear yourself think
do you go deaf?

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