How things work, I’ll never know. How pieces come together in people’s lives from the most random places. People, events, music, books, love, all form together, like one big marvel in a person’s life. One night you go to sleep, the next morning you wake up to something, to someone, you never even dreamed of.

A chain of events, leads to this, leads to another, leads to something else. What you didn’t need, or want, when you were younger, you desperately need now, and it’s given, but when you need it. Not before. You could’ve heard a name a thousand times in your life, but it means nothing to you, until it does. That book, its title, you’ve seen over and over, but it doesn’t matter, until it does.

Until, unless you read it right then, you won’t rest. Won’t stop thinking about it until it’s in you. And for whatever reason it’s in you now, it has a purpose. A new life is created, a new intent being formed, a new way. And like a lightning bolt, you shoot down that path, like one possessed, until you’ve exhausted it, or you die. But if you don’t, a new path opens up.

A girl is born. A boy is born. Both in separate years, separate counties, separate states. Two paths straight ahead for them, diverge from each other. Winding and drifting, this way and that. Choice upon choice, decision after decision, lead after lead. Their passions, thoughts, obsessions, taking them where it will. Where they sometimes do, and do not, want to go.

Into dark places, fettered holes, for years, and back out into the light. Fresh air, spring rain, laughter, warmth. The ebb and flow of life, carries them on its current. How many years go by? Of making decisions that they think are their own, but really moved by an unseen hand, nudging them closer to hindmost destiny.

A road, a door, a wood, what’s behind it? How can we know, unless we enter. Push back the veil, unclasp the cellar door, peek into the abyss. Two divergent paths start slowly weaving to the same destination. How could they know that their two crossed paths would wind down to each other.

Each other’s arms.

I do not wish to offend, or rattle the offended

But the world looks to me so backwards and bended

So many errant lines converge unto a dead end

So many changeable hearts with no wish to mend

You say you want truth, but close your eyes when you find it

You say you want freedom, but close your ears and deny it

You say you want love, but any body will do

As long as it gives you what you want it to

I have no patience for watered down sentiment

With no real backbone, just a pretense of benevolence

You champion the rights for free speech and acceptance

But muzzle the voice that doesn’t bow to your presence

I feel a war is coming, but I can’t say when

I just hope I’m not here when the offensive begins

I cut my teeth on wishful thinking

I held back the tears, but couldn’t stop blinking

The years were too much and the laughter too seldom

I chased after life, but never quite held him

Now age has won over, and I’m still just a child

I may be a man, but my fears are too wild

I still tread a path a baby could follow

I still have a heart, but I fear it’s too hollow

And I have a way of looking at things

But things have a way of looking at me

So I’ll stay on this path until I am free

Crackled, burning, alive, I rend my clothes

And tether to the anchor my last link with what I’ve sown

So now I’m free, and pure, and good

More like nickel, not as shiny, less a piece of dying wood

In my chest hides a vessel, buried deep beneath the waves

Way beyond the surface, always hungry, always craves

In truth, an idle hunter, my heart preys upon the feast

In a dying world I linger, subtly waiting for the Beast

And when at last I see him, I’ll let fly my arrow free

And pierce the broken spirit that resides dark inside of me

Underneath the winter moon I howl for my release

Waiting for an eastern wind to guide and bring me to my ease

With a knowledge that couldn’t linger, and a dagger sheathed and dull, I hailed the seven winds and cried mercy for a fool

Across an unwitting universe, the spectre of my innocence longed for your embrace

Before I even knew the soulic visage of your face

I pined with all my heart at the thought of what I’d lose: a love, so cut from ice, to live or die, I couldn’t choose

I begged you for my pardon, for the gift of your abuse

But it wasn’t yours to give, only time, for me to lose

I lay helpless, like driftwood, upon the open sea

My mind had lost its timbre somewhere deep inside of me

We spoke like we knew what we were talking about

We dreamed like we knew what was going to happen

We argued like we had something to rant about

But it was all nothing really

Just a series of bad imitations of our father

I don’t know my father

Never did

Why do I think about him?

Why do I care what his father did?

There’s a whole generation that created me, and I don’t know why I bother

We can all tap a button and span a whole generation, but does that determine what I’m going to be?

What the hell am I driving at?

I don’t know

Just passing time I guess

I am servant to a shared passion that slips from my fingers on its downward path.

Feeling myself ill treated, I could raise my voice, raise my cry, cock the hammer back and let fly the feeble words to call it back.

Why call it back when it does me no good? Makes me no more clever than a pile of ashes.

I burn. I glow like a neon flame, providing no heat, no warmth, no cozy little affectations, but a steady stream of vulgarities, trading my wares in the shambles.

“Do you think you know,” I says to myself, “what you’re about?” “I really don’t know.” says I.

Please someone get me out of here, this heat (hell) is stifling. My tongue swells.

I await trial. A sacred imbecile, hunched over in his chair, waiting for his turn, his chance to explain, his opportunity to convince his righteous judge to take damnation off the table.

I digress. I’m weary with words, wearing the shame of my fathers, bearing the blame of my mothers, sharing a name with the blood of my breeding.

I am in control. Am I? Are we?Are you? I take a straight path, a single stab at life. A winding arc of inconsistency, a floating ark of obtuseness.

We stand tall on the morning, bow low with the mourning. Keep pace on the turnstiles, bleed out with the rocks.

And it seemed to me…

No..I knew

That I could not cry

No matter how much I wanted to

What if I lost everything

My love, my heart, my life

Would I still not allow myself to come under the knife

And see what’s laid bare there

Quickened nerves

I need relief

Release

I don’t know how to feel anymore

How do I feel any

More

I sat on a mountain beneath a four-tiered sky

The wheel of my mind spun on its rusty pin

A daydream before the storm

I plotted my next move

My time is irrelevant compared to what lies ahead

I speak of things I do not know

I dream of things I do not know

I know of things that I do not really know

I have answers, but have forgotten all the questions

Know thyself! But only by approximation

I’ve mistaken my identity for someone else

In this hole lives a boy who wants to see

In the open lives a man with no eyes to see

A lack of vision will topple his kingdom like bowling pins

He watches the ball roll towards him

I sink beneath the pale of lethargy, and let my body take its rest. For in the veil of sleep, I fear, the wicked shine their best.

What ails thee, love? What darling creeps upon thy breast? ’Tis only me, my love, the fair- haired child, a sinner laid to rest.

In spite of certain hours, I track spirits for the kin. Of certain midnight wanderers, whose light is fading thin.

And still I think, I could vanish from the Earth. Without so much a whisper, sever ties with timid birth.

I fix my eyes on Ares, and shoot an arrow through the wind. It circles round and finds its center, my heart, it sinks within.

And still I’m plagued with thoughts unholy, unchildlike, unblinking sin. They sing of fate eternal, the lives of fated mortal men.

A life unlived, is akin to a love that’s unreturned. The lover’s soul is wakened to a fire that ever burns.

O my host, sing softly, for the Herald is sure to wake. And when he does he’ll surely be the loudest voice to shake.

Upon the roof we’ll linger for a while to love the moon, and in the morning sleeping let the sun fulfill her keeping for the day’s return to loom.

I looked for the room next to you, but knew it would never complete (completely) rid me (my idea) of you.

So plainly spoken. So easy to lose (love)

Hunkered (hunger) in the dark, I (we) smoke a cigarette. My eyes water.

Is there room (home) for me in there with you?

I press my forehead (heart) against the cold floor. The begging (cravings) begins.

Time (space) is an unbroken thread. I covet the past.

(yen)