The Scary Red Man

The scent of Mellissa raises graceful in the air,
minty white nectar lemony-effervescent hangs among the rows of candy and sweetmeat.
The hall is quite and chill
and the fire in the furnace boils away the remainders of the hearty boars-hind.
The stars, ever-pining away the child looks towards them in hope.
Sleep comes and dreams wake to celebrate the sheer.
 
Cold and echoing, bold and joyful;
is the silence in the early morn whet he comes to play.
Decked in red, dyed fur and shadowy figment black.
He shines glory in white.
No need to use what isn't there;
Climb down the chimney with care.
 
No sound is made: no thump or brush.
No laugh is sounded…it only gets quieter.
A gift is laid down with care in front of the dying fire.
A final toy stuffed in a stocking with glee.
Blessed quiet…
And the house is empty.
 
It's eerie how the sound echoed,
and the Cheshire grin on his horrifying face.
He who resides in the silence of that morn
A spirit with fire in his eyes.
I looked into his face and saw my death and that terrible smile…
And he all but disappeared... faded into memory like the air…

 

ISA

Merry Christmas.

4th Hour (The Writer)

Yesterday daydreams bleed away
Writers' blocks
And nascent birds fleeting at the brain.
An author throws his lasts work in the bin
Preparing himself to begin again.
 
Does he get up to glance at that old oak in the distance
And it's older ghosts smiling on in melancholy at the newest addition
Of a menagerie building timeless in the sunset
Of ancient souls whispering?
He thinks so, going back to work
 
Mauling maudlin ideas, nay,
He rests destined for the rocks,
A fan and the pain
of peeling skin,
typing on a laptop on a needle pin.
 
A comfortable bed and a sleepy stance
Weary with one of the many false smiles and broken thesaurus diction
Groaning and moaning in that unpleasant ache, a bet
To sleep in peace staring, turning
He looks toward that food and knife and fork.
 
Waking in torrential rain
Who could move for the cold and pain?
Grimy, grungy, that book stays in use…
Paper trails surround the author
Of fortune.
 
'Dreams again…
How long since he's had them?
Years that ripped and tore
Hardly ever dared or bore
Any sign of times good and past.'
 
Moving from a stopped point in the ache
Never seems to stop the quake
In his limbs, fuge
Of ideas spew onto the thick mud,
Torrential and opportune.  
 
'Does it do good to lend
Aid to one who's been naught but thin
For all that's worth
The mirth,
Drowning in a casks?'
 
Wantless needfuls ' restless in the din of passing crowds
A gambler in time, sitting in a back alley
That no-body notices.
A slight awning does nothing to keep him dry,
And the ink's about to run out.
 
By and by, a useless shroud
Covers little and protects less than the abbey
That no-body notices.
There's no material that can light the fire
And the walls are crumbling in.
 
~Little useless perygryn
Old and young, and so divine
Sits in a corner all by themselves
While all that surrounds them;
Poisons and motives~
 
An old coin plops in front
From an old lady who's already gone
and sits in his hat,
His writing askew
As he lays his head to rest.
 
 
ISA

3rd Hour

Cold and wet  in the mourning rain
Desiring freedom though restricted;
Old sailors that used to be,
Long since have died.
Work, work,
Break the stones of
Monotony of building a new world.
 
Crack the gravel,
Shift the dirt,
Cart the steel,
Place the bricks.
There's nothing more,
Just endlessly pacing, bodily placing,
Adding to a changing world.
 
New forms for old delivers.
A man and a woman
Old and with children
Add to the oak from the gran-fathers' day.
Sitting, waiting,
Drinking old wine and watching the clouds
Whilst waiting for a greater world.
 
Freedom is here yet not what they want;
Everybody wants more.
Committed to the old,
None can reach out and sacrifice,
Embittered, enchained by the group,
Cynics and fighters are grounded
By vain society's world.
 
Going home at the end of the day,
Still raining, still in pain,
Head to the barn
Where home is born.
There's naught like a cold drink
In an old room
To feel the breaking of the world.
 
Do  you need a distraction from the emptiness within?
Emptiness waking on a fruitful morning repeating dreary rain…
It's not as if a comfortable bed
Exists to take the work away
In the warm company of memory
On a bench in a park
In the world of what hasn't been.
 
Repetition of labor
Sinking stones in a mountain of gravel.
Glassy beach of steel memory
Recalling
Red lines.
Should have worn a hard hat today
In light of the world that is.
 
Dreary. Closer.
Stormy. Closer.
Boring. Closer.
Old. Closer.
Changing. Closer.
Light. Closer.
Pain. CLOSER.
OH GOD, I DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Dark.
Still alive?
Opening eyes to a sparkling new world…


ISA

2nd Hour

Tomorrow brings
A Dried up,
washed up
Has-been
Of dreams unseen.

The old fool under the tree
Lazily drinking his whisky -rum -wine -drink
Could not recover from the brink
That life sent him.
He goes there the second the first light rises with memories of yesterday.

Today is grey.
It's not odd: the existence
Of gray stormy Saturdays.
Though the dawn rises
Still comes the rain.

Stone is eventually received from meager earnings
It's shaped,
It breaks,
It falls apart.
And the young boy sent off, goes out to seek more.

It's a long journey.
Through slums,
Through sewers,
Through wide streets paved with gold.
It's a long journey for boys with less than more.

Dangerous rocks fall from high above,
Steep cliffs with hidden dangers,
Paths not fit for those of
naive dispositions
Litter steely landscapes.

Words have little meaning for a third of the journey.
Actions mean less.
It's not what can give,
But what can be taken
That brings the boy falling down the Cliffside.

Found by a lady
In yellow stripes
Light as a dove,
And just as nice,
A boy awakens.

The boy has forgotten. What did he seek?
Distracted, he loves…What made him so meek?
A transformation. Wild forgotten; changes.
Grassy forests of steel and glass…
In schools learning, teaching class.

Freedom chooses from a land of men,
What can be lost, what can be binned.
Rule is filtered through piles of trash,
And young ones are gelded into a
Womanly mash.

They dance and create.
Crude gravel becomes stone.
The world becomes paint;
Fragile and broken.
Real and False.

Soon stone becomes marble,
And beads become diamonds.
Freedom shatters,
Bound in chains for paltry satisfaction
In a designed distractions.


ISA

1st Hour

Went out to sea one winter eve
To fish for stone,
 to replace a wall,
Of bitter feelings
for those left and lost.
Met a pool of poisoned birds,
Shrieking to not hit the curbs
Though there was
Nothing left of the well within,
They scream for help
And did nothing but sink.
And though dawn is on the sail
Rotting logs bare yellow stains
And the stones we passed yell "Nothing to gain".
Questions sank and the boat goes under.
 
Next we saw some friendly sharks,
Asking for help to turn curiosity's spark
And to help them lead their babies away
From a terrible man with a terrible plan.
We passed them by and asked them questions but the man said:
"The newborn sharks need not pass the time
Looking in books for forgotten rhymes.
Reason's great big ugly head
Killed off dreams before they were dead."
He spat and hissed from within the ball
Cut off his arm just to see them fall.
And though there is hope in all life
They can't seek what's left of him
If they've no hope at all. And they go on, die out
Starve…and disappear, ruled by hands that chained them.
 
Jet black patches rolled on the waves
Kept safe and sound by lords of sin
Who want nothing more to kill again.
Left dry and wanting under the earth,
There isn't anything that won't bring their mirth.
Those disgusting blackguards wet their throat
And with cruelty bloat.
They moisten their loins on creatures' remains
Seeking endless thrills and gains.
They deprive deprave and with nothing to lose
Spend not but a penny, take away your gain, and supplement it with the cheapest of booze.
If no one's left to make sure they croak
The amphibians poison
will make sure the lever's broke
And we'll continue on the waves.
 
The man of the sea turned the boat around.
Head for port and harbor we found.
Not an hour away the nightmares left
To seek out younger, fresher flesh.
The memories of our day at sea,
With sailors, sharks, and dark daydreams
Quit our heads to head for some drink
To bring ourselves back from the brink.
Who knew when we left for cobblestone,
We’d find trouble before trouble'd gone home?
Not that captain, not the leader before the fray
Who sits in the corner drinking away his day.
With the bartender's money and his cups in his hand
The drunken sailor headed out for dry land,
And sat beneath the tree with a thousand bands.

 

ISA

Lost

They do not reach beyond the gate

Those words without voices left to speak.

Questions without answers bait

the curious to eke

out their existence in empty lines

of lawn and pine

Manufactured by the leftovers

Of those who brought light and dreams…

And those who died, felled by the whims of fancy.

 

A world without shadows is a lonely place

To any wayward soul.

There are no wheres to hide, no hidden grace

And weapons old.

Imagination is dead, buried under broken wings

Of forgotten people, places, proper things.

No corners to enter worlds beyond the scopes

Of already imagined ideals.

We conform and the world dies…

 

Forget the years, the people, the places, the objects of power

In our deepest memories of times lost under the scrutiny of disbelievers.

God? A word used no longer for hope, hanging lofty from the bowers

Of castles, defiled by deceivers.

H…o…p…e… slow typing trying to develop a sense of wonder and love

Non-existant as purity in the eyes of one turtle dove

Without it's mate in the seas of delirium.

Lo, we are lost.

 

 

ISA

Ridiculous Thoughts

Waking morning,

Day to day.

See the price it takes to play;

"Have a care, now hurry dear."

Leaving home: it takes some tears.

 

Running rampant down the street.

Running just to beat the heat.

Running just to trip and fall

Into stress's overalls.

Run to the left

"Got to make it just in time"

Run to the right

"Can't be late: It's not alright!"

 

Closed the door,

Didn't make it.

Angry at it;

Hate it, hate it.

No respect from the passing crowds;

Enough to scream it louder, loud.

 

Blow apart like the atom bomb:

Danger to others, sis, bro, and mom.

Wouldn't be a problem, but that's alright

Let's treat the angry like neophytes.

 

 

ISA

 

Hell, All Nonsense, Dream Sequence ((H.A.N.D.S.))

Bloody tears and screaming cries

Fall from angels in dark disguise.

Hated speech and vitriol vowels

Turn and rend wounds from heads

In the bowels

Of the deepest pits and dungeon.

 

Bread with wine and honeyed words

decorate the corpses of ravens

and their corpulent masters

 As ringing joyous golden bells

Tear down the shields separating hell.

Silver mourning on broken refrains

The cracked vocals of mothers voicing their pain

Keep the demons in power with no restraint.

 

Level limits without restraint

The wills of the faithful who succumb to hate.

The greedy and miserly of worship and vows,

Hypocrites and despoilers find their home

And punishment grueling.

To be cut into quarters, aware and alive

Is a punishment all dearly despise.

 

Insane and foolish

Find themselves in paradise

Spurning advances not egregious outwise to beat at their flesh.

With hammers and pickets, like scythes cutting yield,

The Hopeless-not-actors  are rent by despair and regret.

 

Thorns twist and pull, digging into the flesh

Of betrayers of justice.

The fools who judge one side,

with no hope for the criminals but to destroy,

T'was their lack in being wise.

 

Red hot irons twist and gouge,

Repeating lines across flesh ad nauseam

For those that forget.

 

***

 

Spot the hill over yonder

With the beast in the gate.

See it keep screaming

See it in pain.

It continues to burn

Many eyes

Many faces

Yet they all scream the same

From inward they rage

As profanity reigns.

 

Little children, Young mothers

Fathers, Little Sisters,

Cousins and Brothers

They're tied to stakes

Sacrificial pyres

Lit from beneath

By the big man's own ire.

 

The world has no god.

There's nothing worth living.

Yet from day to day

Humans stay livid.

They cry

And they laugh.

They falter, they lie.

Some rage against the world,

Others force change.

Yet it all stays the same…
And Chaos Rains.

And Chaos Reigns…

 

***

 

Black thoughts, green wishes.

Needless violence gets in the way of purple visions.

One day beside,

And love despairs;

One heartless rose puts on airs.

 

Grim thought leave grey stains upon the minds of their victims.

Primal torture…eating at fear...

long forgotten: reach new ears.

 

Dreamless sleep exists without rest.

Nightmares take like parasites dear.

Dreaming oddities clear to clear

Is enjoyment that eventually disappears.

Could be near,

Those endless tears.

I've been seeking far too long to give my inner thought…

Any clout; ice cold leers.

 

 

 

ISA



Let it go

 

Smell the water from the coming storms.

Feel the fires of the hopeful born.

Let dreamers seek great delight

And potions clear the plague's dour blight.

 

Let artists slather beauty in every painting

And every word

Written by authors without tainting

The pure.

Let warriors break out their swords and their shields,

And musicians ring bells with divine peal.

 

Let criminals deceive,

And lawmen convict.

Let demons and angels

Like clockwork click.

Let all the world

Feel it all.

Let nature blossom.

Let it fall.

 

Society blue,

Blackened and blistered,

Bear the pain;

The knife left to right twisted.

Let's all choke on the aftermath acids.

Love and crap in one hand resistance.

 

Mutant defilers,

All thoughts gone.

Let the creatures of disgust

Bust and blacken.

Like cold steel left in the water too long,

Let all rust:

Decay and be gone.

 

Let every life left on course.

Let all the world scream a name,

Let insanity reach all in fifteen-second fame.

Like wind and fire, ice and snow,

And nature's flowers:

Let it go.

Let it go.

Let it go.

 

 

ISA

Gerudo Valley

 

 

Gerudo Valley

 

 

Needless life

"Taken in"

Only strife

"Can be found"

In other bounds.

 

Can you feel?

Can you see?

Can you heal?

Is there nothing left in life?

That I can breathe,

That I can find?

 

I say…

Let the storm rise

And let it fall.

Sands shift and

Sands peel…away the times.

Storms of courage

Must be found.

And with

Power, wisdom,

Endless abound:

Only then can truth be found.

 

Hope is living

Among the dead.

Burden paled;

Piled on refuse piles:

Woven tales

Of timeless idles.

 

Legends begin…

And end with a song.

A wolf from story…

Is as much help as the heroes of now.

 

ISA

Fangs(Beasts) At Sea

Expect the open mouth of

a beast with fangs

To bite with contempt: doves

with wings

Hanging in the bowers

of trees;

Sea-spun showers

cover all needs.

Lift with fury,

the jumping beast yearns

the next meal to be taken

with action he spurns.

He has no patience;

He does not want to wait.

He is hungry. Tired.

No hope for him…or the light meal he hates.

Obsession rules him.

Every day he hates.

From birth to midlife

He's chased everything;

Fought all he'd take.

He's lived young;

He'll die old.

Every day is grand.

But in the hate

From day to day

Seems as if the latter days

Are treated as his last.

He'll go home tired.

He'll wake up hungry.

He'll continue to mark the time.

He'll hunt dinner in the forest at night

And he'll dine on seagull and brine.

Such is the life of fangs at sea.

He'll be lost for his eternity.

Dead or dying he's got his needs.

Continuing this tradition makes him... happy.

 

ISA

Grandpa's Tricks

Old man mountain
From far and wide
Had great strength
And great pride.
He left the plains
For me and you.
He left the plains
To learn anew.

Old man mountain
Sawed the world in half.
To make homes for the animals
He cut with his thumb.
And tarred with the plants
To make sugar, tobacco, rum.

Old man mountain
Is great and wise.
That he fought for his country
Is no surprise.
Old man mountain;
He can settle down too.
To work projects,
Have a garden,
Learn harmonica to play the blues.

Old man mountain
Is a friend to me.
He knows many things
And he know me too.
Old man mountain
I greatly respect.
He was my mother's father...
So he can be mine too.


ISA

Midnight Rose

They met her under a willow bloom,
Dahlias spread under her feet,
Weeping for the scattered moonlight;
Not fit to move, She slept.

The plum trees grew wherever she walked,
And the sunset rose and fell.
The world wept for her tragedy and balked
At the guile of we slavers.

We saw fit to shackle her beauty;
A gift for kings and queens.
We hurt inside so much we went loony...
And her tears did continue to spill.

We had come to a the river;
Run kingdom, red and gold.
To sell her off to the lord of the castle.
Our sweet Owari rose.

The night did fall in glorious majesty...
But she cried and cried and cried...
So she pricked her thumb on nearby thorn
And cried and cried and died.


ISA

Ultimate Nihilism

A life doesn't matter
in how you live or die.
It doesn't matter if you give up.
It doesn't matter if you cry.

It doesn't matter if you heal,
It doesn't matter if you hurt.
It doesn't matter if you break,
Burnt or broken, Life's curt.

It doesn't matter what you learn,
It doesn't matter what you know.
It doesn't matter if you stand still,
It doesn't matter if you grow.

***

Needless hours
are spent withering away.
Stress: life or death aren't worth getting it to stay.

Endless echoes
Resound off the wall.
Yet for the echoes of others,
It isn't worth existing at all.

And isn't worth keeping all the money in the world.
It'll soon be gone,
And there'll be nothing left but portals on the wall,
Nothing will be left, Nothing left at all.

So it doesn't matter if I care.
It doesn't matter if I die.
If it's all the same to you:
I will live.
I will love.
And I will lie.


ISA

Moments spent pondering the nihilism of others gets me to recognize that to them, simply giving way to philosophy is pointless. It seems nihilism is the perfect 'religion' for existing in the present.


 

March Hare

Regal clovers of elaborate gold;
Clipped in the hair of the bride
On the sunny day.
Three leafs, four
More and more and more
Surround the garden
Of white and green.

Joy sings from the young woman's heart.
Happiness is all she sees.
Love is in the air
And it seems almost too much for her to bear.
And she waits for the fated hour.

The sunny day goes by.
The girl worries,
Worries...
Meaningless hours tick and time
Slows to a standstill.
When it starts to rain.

The makeup falls,
The dress is ruined.
The guests are gone,
The she is marooned
On a tiny isle with no name.

The rain:
Drifting by in steady streams.
It takes it all.
Party, guests, food...
But not the clovers,
Because the clovers stay.

And as the rain drips on,
A song they play.
And the groom she's yet to meet,
And her friends are far behind,
Are nothing in the field of clovers.
And the clovers sing.

~"I will love you,
Whatever you go by.
Your name is joy
And that's all I need,
When I lie in your embrace."~

***

Gone is the party,
Gone is the bride.
There's no one left to run...
There's nowhere left to hide.
Dreams of gilded roses
And clovers smelted into golden hues
Linger in the rain-soaked field...
Where you left you...



ISA

Happy belated Birthday to a dear friend of mine, born on St. Patrick's Day. Even if you aren't here, I wish you great happiness.
 

Centuries in the Waiting Room

Perhaps, as like lullabies
And frenzies of a time too long,
Madness lurks in every corner;
Every feat covered by wrongs
Every miracle much too...
Harsh... for the cues taken from thee.

Hate lingers effervescent
Among the tideless and the tidekissed
For those first beyond the door's cures.
No injured sick beyond medic gates
Jealous of another's hope:
Only health, happiness... or dead.

Too much time lingering broke.
Stomach empty, hale or hark comes
The angel dressed in Rosemary
Holding a yew branch to guide
Towards tomorrow inland,
N' Chrysanthemum wreathed tombstones.


ISA

For those trapped in Hospitals, Waiting on Cures.
 

Forgot

"Where am I?
What did I say?
Who am I?"
Said the masks where they lay.
A lonely monk turned the clock again,
As the outside continued in rain.

"See the butterflies?
And the moths that draw close to the flame?
See how they make no sound
And live without hate."
The monk is tired.
The monk is late.
The monk naps for tomorrow,
When he repeats today.

The mask's discomfort rises,
But they wait,
And they wait...
And continue,
Continue goes the rain.

ISA

 

Rail Lines

Taking the steps up
To an empty rail-line
To sit on the bench waiting for the train to come...
Dayflowers line the dirt road
Surrounded by the boughs of oaks,
Old and new among.

The sky is blue,
Clouds are white;
Wait for the line
That comes only at night.

Soon the streetlamps light
Up, the sky with stars awakens.
Sight the engine
Of a dark machine gliding on the rails.

Board the coach
With faithful steps
And sit in an empty car;
No one left.
The engine chugs,
Rhythm churns the mind;
To take it away,
And with rope: it binds.


Everything moves as the landscape changes.
The car's color,
 The passengers leave and gather.
Still sitting as the forest change to beach.
Oceans pass and cities gather
But you stay around as the scenery of desert
Turns to mountains and valleys.
Rather than get off, quiet
The ride goes on
To whatever destination guides.

Soon whispers gather.
Around and around,
Demon's blather
And angel's groan.
Whatever lingered died
And in Rome, Romans
Gathered round the square
To watch us roll by.

Around the world and once again:
Travel here and far
With what used to be men;
The fantasies and nightmares
Back at home
As you roam,
As you roam.

Nod to sleep on the passing's by.
Wake up as you start to cry.
Walk back home
You missed your chance
At adventure, The Train's Romance.

And still...
The sights glide by...
Passing on the rail line...

ISA

Accompanyment if you enjoy music with your reading. A major ispiration.

Winter's Tide

Icy water curls upon shores
Littered with mountains
Trying to bore
Into burly cliffs.
When the seasons come
And leave like wildfire
Beating drums,
Hope tends to turn to escape the ire
Of hateful gods.

The chilly wind ekes
Out the desire for warmth
Among the peasantry
Whilst the lords in their castles don furs;
All sit down by the hearth.
Warriors seek peace in winter,
As do the farmers, blacksmith and wives.
All creatures are bonded by this experience.

Demons curl upon the corners
Unclothed and smirking:
Worshippers of cold,
Truth and beauty.
"Winter is a time for cold to reign
And so the animals hide,
Disappearing from the true banes."
They break conviction,
Perception,
And with retribution,
Demons rise the flag of war.

Destruction runs rampant
Whilst peace is supreme;
And the ocean crashes upon mighty shores.
Waterfalls grow the backs of men
And nature's bounty
Is given not to those that would proclaim its rule,
But those that would share and prosper in it.


ISA

 

Love is Gone

You can see it.
It lies beyond the wall.
It comes towards you;
Wanting you wait for it to return
To be.

Love lies.
It deceives.
It hides.
Love is a poison.
It fools the mind
To try to define
An illusive quality.

Love is a drug.
You have it once,
You can't have enough.
Love is easy to give,
Hard to receive;
And in it
Even the lightest lines, (of effort)
Are heavy and green.
With rot,
Every day of absence kills
And maims another piece.
And another piece goes missing.

Do you wonder where 'it' went?
Do you wonder why you can't put it to a name?
If 'it' is true,
Where are you?
What are you
Without it?

ISA

This is the conclusion of the three part 'Love is {in} Time' series. I hope you enjoyed it.

Love is Here

Beauty is in the air.
Roses blue
And roses red
Hang gallantly upon the stair.
Yellow daisies,
Lilies of white
Loft lazily
Hight.
Cupid.

The swords and shields
Dance upon the parapets
While maidens sing lovingly down.
The bard kens every lover;
Requests be sent o'er now
For timeless moments;
And there stays desire
Desiring endless in the glades.

The lords mourning
Is left for the morrow,
And on this day,
Celebrations last till nightfall.
When the hour strikes thirteen
And the twenty fifth bell rings out,
The day will be over
As it never was;
Because celebration is just for now.

Ring the bell!
Ring it!
Celebrate!
Sing!
Celebrate!

ISA

Happy Valentines Day.

Love is Coming

To stand upon horizons
Left behind by other's falls
Is to see what's coming
Long before you break the walls.

If insanity is repetition,
Then the light waiting up ahead
Is an illusion;
Tearful renditions of hope.

Canst we expect the future
To feel good?
Canst we expect it to brew
Away the blue
Days,
To forget the lonely tidings?

Sunshine is coming.
The dawn is overhead.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Can't wake up everyday dead.

ISA

Left for (Four Words Start)

Empty.
Tired.
So...
Alone.

Beaten,
Left for dead
At the end of the Sidewalk.

Can't see the future;
No shining light
At the end of the orphanage.

Bullied.
Tired.
Can't.
Help.

Sleep
Walking.
Need
Help.

ISA

Charity Drive for Bullying. Please Donate.
 

Manticore's Justification

Monsters spun of silken thread
Are used like poppets
To cause fear and dread.
On broken wing following dobbin's marks,
Manticores hunt;
Horned monsters of mindless light, (and dark).

Words are liars,
Perception is dull,
When there're monsters around to weaken the hull.
The ship is rocking;
The matchstick ignites;
And all who fear are kept awake at night
With Terror's tales of blood and bone;
You'll never realize when the first stone's been thrown.

Tis the scared the manticores hunt,
Trumpeting approach upon horizon,
Upon horizon.
He hunts,
She listens
When every pyre runs in fear.

They sing a song for all who hear;
Questioned:
"They should have feared.
They should have feared.
They should have properly feared
And ran away."

ISA

Extol

Burning fire on a baited breath,
Eternal dreams from here to death,
The sorrow clinches;
Wrenches undefined
Upon wearied souls
And broken lines.

If I cease to dream
I'd cease to sorrow:
A fate despair'd
I cannot swallow.
If I cease to feel the last breath,
I'd break and turn
To death and wallow.

It's funny how I stay alive;
Waiting on dreams,
Waiting on power.
To control my destiny
I burn with need;
To sorrow I turn
To feel myself bleed.

ISA
 

I Soliloquy

Will I wake again?
A summers morn?
Am I still in the canyon,
Broken and torn?

Would life care to let me go?
I want to go. I want to go.
In this place
Was it all a dream?
The canyon not to long ago red
Is now green?

I have no broken bones.
My head seems fine to me.
A bit uncomfortable,
But no worse for wear
Except for these tears from the dream.

Could I?
Should I?
Do I want to tell the others?
It all happened...
And I see the stains...
Huh.
No one cared for me.
So I suppose I shall
Since there's nothing left.
I've thrown it all away.
I've nothing left to do but rest.

Satisfaction granted
From this little trip.
It's time to go back home.
It's time to take what's left.
I've no idea what's worse to wear,
Mourning clothes or the skins of bears...

Guess I'll find out on the road.
There's nothing left to do.
If they can find me...
I can find you.

***

The boy in the gorge
Sat and he thought
Of what he might do
And what he had wrought.

Crystal stairs ran up through the mountain,
Up spiral ramparts,
Up metal fountains.
At the top stood the wizards
Who still rule the world.
At the bottom stood the boy,
Sword, bag and furl.

He wrote his words on a marble flag,
Hefted his sword to strike at last,
Carried his weight in memories and tokens,
And took on world, not so alone, not so unbroken.


ISA

This marks the end of the 'January Firsts' series. I truly hope you enjoyed the two series this month, and will try to release more in the future.
 

I Died

I died.
The emptiness inside
Ruled by a chaotic mind
Hidden from the deepest corners
Showed no mercy to naivety.

I died.
Can you help it when you're so alone?
Is no one home, is no one home?
Eternity goes by seconds,
And that boy, and that girl,
Has had many.

I died.
There's no worry,
There's no fear.
The black and dark is all that's here.
I died
And stepped inside
Where emptiness laid,
To take back my soul,
Take back the pain.

I died.
Rotting carcass while awake.
It stays the hand
Of love and hate.
If my scent is foul
And there's nothing worse,
That'd be me.
That'd be my curse.

I died.
So long ago
When I tried to cry;
When I tried to live
I be beaten down,
By lone
By hate,
And it'd been all I'd feel.

I died.
Now all that's left
Is patience and loneliness,
Waiting for my time to rest.

***

Crack,
Splash,
Thud,
Boom.
The red flower awakened in bloom.
Turning brown to black,
The stem so blue
Paid the price
With heavenly dues.

Down the canyon;
That empty gorge,
 Became full, so full,
Of bloody scorn.


ISA

 

Heart to Understand

Swirling...
A state of thought,
Of being
One cannot understand.
The spiral loops
Of garbage and sand
Rarely settle
Below the burning pungent land.

Down, Down everything goes;
Down, Down the sinkhole.
Down, Down the journey begins,
Down, Down the journey ends.
Whittling rocks with bits of piss,
Smoothing the stone with things remiss,
Down, Down the empty rabbit hole,
Down, Down, like everything goes.

We never were
In a state where we wanted to be.
We made do with what we could see,
Touch;
No wants
Just needs.
The rats ate the garbage
Which ate the fish,
Which ate the algae,
Which will eat we.
We ate the rats
And so the rats are we.
According to the adage
'We are what we eat.'.

In the spiral
Everything dies
We live and learn,
Fail and Die.
What else is there
On the horizontal sky?
What else is there
When we roll the die?

Love is foreign.
Hate is sweet.
Anger, you can dine on.
Sadness will get you beat.
Why do you feel them?
What is their worth
Down in the spiral
Where nothing is worse?

From birth to death
We rely on the garbage.
From birth to death
That is all we will know.
From birth to death
Questions lie beyond the sinkhole.
From birth to death
We will never know.
From birth to death,
It's not so hard to understand
That the heart was never meant to be.

ISA


This marks the end...of the 'Heart to Garbage' series. I hope you enjoyed them.

Heart to Break

How does it feel
To wind a clock?
Does every turn wheeze?
Does every click tock?
Did time pass day to day?
How was life without the pain?

The clock ticks
And I tock.
My response to time
Every hour a bell chimes,
Is to put the minutes away.

I can hear my grandfather in the other room,
Every single click of mine responded with a boom.
His age is wisdom,
While mine is dull;
Every scent, crack, and whisper,
Responded with love from above.

I go for maintenance
Every day of the week.
Everything wrong with me,
From my build to my teak.
"I'm blue,"
I say,
But they never hear me.
They just mess with my insides
And I'll be back in another week,
Just as weak, just as weak.

Tick, Tock.
I'm still carrying on.
My time is never right,
I've always been very wrong.
But my hull is sharp,
I've never cracked.
I'm too dull to break:
And I'll sit on the rack.

Changed owners,
Changed hand
So many, many times.
When will be the last?
When will I be mine?
I wouldn't hazard to guess forever.
Granddaddy broke so long ago.
I wouldn't hazard to guess never,
But I'll probably be the last to go.

I'm strong,
I'm weak.
I'm forever alone.
But despite my faults,
I never once broke,
But that, they'll never know.

I'll sit in the scrapyard.
I'll tick, and I'll tock,
With all the old clocks
Among the long dead,
Long broken,
Long rot.
I'll sit till they crush me;
I was an ugly old clock.
I'll sit, never broken
Till finally I stop.

***

My heart's set to break.
My heart's set to stop.
My heart's set to despair,
Again and Again.
My shell won't break.
My gears won't stop.
I'll never fall,
Again and Again
Till I'm crushed
By the scrapyard stocks.

ISA

I Loved

I loved the rainy days
Where'd I watch the gray.
I loved the peak of thunder
And all the shine raised
By the falling lightning,
And near the night,
When I wasn't able to hate.

I loved my mother,
My father too.
My sisters dear,
I'd watch falter, about to fall,
And spring underneath them to catch them, and all
My brothers, in arm in blood,
I'd treasure them always, as hard as I can.

I loved my treasures,
My memories dear.
And when love began to falter,
I'd find them, just to shed the tears.

I loved quite a lot.
I loved every knick, scrape, and flaking hide.
Love meant to falter,
To break, shatter, die.

I became the villain.
I became the hate.
And the love just reminded me,
That I was jus too late.
There was no love;
No cushion for my fall.

There was companionship;
Honestly, it was just that.
There was care;
I'd not fall to such a trap.
There was pity;
An insult so foul,
I'd rip off my every binding,
And I would throw in the towel.

I quit the love.
I quit the hate.
I quit the fear,
The care so dear.
I'd quit it all,
The wishes, the dreams,
And no soul again
Would ever be seen.

***

The fall continued.
I fell for the while.
I waited for the splat:
A mess of blood, brain, and bile.

I spun in the air,
I looked back at the cliff.
I saw the sky
And I saw the rift.

I saw the world split apart,
The sun cover the moon.
Clouds turned black and silver,
And at the highest point
Fate granted me a boon.

ISA
 

Heart to Forget

Bright days
Under sunshine dyes
Leave whispers of a faint disguise.
Even liars tend to pray
When faced with sadness day to day.

Stagnant pools of filth
Litter roadsides
And even when the fire comes with the storm,
They won't move on
They'll stick unshorn,
Festering in hidden depths
For people to walk over,
Coughing from strep.

Every pool forgotten,
Even primrose paradise left untouched,
For all but the whispers farther ahead.
And the only holes screaming for help
Are left by the wayside,
Like the fish caught in the kelp.

Deep in the holes lie forgotten gems,
Like untouched diamonds;
Or unused tools;
And people forgot their worth,
As so too did the diamonds.

People move on
Pouring out hearts;
Great big crystal gems
That can tear islands apart;
And People move on,
We always regret:
The lies we tell each other,
And our Hearts to Forget.

ISA

I Feared

I feared forever.
I feared the day.
I feared the sunlight,
I feared the rain.

I feared till I didn't know what was left;
I feared the sunset,
My eternal rest.

I know I feared.
I feared I'd care.
I feared what was left
would come to bear.

I feared my fear.
I feared my hate.
I feared the world,
That heavy sword,
Small as the paperclip,
Where rested my world.

I spent an eternity in fear.
I spend time fearing
Every conjuring to come
To my empty head.
I live in fear:
Yesterday,
Tommorow,
And though fortune may favor the brave...
I am the coward spinning in his own well-dug grave.

I feared my face,
I feared my name,
I feared everything I brought to heart,
I fear everything that came.
An even eternity,
From birth I faced.

I whispered to the liars,
I whispered to my hate,
And every little bit of death,
Brought me to my knees
And I thought it was fate.

***

I look over the cliff,
At the final edge
Of the steppes that I had traveled,
Like in the world before.
I wondered if;
Like that eternity of fear;
I could overcome it.
The courage to jump over the ledge.

Did I have my parachute?
Did I have the board?
Should I jump without the safety?
Should I trust the world once more?

The answer all,
Is no, as ever;
But I knew this from before;
Even if all in store was death,
And no faith could be found in stores...
I was going to jump...
Over the cliff...
Like once before...

And if I can find the strength to fear,
I can find it to believe.
And If I fear the world,
I could jump to lose the hurt,
And lose to whims of hate...
Or I could jump to find the pain,
And bring the world every shame
That I could hold in store.

Either way...
I'll jump.

ISA


 

I Cared

I cared once upon a time.
I cared what people thought about me.
I cared at the end of the day,
Who I was; what I wanted to be.

I cared about life.
I cared about the dead.
I cared about the future,
I cared about what I had read.

Once upon a time I cared, and
My compassion held no bounds, and
At the end of the day,
No one watched me.

I cared.
None can dispute this.
I cared.
No one cares about this.
I cared.

***

"At the end of the day,
I am who I am,
I am what I wanted to be.
And I cared."

I sat on the mountain steppes,
Deep, long, wide furrows,
Jump to place to place
To place to place,
Down to the next, and I ran to the edge.
"I CARED!
I AM WHAT I AM,
I AM WHAT ONLY I CAN BE!
I CARED!
I just don't anymore.
I just can't anymore."

I cared...
And I am broken.

ISA

I Thought

I thought I knew the waking world.
I thought the morning light was made of gold.
I thought paradise was a step away.
I thought my hopes would rise, not roll.

I thought many things.
I thought of wonders, great and high.
I thought of necklaces, trinkets, and the rings of kings.
I thought of a lot, but it didn't make them real.

I thought I knew the truth,
When I was so naïve.
I thought I knew most everything,
But it was just the most important to me.

I thought the world was great, was big.
I thought if water could be walked on, so could air.
I thought that a mountainside would be easy to climb.
I thought that there weren't any walls there.
I thought wrongly on all accounts,
And blind as I was, I cared.

***

I flew down the steppes,
Never stopping as I ran,
And I thought,
"Nothing can catch."
But I can.

I am my thoughts,
And my thought are me,
And as that is true,
All my thoughts,
All my hopes,
All my dreams...
Can catch up to me.
 

Super Natural

Man is a myth,
Said the light and the dark,
And the grey just went along with it.

***

A peaceful morning,
Bright and clear,
Emerald waves
Bringing smiles stretching
Upon the New Years.

All day long the sun shines.
And all frolic and play,
Save for the few who watch from the shadow.
Eventually the day waxes,
And the night wanes,
And the sheep tired, hit the hay.

The monsters come out at night,
To scare the sheep that stay awake.
They lurk and hide,
They wait and abide,
Waiting for- nay, stalking their precious prey.

The sheep are all asleep.
The tragedy in disguise waiting for this opportune moment.
They shear the sheep,
Take their hooves.
They blind the sheep,
Stick hot needles down the ear,
Leaving naught for them to find near.

They take the grass,
They take the trees,
They take the rights,
And write the deeds.
They take everything,
Even the life the sheep lead.

Not among the villains are the cobras,
The crocodiles or the bears,
Only man.
And no dragon left to scare them away,
They remain myths.

And as myths are,
They are untouchable.

"They aren't men."
Said light and dark,
As grey who followed along
Questioned what would dare.
"They don't exist."
Said light and dark.
But Grey would not cower in fear.

ISA