The Spark That Bloomed

the path to the day was paved like any other,
a tradescant mess of hope and low self esteem.
it crept up on me,
a lone landmark
 on an empty road.
the memory now enlightened,
apart from the truth of the rain-scored day,
stands erect in the senility of the forgetful teenage mind.
the conversation was a coherent diatribe of honesty,
that meandered to and from the sublime to the tragic,
with the rise and fall of each wasteful breath.

we ended up in the ruins of a long gone time,
not unlike ours.
but licked with the flickering hand of hate.
there, alone amongst the glassy carpet;
surrounded by the brain-vomit scrawlings-
of our fellow drunks and fellow human beings;
was a pocket of flowers,
each bloomed with the kiss of the sun gracing each petal.
unique in the uniformity of their splendorous beauty
shining within the confines ruins of this crumbling faith
they stand everlasting.
Hope,
in the crater of my pockmarked mind.

All Things Must Pass

One misfired neuron,
A small muscle twitch,
One misplaced ditch,
And your gone.

The Tragic Lifespan Of A Delicate Flower

she was taken by the cruelty of time
I wondered for months on the could-be
Never truly seeing the would-be
fooling myself
now I sit here
she is right beside me
casual in her beauty
a beauty that only seems to bloom in my eyes
she is talking about what has-been
the clutches that keep her
the hurt the grip inflicts
with its firm handle on body and soul
she is a mere toy to all else
but she comes to life before me
“what do you think?”
my chance
loosen the grip
nurture our blooming
“you guys love each other no matter what right?”
“yes”
the moment withers
my hopes left to rot
on her african inspired rug
dead for all but her to see


A slightly depressing one here, but one I felt I needed to write it, get that one sappy overwrought love poem out of the way, I would dedicate this to my one lone follower but I feel it a tad inappropriate so I dedicate it to those who have been in similar situations to mine.

*Click*

I used to be a romanticist
Sickly sweet cliches rolled off my tongue
“Look on the bright side”
But now I sit alone
I am surviving
living
breathing
one wheezing death
of a breath at a time
I am now rational
alone from the crowd
just murdered my hours
perpetual clicking of no value
looking
liking
but never doing
now I just stare at the wall
at the crack
running across my vision
a scar on the yellow wall
I detest it
but respect it
at least it’s doing something
*click*

My tribute to Charles Bukowski and his amazingly sparse but profound writing.