Turning Over 

I’ve always let the light chase me,

And I’ve always let darkness take me,

Hoping that the light will soon catch up,

that I’ll stop and it’ll pass right through me,

to lead me through the dark of night.

It’s been so long since the light graced this black and white congregation.

A long while since it kissed the faces I’ve buried here.

But here I am.

A bone yard, a cemetery,

a ghost town.

An empty person, full of old bones.

Old skeletons.

Lifelessness besieges me.

Life, beseeches me.

It urges me,

To transcend this phobia, the darkness.

And let life light me like it once did.

There is nothing to fear.

I can’t keep living like yesterday was my last,

I’ll live like today is.

So I’ll bury this face,

In the boneyard

One last time,

and I’ll choose to live-

to follow the light all the way back.

I’ll transform this ghost town into a triumphant city,

And I’ll only come back here to visit memories.

The boneyard, that is.

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31, October

31,october.

A day to celebrate those who already wear masks.

Although these faces speak more to themselves today,

than the smiles they depict

every other.

Today, they wear their monsters and demons on the outside,

on their sleeves.

Not a person within a character,

But a character within a person.

And why they chose such attire?

A choice that came from within-

To give the world what it wants,

or a symbol of what they favour.

On this day, the 31st of October,

they don’t have to be but a demon 

behind a fraudulent face.

Today, they can let it all hang out,

give the world what they want

And just smile, within. 

Creatures Of Habit

This rock.

This tiny blue marble floating in the darkness.

The birth, and resting place of vicious, simple creatures.

Creatures of habit. 

At the hands of these sentient machines, blue will fade to Black.

Autonomous little sheep, dance like marionettes dangling under the Shepard.

Powerful like God’s, they spit in the face of the darkness.

And just like a man that throws dust into the wind

No one will be blinded but themselves.

That’s okay.

It’s just one rock.

Just one tiny blue marble…

Partition 

Reality. That’s what  I can see.

And that’s all there is, here,

outside the lines of concrete, 

inside the partition.

The world turns so slowly 

when Clocks of sand don’t tick around me. 

This city of trees is crowded, 

but no one speaks.

Now, they will barely even breathe.

The autumn breeze kills, and caresses these brittle people.

Caring not, for minutes 

or the hands that carry them.

Time is already standing still.

Because Autumn is Summer’s punctuation. 

A period that separates life and death, hot and cold.

The last grain of sand before the hour glass turns

And when the snow falls, life will pause, like it too, needs to smell the roses.

A short while to reset the clock, and begin again.

One day soon, life will go on.