She Devil

She looked like one of those. The ones who swam here on some red river. I didn't want to cross paths with such creatures, didn't want to get the wires tangled, but I still refused to play the oh-so-popular-these-days 'ignorance card.' In fact, it was people like this woman who made me even more adamant to hold my head up and conduct myself differently and with some manners and respect. The world could be turned by their horrors and those bitter pills could be everywhere, but it wasn't for me.

She was a devil, simple as that. Looked kinda vicious, cruel, flame haired, ready to devour a man, a woman, anyone who stood in her way. There were many like her, but for today she owned the shadows. Get me out of here, on the wing of a dove. Take me to the angels, for they still await. For every devil...

Pixies Are Blind

These ones at least. Many of them, pixies are blind. Perhaps here, maybe even most everywhere. They see nothing, think they absorb it, comprehend it all. Such pixies, unfathomably growing from branches, born to these trees, doesn't mean they bear gorgeous fruits and things. Some poisonous parcel has fallen to the ground. They scatter the green grass here, like hiding vipers, they almost take the area over.

Intelligent and thoughtful you are. One was, one is, one will be, for each abattoir of cruel hearts. You don't know what you take no time to understand. It's a daily shower, in which you stand there and just expect the water to remove the grime and dirt. The actions and contemplation and the stars about the heads. Mostly those who have learnt nothing. Pixie blindness. What would you expect of me, not to be inspired by your tragic, wasted eyes?

You pixies, you put yourselves out there and then complain about it all. You expect things only one way - yours. Like broken city walls you will crumble over time. Eyes, be opened, see, take in and grow. Expand before the very eyes of others. It is potentially so fulfilling, how sad to deny the wealth that awaits. All those who simply open the eyes.

For Loving You

For loving you
For coming so close
I could never have known
What nobody knows

So I dived in
Swallowed and swam there
Drowning at times
We watch how each other tear

For loving you
In shards of time
We discovered shadows of souls
That used to be whole

Bring me in
Save me for now
I can do the same for you
Somehow
Take me out
With a forcefield for the days
To be a flower in the sun
Cathing golden rays

For loving you
At times and turns
These days are forever
Just the ashes in an urn

When we are washed from here
When we are memories in bottles
When we disappear
For loving each other
We were just the foetus soul
Of the earth, of the mother

Perplexed

I have all those things but nothing for you. And yet nothing for you. Somehow. I want to share warmth with numerous vessels, but it isn't meant to happen. The body doesn't know how to contain things at times. The pain and glory of the football yesterday, and the boxing, and the winners and losers and how somehow it seems to contain all life in those there moments. There is ugliness, absolute beauty, passion, heartbreak, love, skill, grace and just about everything you could ask for.

I am in a state of confusion. The way people are controlled by their desire for money, the fakest rich on earth, the way they are manipulated into doing things, like they are programmed, and living their entire lives out this way is totally perplexing to me. I watch the TV take complete control of the viewers, like it were using the remote on them. It certainly seems far more fascinating to watch a person watching the TV and their utter possession by this modern tool. It consumes them, feasts on their brains, controls their pea-sized minds. Probably shrinks them down. Alas, the freedom to decide, to breathe in the air (perhaps even fresh air some time) and not be intoxicated by the fumes of the money giants. They can't smoke me out!

I am plotting and planning and scheming and trying to build a time machine. This place, this time, it really makes me think. I got trapped here, in the wrong place and wrong time. I gave so many things a chance and they didn't reciprocate. I feel like humanity doesn't generally become more open minded, it just has more options, which in the end means there are more doors that can be viciously slammed in one's face.

I could keep writing. I'll probably do it until my last breath. I will do it beyond my arms dropping off. I could be like something that just falls apart, some badly made toy, after so little time. I will receive my last thought, from wherever they come from, and it will be simple - what total and inexplicable madness, how very perplexing.

Siblings

May I introduce to you the siblings of this here blog, in case you thought it was an only child? They are slightly older. If you often wondered if my small audience could read any further work I have done then the answer is 'yes' and here are the links...

http://www.dominicjstevenson.blogspot.com/

http://www.dominicjstevenson2.blogspot.com/

I hope this satisfies your curiosity and lasts a little while. Any feedback is welcome. If we cannot take both praise and criticism in this life then we will indeed struggle.

Best wishes, from wherever you want me to be.

That Sinking Feeling

All of you pointing your weapons this way. What do you expect, that I take to my computer and write you loving words? I should pity you, but would it not be wasted time to do so? Anyway, I have to believe in things and that somewhere you will come unstuck. The people who are evil, will shatter into a million pieces, the good ones will be left standing, wondering why such torment and pain is ever necessary in the first place.

Maybe I am a gloomy one. I do not go out in search of pain but it doesn't find it difficult to hunt me down and haunt me, hug me, never leave me be. The artistic mechanism functions better when motivated by sadness, far greater than by any other emotion, I would say. It's hard to believe that most of the finest art is created through darker emotions, but the spectrum of feelings it inspires has never been anything but obviously far wider to me. So, the sinking feeling isn't fun, it lasts for far too long, but it harvests some of the most astonishing works, in both my own mind and beyond. Sometimes, I wish things were easier, wish that my route weren't so lined with turmoil and heartbreak.

Nobody gets what they deserve. You can't measure it, but somehow I just know. Nobody gets what they deserve. What an odd thought to reflect on. Nobody gets what they deserve.

Moon of Ours

We sat outside in the lovely early night time. We looked up at the moon and discussed her, she mentioned the theories that nobody had ever actually landed there, and I said we had to believe in something. With everything that mankind was capable of it had surely happened and perhaps this wasn't one of the great manipulations of our mind. I wanted to romantically believe that such a wonderful event had occurred, regardless of whoever needed to force their country's flag into the terrain and claim the moon almost as their own. We talked about my now very possible imminent departure and tears filled her eyes. We could see each other's eyes with the sunlight echoing in the moon and then into each other's eyes, and it shone in her tears.

It was a lovely night. It was beautiful.

You Are Not What I Thought You Would Be

I guess if you're going to wake up with expectations or even hopes then the day could blow you away. Everything could take the opposite direction to the path you wanted. I could love and in return you would turn your shoulder. I could harbour such passion and magical sparks for you, keep them in my pocket, ready to just pull them out and sprinkle all over the place, but it doesn't mean you want that too.

It wouldn't be right to call it a mistake, living is the only true way to learn, and I feel I have keys from such choices that others can never own. Maybe all doors cannot be unlocked, but it's more about how you unlock yourself, untangle your limbs from the webs we get caught up in, and use the expanding template of knowledge we attain, as we move ever forwards. There is no other direction, not really. 

I walk the streets, I can sense that Wonderland isn't so far, yet at the same time it is consumed by some nightmare. I didn't pick the wrong time or place, I elected another life lesson, and they are not easy things to participate in, but yes, they allow me to ensure I am alive, in ways some folk could never even contemplate. I am no different to others in many of my desires, perhaps, it is just that I am unable to follow the well-carved route to reach the same ends, the destination marked 'Paradise.' In fact, I must carve out totally new ways, which isn't easy at all. Alas, I must cease to ever have expectations and hopes, but is this not simply human nature? In that, we also know we come from the same egg. I love, and leave, and lose, myself, and you, and I evolve. One day we will all get there, but the journey is so divine that if you genuinely watch it, and carefully take it in, perhaps it can only ever really hurt us. And in exactly that we can find some peace and joy and love.

Battlescars

My darling, oh! you appear just in the nick of time. All of this was haunting I, leaving marks that force the night. Upon me, from such angles, as to never feel safe. We wear battlescars, they never let us forget, the shadows that dwell here, the love that is effortless, medicinal, a salvation. I wonder how much the body and mind can take, more than I have felt for sure, someone always living in a darker place. The weight of passion, the solitude of strange creatures. I'd rather misunderstand you, she thinks, than spend those ticking seconds attempting to fathom some unfathomable spell. A wind blows here, a storm invites itself upon us. The symbol of its passing will remain, the broken ones in the wake.

So, here I am, still standing. I didn't find my pen for two and a half weeks. I am sorry to those eyes who fall upon this page, and these words herein. I remain for you, alas! it is not always possible to reach you, to manifest myself in the ways I so desire. I want to talk to you about your pain, open up that envelope, find another one, loosely left lying around, and put our shared agony for things inside, stamp it, in the old fashioned way and send it far away from here, from us, release the tiger from its cage. Let us go together, rather than be stranded. I know, I know, it doesn't quite work. All we can is but try. We leave marks on each other, without even trying, perhaps not the sore kind. The world and the battlescars, until we leave these mortal bodies. Oh, the body, so fragile and yet durable. The shell, the love it holds, the way it moves, the light it brings, glowing, ever for those we hold dear. I know, I know this too, I lose my way, I trip into monologues, I reveal too much, somehow nothing at all.

The battlefield never lets us go. It really does hold us tight, closer than comfort would allow. One day poppies will grow here, one day all will be gone and forgotten and some other place will be the scene of such tragedy. For nobody learns, the lessons of history, the love and loss of yesteryear. My darling, all we have is now, whatever the scars the moments cause, we must embrace the beauty of all these things, for life is now, we are trapped in the present continuous. There is no planning, there is no future, there is only us, this, all we can bear.

I wear the scars, for you and my soul, for I know what is true and I know what is right, and I know who are you and what you are. Both of us born perfect and whole, both of us now bearing battlescars.