Reflection

Reflection
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I let my thoughts wander,
Each time a Little Too Far,
They yearn to Understand my journey,
To know who's driving this car,

I see a person in the mirror,
A weathered, unfamiliar face,
How he arrived in my Reflection,
My Memory fails to Place.

I long to return to the Bosom,
Of a time of a Childish Bliss..
A Place where Innocence flowed Unbound,
As Fountains in a Golden Chalice...
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This is another old poem. Something i'd like to keep. From one of my lonely nights away from home a long time ago. Entangled in trivialities. However, such is life. Sometimes it just feels as if we're not in control, that someone hit that autopilot switch, and we're just along for the ride. Maybe it is. Maybe It isn't, but i think this "Reflection" doesn't change anytime that i read it.

Irony

I always wait till i have something meaningful to write, before i decide to come here and put something down. However, increasingly, i find that there's little meaningful, insightful, or funny for me to write about. Either my ability to eviscerate humour from the world around me has taken a severe hammering, or, there's just nothing much going on!

My life has kind of settled into a routine. Monday to Sunday. Same things, same people, same time, same everything. As Stephen King so eloquently put it, its basically been, SSDD;

Same Shit Different Day.

Such melancholy, just punctures a hole in your sinews of creativity. And all your inspiration, contemplations, and musings just seep out through there, into the void that is routine. Absent of that little spark of difference.

But therein, Therein lies the irony doesn't it? In melancholy lies the muse, and in having nothing of note to pen, words have conglomerated to form the idea, that there is no idea.

Life's little ironies. Found yours for today yet or are you still confused?

Morbid Dreams

Morbid Dreams
+++++++++
He Awoke Forthwith,
Cold sweat on his cheeks,
The dream was warm,
With a cold Hard Twist,
The stains on his face,
A Testament; Birth,
Of teary knives skidding,
From Eye to Earth,

His Glassy eyes took in,
The Icy Glaze of the Environs,
Unable to Discern,
The Edge of Reality's Pylons,
Fingers trembling,
He reached into the Mist,
A Desperate Grasp,
For Comfort's Fading Wrist,

Eyes Open, He slumbered Once More,
A corpse writhed Among Sheep,
Only to wake, Finally Cognizant,
It wasn't A Dream,
The Mist was real,
The Devil had Come to Call..

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Sometimes, we live through moments, that seem dark and void of all things good. And often, we find that the dank gloom is not unfamiliar; maybe because dark alleys all carry the same aura of foreboding. Of course, in time, such moments pass, and things might get better. But, This is for those Dark times.

Obviously! lol