The Reaper

The Reaper...
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His arms creased straight,
Each Finger outstretched,
Desperate for Solace's grasp,
Still thru Icy nothing,
Those Fingers finish Closing,
As his breath fights for its last gasp...
His body strong,
His mind steadfast,
Death has Not his Will yet,
But for her Estrangement,
And Forlorn engagement,
The Reaper and him should have met...
Its the First and my last,
Claim those that have alas,
Not Fathomed a depth of regret,
Still what goes around,
Returns unbound,
When the Reaper hangs up his hat...
It is for which,
The Strange soul persists,
Seeking Song, in rhythmic Duet,
Yet truth be told,
Most melodies are cold,
Much like the Reaper's Silhouette...

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What is this poem about? lol The blank page knows.... ;)

The Blank Page..

A blank page, is a magnificent thing, Serving me so well throughout the years, as far back as i can remember. It was the one place where i have often found myself free, unbound and empowered.

The blank page has graciously harbored my fugitive thoughts time and time again; bored in class, on the bus, even during those pointless O levels, it has provided me with an outlet that is ill-replaced by any other means. It is when I am most comfortable, my emotions dancing on the page in the form of script, careless, like nymphs on a meadow. It is with a blank page, that i have shared my most intimate thoughts, my fears, my dreams and my ideas.

On a blank page, i have played God, writing stories of lives that had not lived till i penned them into existence. The page, and i, a marriage, birthing like Cane and Abel, words of inspiration and desolation, Humour and sorrow, of Love and its painful void.

The Blank Page, a simple manifestation of infinity, one who's secrets are endless, ever present, and always revealed with the simplest question. The Blank page, my friend, my counselor, my Legacy...

IF......

If
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If every argument can be won by the presence of inebriation,
Leave debate in the wake of sobriety,
If every opinion is ill defended by its beneficiary,
Leave Cause in the Wake of Cowardice,
If Belief is the victim of Tenure,
Leave morals in the wake of Comfort,
If Every person is to be the sum of anothers' mistakes,
Leave ambition in the wake of Failure...
If you believe in the follies of others,
Leave Life in the Wake of inabilty,
If the man was Named by my Mother,
Leave Sobriety, Cowardice, failure, comfort and Inability,
In the wake of My Self...

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When someone validates themselves by society's singularities, this poem is JUST COOL!

Familiar Morning..

Today was another familiar morning, one that i've thought of writing about, but often chosen to suppress instead. Its a morning where i awake, flooded with the memories of my mother, and her passing..

Its a morning where i can't turn around to go back to sleep, because every image, every feeling and every sensation, pulsates through every single cell that composes me. Glimpses of memories of her strongest moments, and her lowest ones, the smile on her face, along with the sadness in her eyes, My defining moments, dwarfed by my transgressions, culminating in the vicious reenactment of her deathbed.

Each icy moment as her breath left her in my arms, each story, or reassurance, supplanted by the darkness of my actions, every emotion and fear, revisited with a fervor that only the mind knows how to replicate.

Would i trade this morning for another? No. I won't. A morning like this, defines me and reminds me, It holds her true to me, and is unique to me. My mother and i, were close, without speaking, without overt affections. We shared a link, that words, and relations cannot describe. In exchanged glances and sheer presence, we spoke not frivolities, but comfort and truth. Our disagreements were fiery and we loved freely, for we begot each other.

Wherever i was, i knew i was safe because i could return, and she never hid her knowledge, that i would never be too far from her. And without warning, unprepared, that security was taken from me. Alienated, i stand in a world, misunderstood and deposed, searching for the hand that held mine. And these mornings, in their entirety, are the closest i will ever get to those irreplaceable fingertips.

Cliches and condolences are abundant, but the depth of an abyss is only known to the one who falls through it, and only when i reach my own end, will i truly be able to awake to a different morning to relish...

Replaced

Everything in the world around us is inevitably replaced. The countless leaves on the towering trees that fill our landscapes, those trees themselves, clouds, wind, sunshine, bugs, flowers, pathways, EVERYTHING. Including ourselves, we will be replaced, by something else. Our dead mothers, fathers, uncles and aunts, cousins, sons, daughters, even grandchildren, should something happen to them, will be replaced, some how or some way, be it a daughter that is born after a mother's death, or a wife, or a honestly reassuring husband after the death of a father, someone comes along to replace the loss.

But what does one do, when you are replaced alive? When the world around you substitutes your place out? When family, often the pinnacle, or inspiration or solidarity in your life, replaces you; with someone else?

And you never know when it happens. Until, the realization creeps on you, like a vine up your spine. As with each action and inaction, words, and expressions, slowly you are weaned on to the knowledge that you have been replaced. As the reality slowly manifests in front of you, that where you once belonged, now you are an outsider.

A cruel joke of time and tide. They both truly wait for no man, of any stature or standing, of birth or life. Intricacies are replaced with superfluities, and the incidence is replace by its derivative. The sense of welcome and belonging are short lived for many that have endured an exodus. If Moses himself, was not accepted by his people, what more a normal man?

That day, when the revelation dawns, in the midst of the flurry of friends and family, when in all consciousness, you are dislodged, and another takes your place. It is then, the conundrum that is life elicits not an answer, but a question, penned by one of the greatest Poets of all time,

To be, Or Not To be.....

A Night, Like this..

A Night, Like this..
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On a night much like this,
A Star of a tragic parody,
Parading the stage of life,
Valiantly battles the blows,
Of Sorrow's double-edged Knife,

On a night just like this,
Each strike he did not dodge,
Held true to his old scars,
Breaking the cover of his bosom,
Slicing a piece of his heart,

Yes, It was a night like this,
What little was left in the jester,
Gradually, became no more,
A heart, peeled away,
Lay as petals, On the floor...

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Y = 0X

Mathematics, in my opinon, affords us an affluent avenue with which to summarily express our lives. However, the linear equation which maps our pitiful existence, is not in itself a predisposed channel of revelation, but in itself, an inequality. It cannot be mapped or graphed for the same reason we do not know the outcome of the next day.

Therein lies an anomaly. A point of interaction between the origins and the experiences unique to any graphical equation, and its willful radical. In the matter of life, that pivotal moment is the unequivocal marriage of will and the absence of itself. The point where the derivative which represents will, meets its benevolant equal in the execution of its function, the point where:

y=0x

The revelative essence of when irrelevancy meets congruency, when the disparate meets the form, the Ultimate subtraction, of the beginnning meeting the end. That is the linear equality of the truth of my own existence at this moment. The benign expungence of the oxymoron that is the effectual ineffectuality of the infinity. The linear INequality that summarises my life...

Do you understand?

A Return..

Its almost 6 months since my last signature into cyberspace. In that time, i've moved continents, countries, and most recently cities. That air of change that seems to permeate the atmosphere worldwide. Changing world leaders, collapsed markets, and Manchester United losing to Liverpool 4-1 at home, what is the world coming to?



I've missed my friends, the 226/kovan sessions. But they've been replaced with O'hearns, Norwood and the likes. Very very turbulent 6 months so far. I'm still searching for some resemblance of stability which constantly seems to evade me. But i guess, that is just the inate nature of life.



i would like to mark this return to the written word with a few lines from a coldplay song that has been on the top of my playlists for while now...

I used to Rule the world,
Seas would Rise when i gave the word,
Now in the morning i sleep alone...
Sweep the streets i used to own...

I just feel that there was some element of prophetic poetry in that song...=D Cheers World. I hope i see you all sooner than in another 6 months

Renew

Renew
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There is little inspiration,
In this distant isolation,
Living silent, Alone,
In quiet insulation,
A single heart's Contention,
Broken, a Noteless Tone,
Love, Spring this prison,
Help me cross this chasm,
Betray these bonds of Knives,
Bequeath me your radiance,
I beseech thee with fervence,
Return thyself into this Life...

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Of Missing You

Of Missing You
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Hearken the murmur of my heart,
Dear lady, as it beats your name,
Rapt from earthly holds,
Into a poet's quiet domain,
Forlorn by the painful absence,
Of your beatific smile's solace,
My soul writhes in these words,
Severed from your radiant countenance,
Dear lady, Heavens' first perfection,
The Quintessence of my life's laughter,
You left your mark, branded in my soul,
You alone are this heart's veneer...

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