Peace and Chaos
and pleasing outlines.
Mentality expressed in carpet choice.
Confused arrangement, odd shapes and clashing colours.
A few times he did
Many times he didn’t
He doesn’t know why
He had his cry
A grown-up kid
Oh Lord forbid
Still doing what he didn’t
and what he did
Reading this stirs me to choose
This is what I want to do:
Change my old pair of shoes!
and less of what doesn’t matter
Look ahead, ’cause looking back
always puts me off track
Express what I think
so it doesn’t make anyone flinch
Know you some more
Move on from before
Dance in your joy
Be your happy boy
Embrace your love
Treat you like a dove
Listen when you call
Stop playing only my ball
Understand your pain
Empathy doesn’t shame
Feel your need
and not misread
Explore your dreams
Bathe in your light beams
Unite against your fears
Pioneer your frontier
Join you in distress
Help clear away the mess
Be your other side
A backup on your ride
Return your touch
My senses never get too much
Explore your passion
Confession beneath layered fashion
Answer your questions
Provide some suggestions
Disperse your pain
like blades of a weathervane
Sing along your song
professing loud and strong
Taste your tears
The sweetest salt is here
Treasure your laugh
with full measures, not half
Smile when you smile
mile after mile
Take your hand
Together we stand
Hold you close
Let other’s say “look at those”
Watch you dance
Your movement is my trance
Kiss you to sleep
That’s so romantique
Scent your hair
Stoke this affair
Catch you looking at me
Crazy, like the sting from a fairy bee
When you think … — stop thinking
When you do … — stop doing
When you stop … — stop
When … — don’t
When not … — stop
When stopped … — think
Life is about sitting on an egg, — partially.
When you’re sitting on top of an egg,
– and be honest, I think we are all trying to hatch something, –
and nothing happens for too long,
there is something wrong with the egg you’re sitting on.
Nothing is wrong with you, — of course not.
You did your time and probably more than was necessary.
No bird sits on an egg longer than they intrinsically know they have to, and neither should we.
If you want to bring something about:
change your circumstance, change your beingness.
If nothing happens,
get off and find another egg.
If you water a seed or seedling and it doesn’t grow,
you don’t continue indefinitely, do you?
There must be a benefit; else, what are you doing it for?
Maybe herein lies the problem:
We are the egg and the hen.
Between being both we get side-tracked.
We hen around when we should also egg around.
And both hen and egg have a best before date too.
Or, perhaps our egg got swapped while we were inattentive or in cloud-cuckoo-land. We might be sitting on a dinosaur egg that takes epochs to hatch,
and we only have a human lifetime.
Another more sinister reason could be that there is no egg for us. A hiccup in nature, an oversight, or perhaps a deliberate message of:
“You are wasting your time here, you should be somewhere else, sorry (hu)man, internal error, – reboot.”
I don’t think sitting on an egg is that much fun,
especially when the dream of what that egg was supposed to become has lost its verve.
In the process of incubation and brooding, you have probably also attracted a severe bout of eggshaustion.
Rest is advised but time is limited because it is now already ‘time minus one egg’.
Time and eggs clearly have some agreement.
Maybe ten time units are one egg unit, or who knows?
And, you are entering into major guesswork as to how many time and egg units are available to you.
At this stage of disillusionment with reality and eggs, you might want to run away to an island and just hangout and relax.
When that escape starts feeling like another egg, is it now the right egg? There’s nobody really around that could answer that question. Eggvisors are few and far between, if not entirely mythical. And, other islanders egging it out don’t strike you as the right reference model.
It is not inconceivable that at this moment you might decide,
“WTF, I’ll just grab an egg that looks nice and sit on it and see.”
The point is that when that first egg doesn’t hatch
and we finally decide to move on to another egg,
unless some inbuilt direction finder kicks in
and sets our compass pointing north again in our life,
we could become abandoned eggs or hens without a head.
Now, the second (nth) time around,
we have to apply extra amped-up effort and employ every ounce of skill and wisdom to bring our life together and make sense of it,
— and not accept a watered-down make-believe or a shortlived fake brochure version, —
so we can find that satisfaction which is inherent when our right egg hatches.
like watered down milk…
– indifferently choreographed between white and grey
– tasting like soup with too much thickener and too little salt scooped from a burned pot
– conducted by a metronome seesaw clock stuck on one hour for half the day,
and then suddenly nothing happens, again, and it’s evening
of night aeons and darkness’s conquests and shadowy ghosts infesting my mind
– preserving its light in a heart-locket necklace in memoriam
– where Nothing sticks like clueless glitter lost on my forehead
– when angels were sought and found only in thought but never caught
– of skulls and crossbones destabilising sanity with orchestral irrationality
of X-rays beaming through my skeleton ignoring my transient flesh in their own celebration of reflection…
– where demons dismember my heart and grill the tendrils of my feelings
– of ego-tripping maniacs grinding me to dust with their mortar and pestle rhetoric
– when my ashes become the spice of the devil’s lust,
– when ‘burn his soul’ is chanted by the karmic choir at the tortured gates of reincarnation,
and the cosmic eraser is bigger than any of my dreams
A day where…
Angst is the fire and defiance the air…
– blood is the drug knocked back with a double shot of death
– the soil that I stand on cries louder than hell pronged on a pitchfork
– I am misplaced like a bee on the sea
– I am like a butterfly squashed in the cooler grill of an abandoned racing car
that none of us asked to be part of…
because it perforates and slices with its shrapnel,
it blinds and dumbs the mind with chaos,
it breaks every ethic and moral and belief,
fatally demanding life and remuneration through recurring vengeance,
this day of the feasting vultures of dismay