Satan. Får ikke sove, så hiver i meg litt te og noen priser snus mens jeg prøver å skrive starten på en novelle for Jack & Yorick's prosjekt. Shite, jeg kunne drept for en øl.

Building Momentum

Dig ahead, and you will find
a new, yet unspoilt state of mind
it sits there quiet, uninvited
seeking warmth, acceptance even
yet none such luck is to befall
the greatest truth there was of al

Perspectives

There is always a slight tint of grey,
as grey is the representation of humanity,
not necessarily true,
yet something to consider
There is no longer black and white,
there are only the shades of grey we choose to see.
From where I'm standing it might look like a gathering thunderstorm,
terrible to behold and ominous close to horror.
yet with your eyes you might see the shining white of saviors,
the purge needed to bring about change,
grant potential for life and growth
and rid the land from the scourge that is us.

Mindsight

Seeking release, I utter a syllable of perfection,
defying my modest sense of perception,
yet daring me to a state of contemplating,
meditating not, as i should on the beauty,
seeing only ugly, leering masks grinning from behind the wall
the one we built out of good intentions,
yet twisted like a road to damnation
to enclose us within our brittle shells of selves,
always seeing less than we wish, yet no more than our comfort allows.

The Fields

As he stumbled along, seemed to be dancing
with someone for his eyes alone
left with a sensation of astonished delight
yet pulled upright by the prospect of fright

A tone tickling my ear,
like a feather from the bird
he's sitting there, watching the herd
a stirring in their mids, the sheep start the chase
fumbling with the lock, and finding it open
leaping out, expecting noone
-
there they are, everyone!
"G'afternoon miss, how are you?
Fine night, this.
May I ask of you, a kiss?
No?"
-
backtrack, retrace those steps.
Find the door, now a gate & climb over,
just to fall face first in the hedge
balancing precariously on the thinnest ledge
leaping out, but caught by the bird
you know, the one that watches the herd?
Why, I never even heard him sing.

A glimpse through the window

White, slightly blinding yet pleasant
studded with blots of darker things,
manmade and nature in a pattern
devoid of system, yet creating a whole
contrasted and symmetric in its erratic elegance

Pale blobs upon black spaces
arrogant nobs with pale faces
kindly women and angry men
always seem to come again
streaming forth wave upon another
chattering away, it's all a bother
to bee seen, heard or felt
sensed, ignored and enjoyed
learning slowly to play along
while you hear another song
sobs afar and laughter near
could you kindly kill the fear?

Clouds meet the earth
in a cascade of white,
hidden by the hearth
yet robbed of light