The Great nothing

Eventually it all dissolves into nothing.
A heart full like a crowded house.
Junk filling up each cupboard.
The brain full of Christmas decorations.
Which have long ago lost their sparkle.
It weighs down upon a soul that was born to fly.
Clipping the wings and keeping it upon the earth.
The flightless bird of an evolved life.
Beneath the feathers and failures, the bones will break.
Fossilized then crumbled, in the rough hands of god.
Blown into dust, cast out into the cosmos.
It all fades into the great big nothing.
Little spots on time, that do not register our existence.
Like flies on a windshield.
Butterflies on steering wheels.
Irritating beauty that falls apart in frailty.
We all go back to where we belong.
Unknown and empty.
Shooting up black fireworks.
Into the oily blank space of our sky.

Beauty lost at the heron house (Redux)


BEAUTY LOST AT THE HERON HOUSE

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes to the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly

MORE VIDEO ART HERE


 

Beauty lost at the heron house


Beauty lost at the heron house

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes to the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE


Taken from Alchemy – out now


 

While i slept

To collapse but not to shatter.
Yet veins of the break spread deep.
Frozen in the reckoning of our time.
Managing a mosaic of madness.
Fleeted days, encapsulated by hurried tensions.
Pickled in the wine of the year.
Sadness stalked my fields.
You set fire to my home.
It burns still, the flames will not recede.
Your words breathing oxygen to its devastation.

Sinners in church

All I feel, is the blood underneath.
The red torrent that flows the same.
In a look that turns away.
Reaffirms the shame.
Can we be sinners if inside all is pure?
Skin and bone, flesh from him.
Bread that sticks in my throat.
We are sinners in the house of mother earth.
We are angels beneath the floors of hell.
These tears that fell when the walls collapsed,
and the shadows were expelled.
Are the isotopes of god, realigning in our cells.
So this sin, I am thankful of.
A difference from the past, pulled from Neolithic teeth.
We are sinners and miscreants, all the same under the eyes,
of the blind divine .
Which in turn, makes us holy.

Take you apart

To pull open your world, and sneak inside.
Tearing out your heart, giving you mine.
Feeling each rise and fall of your chest.
Would lay me out like gold.
Each breath conquers me.
As you lick your lips.
Suggesting that is where we build our home.
On the tip of something beautiful.
We’ve cried out our past.
Knocked down each remnant of uncertainty.
Covering our delicate present in feathers and down.
For this is where we shall collapse.
And watch true love collide.
Collecting it up in a bucket of flesh and stars.