2007/2016: Meerlife

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A Mote in a Symphony

…inspired by, the wonder of the universe.

set thine mind aflame
atop the emotion that run from face in stream
in child, man and woman alike
to tell, to think of how it all begins
let each note tell you the story
the only odyssey that has ever been told
from biggest bang to entropic cold
still soldiering on
reacting, dividing, expanding apart

the chorus
our harmony
of the present day now
is just a fraction of an instant
in universal symphony
a mote in a cloud

of star-dust coming together
gravity taking hold
fusing and brightening
exploding, enlightening, combining, exciting
compacting, imploding, bonding and slowly forming
cooling, whilst life plays its own complex stanza
that has taken us through millennia
until here, now

you and I
specks of matter housed with immense energies
and seemingly endless emotional space
and so many possibilities
the distance between us
so little

fragile our mote, our note in the grand performance
not without meaning
without grace

our moment is here
let it not be a waste


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…inspired by the plight of Julian Assange, and all of the innumerable others’ throughout the years who have had their lives demeaned, diminished and destroyed in service to the us, the public, by those who they expose.

I’ve linked to Wired’s article on the matter below:




the powers.are.crazy







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the Brush Dreams of Spring

…inspired by the new light of 2016

think warm my dreamer,
bring this life all in from the cold,
and your belief you’re getting old,
lost in a Twilit’ generation,
hold your reservations,
Sunlight’s plainly about to break,
from this childish hibernation,
decisions sweet as Spring returns,
the fresh puddles,
earned from the rain-drops of Winter,
as the year before,
covered below the falling snow,
so saddle up a smile,
there’s the horizon yet to roam,
on this battled road you’ve known,
for a destination that will lead you on,
further from and yet towards,
a place you’ve called,
and will again,
your heart,
and also named as home.

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“This week’s employment figures are good news for working people. With our country facing new risks in the global economy, we will stick to our plan to continue delivering jobs and security across the UK.”

Risks, I presume from the £1.56tn, and growing, national debt of the United Kingdom. The one that really doesn’t matter who the fuck created, it isn’t going away by cutting the ability to create work. It’s simple mathematics that a child could understand.

This isn’t trimming the food bill down at Tesco the month after the holidays because the Christmas spend has been ‘a touch on the side of the gregarious’.

Risks, I again presume from the bubble created by the stripping of state assets world wide, which has already caused the Asian markets to devolve into chaos not once, but twice – and it isn’t even February yet.

The above quote, was from the words of the one true Lard of the Manor-born, Porcine Minister of the United Kingdom himself, David Cameron on 21 January at 12:32.


…I felt compelled. Driven, a fucking oracular sense to speak. So. Eight minutes later, I responded.

Where are these jobs David…in private business?

All I see are insecure, temporary based employment positions; fake jobs and basically intern-ships that fudge your numbers to make it look like there is in any way not a crisis of real full-time employment out there.

I used to work for the Civil Service here in Northern Ireland and I never once met a ‘sponger’, or someone who wouldn’t want to work if they could find access to prospects that could suit their specific circumstances – people get demonised as it’s easier than accepting the truth that for those at the bottom of the net, job prospects are dismal.

And for people in my position, with my education, they too are also now dismal.

It’s ‘trickle up decay’, and it’ll hit your class also.

There are plenty of jobs that need done in the United Kingdom, but no one is providing them. Your cutting of the state is the absolute opposite of what you should be doing, and you bloody well know it.

We’re not the only country in this position, and you don’t even need a degree in economics to read the data and see that we are haemorrhaging the future of not just my generation, but that of my younger brother’s, and beyond.

Now, as much as I try to not get involved in what other human beings get up to – my love/hate/hate/love relationship being the primary reason – there’s a certain frantic, febrile, burrowing feeling in my soul as I listen to this constant stream of Orwellian (or Lloydian/Moorish, depending on which side your cup of tea is buttered on) nonsense that is being trotted out.

I am never one for likes, for social appreciation and the oul’ enjoyment of one’s comments landing a dig so severely polished that everyone else gives you a wee, “Good for you son.”

…but it was nice to see such an almost unanimous response of sense, bar the odd person in a position of comfortability. You know the type, normal hard working people with two-point-four wives and a time-share child Cyprus. Grafters who have worked hard to get into the position they’ve been, no help, all their own ball-sweat and stunning ravished perspiration.

Over a week later and I’m still getting people commenting on it, liking it. Talking about it. I’m so happy to not be alone in thinking the we’re three days away from a fire-sale before the year ends.

As much as I use social media in the exact manner that it was designed to be used for – bar the selfies – which as someone with NPD (Narcissistic Personalty Disorder), and having been a photographer, I just don’t get. Although that in itself is a bit of bullshit, because statues were the original selfies. I’m just getting old, feeling a touch too ugly to join the shining masses(1), like Brian, Daisy, Mike and Tim walking up the stairs to Amber’s party in Spaced.

who all look great, there’s no denying it.

in between the #sandinmycrotch, #brianblessed commentary that makes me think that somewhere, somehow they are also crippled by the same good old anxiety I’m crippled by just looking in the mirror. They’re just sharing it with everyone in a manner that it dissipates in some fantastic shared release.

Like an anxiety orgy.


That said: I had this to say to David, and I’m quite glad that hundreds of folks ended up getting behind it.

There’s something to be said for luck and timing in what I said, how, and when I said it. I’m under no illusion that making my post a mere eight minutes after his ridiculous social media update helped; though in the ensuing debate I managed to find another fellow Aspie (Asperger’s Syndrome for the uninitiated) who happened to be a happy Tory. This was…

…a shock. Though I can appreciate his interest in graft, and his own admittance to having a lack of empathy for other folks who haven’t had his course in life. He’s come out on top, and I’m fucking absolutely ecstatic with that.

Inspiration even, comes to mind. Though it does not for one minute negate the facts, the drivelling cognitive dissonance that is banging through the airwaves like a chocolate swamp of shite being poured into your ears, your mother’s ears, your children’s ears.


Better together.

Trickle up.


What insecure, temporary, zero-hour lumps of facile cheese fiddled trouser wallop.

So, I continued.

David, Graeme, Joshua and Simon here give to me at my leisure, quivering quips quintessing whilst lunches were eaten, and keyboards were battered within an inch of their dust-ridden underbellies – and the first three quite possibly posting from their rather comfortable car dealership/IT recruitment agency desks, made it all the funnier.

Whilst Simon the aforementioned Aspie, I was quite happy to debate with. At a level of intelligence too that didn’t want to make me jam the nearest hand crafted artisan football I’d recently had delivered by, as you might imagine Canadian Owl, into my windpipe and inflate it as slowly as physically possible.

But there are jobs. I’m hounded with emails every morning with IT/Computer related jobs.

Experience is the best thing on a CV and leads to security with further employment and experienced skilled individuals, they are certainly not something i’d criticise.

Nobody owes us a living.  Small van sales are up massively. More small businesses seeing fit to buy or increase their fleet. Why do you think that is? The private sector is growing at a good rate, while the public sector moan about hours and ‘conditions’.

The country is in a far better state, and nothing you can say will change that. There are many job vacancies in the Midlands – just that too many British people are unqualified or too bone idle to apply. Matthew Alexander Patton that’s it, divert from my point.

Anti Tory Bandwagon. You are clearly a bigot. Nothing anyone says or shows to you will change you. Bigot because nothing anyone says will change your opinion. Look it up.

And of course, that has quite a safe serve back towards centre-court, by myself.

Pardon the splurge. It’s been a while since the Internet has made me wish it had an off button.

And are you aware of how many applicants are applying for each singular position?

My friends in HR tell me that the numbers go up weekly. There are far more people than there are jobs, and it’s not a population issue, it is directly an issue with job creation – there are not enough chairs at the table being created, and with the dissolving state we are in fact taking away chairs and telling everyone that we don’t have any room left at the table in this country, for ourselves let alone emigrants.

…all the while property lies dormant, and second homes are used as safety deposit boxes for those already on the ladder.

Also, how does a job in IT or Computing relate at all to someone with hands on experience in Gardening, or a background in Manual Labour?


Simon, if experience put food on the table then I’m sure more people would really love that experience.

Try buying food with experience, try raising children with experience.

Simon Chapman, you did not pay for your children’s food with experience – you paid for it with money.

Don’t lie. You’re intentionally bending the word experience to mean, earning money. Which is not what we’re talking about here. Internships and steps to work schemes that don’t pay enough to live on, are the issue here.

That said, I appreciate your story and your point; just recognise that you’re lucky that it worked out that way for you. Most people cannot afford to make the sacrifices you clearly made to get where you have arrived at in life, and fair play to that.

And, as private sector jobs are not expanding right across all sectors, and the public sector is being dismantled – this leads to a net loss of jobs, that, the government is in fact in total control of.

This is my point. And you either are being intentionally thick with it, or you are genuinely not aware of this – both are terrible.

Education, Energy, Health, the Parks Service, the Roads Service – all major infrastructure, and the ability to maintain what I like to call the ‘toilet paper’ that makes everything function. Is all being outsourced privately, downsized for profits over people, and closing out in the process the ability to provide fair, secure jobs that could easily be supported by the state and have been provided by the state in the past, under these Labour governments that you speak of.

And on that note, I’m not even the biggest fan of past-Labour, all this centrist nonsense has destroyed us.

So, that said, on a more personal point. That’s fantastic that your one specific sector is on the rise, what is that sector, may I ask?

Simon, to end, if you think this country is in a good state now in comparison to six years ago – you actually won’t be shocked by what will transpire in the coming year, because denialists always trumpet to the end.


The private sector is for the most part, fixated at the bottom line. We need to put people before profit, because no matter what you think money doesn’t mean anything unless there is an economy to use it with. Look at the minimum wage in comparison to actual inflation, Google it because to tell you it would be spoon feeding you information you, as a working person, should already know about.

Food banks, zero-hour contracts, inflation ratio against a complete lack of wage increases as an average, homelessness, personal debt increases, people paying 60% of their income in rent, foreclosure rates…

A better state, you’re deluded. As insulting as that sounds, and I don’t mean it that way, it’s just the truth.


So David, what you are saying is that we have an education issue? This I can agree with.

How do we solve that, instead of crying about it from our pedestals of education and employment?

Why are people bone-idle, how do people fall through the net?

Stop looking at ‘these people’ as hopeless cases to fuck on the dust-pile, that could be you one day. Look at how we can help create jobs that people are qualified for, that people can educate themselves for. Or have you noticed that education isn’t actually free?

Failing that. What would happen if like circa-1997 we got ‘everyone’ a degree and people find themselves still under-qualified.

And, for Graeme in particular – who was less than impressed that I called him Graham.

Also, please look up the word bigot:

“…a person who is intolerant towards those holding different opinions.”

I tolerate your opinions, I just think they’re wrong.

Now, at this point I should admit that I considered myself an anarchist for quite some time – and now consider myself a ‘Libertarian Socialist’ – whatever the fuck all of these labels and terms that elongate and obfuscate the debate of action, whilst we talk and talk on and ever on, even really mean in the face of the glaring daily tragic lack of humanity on display.

We’re a culture of talking, not doing. Climate change creeping in our windows and slicing our throats in the night with a spoon, a little bit at a time just so we don’t notice whilst the inertia needed to make everything move creaks forwards.

Drowning in letting people have their say.

Like, if during the film Aliens, a Face-hugger slowly but surely starts giving you the eye, saddles up and goes to take your space-virginity; and before you’ve even realised your opening salvo. Your questioning retort about human rights, consent and the merits of getting to know someone before ‘going all the way’ – whilst you’ve been postulating the best way to broach the subject of not being parasitically invaded – a Xenomorph has already erupted from your chest.

Oh, poor you.

Stop talking and fucking do something. And I include myself in that.


Now, before I finish listening to Team Fresh for the thirteenth time on repeat whilst writing this (Bandcamp link above, give the lads some ear time) – no, no one owes you anything, but speaking as a human being; wouldn’t it absolutely amazing that as a species we could leave behind the arrogance of thinking that we as individuals are special little creatures, and that collectively we can aim to aspire to be great together?

Instead of just fucking scrambling to the top. We can still compete, but let everyone have a fair dig at the flag on top of the castle.

Otherwise, what the hell are we doing here?

‘Trickle up decay’ is no small matter – and if you consider the human race as an living cellular organism (and it is), with each of us working components of it; if from the bottom up a necrosis starts happening, a starvation of nutrients so to speak, then that’s not going to stop with just the affected area.

That’s going to grow.

Unless of course, you cut off the diseased parts completely…

And I can imagine, you easily see the territory that we’ve suddenly strayed into there.

Smile, we’re all on camera sure!

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The news has come to my ears that this year’s Glasgowbury Music Festival lukewarm from the weekend last, will be the final cry out over the mountain for Ireland’s largest and by far best independent music festival – some dare say the best festival period.

It is truly, sad news – however the legacy of what was achieved amongst the crowds of people involved; be it audience members, magnificent bands, reams of folk who volunteered and helped keep the sheep from joining in on the action, or the main men and women themselves the organisers will not be forgotten soon.

I am sure we’ll see a little bit more massive yet from that direction of the world.

…I could wax lyrical all day on what a privilege it was to walk through the gates at Eagle’s Rock, and even lend a very small paw on occasion, and the impact it has had on my life; but for now I’ll just say goodbye in the best way I can, with a few pictures.

…tiny drops create massive oceans, given time – and I have no doubt that the motions caused out in Mid-Ulster will not be long to cause larger waves.

Thank you Paddy and all of the enigmatic (Eagle-matic?) cohorts.

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This Island, This Floor

…inspired by watching the jigsaw crumble…

The etched faces,
Torn up expressions of joy,
Running on a chemical half-life,
Too quickly running to fill with fear,
Pulled into shapes that seem so like the same,
To before.

Except turned sideways,
Deformed a baker’s dozen, then some,
In the mix, stirring sweet chocolate,
Oddly jarring but recognisable,
Dawn rises showing changing cheekbones’ and chequebooks’ shadows,
Shifting with time as we grow old,
As adult sanity moves us in directions new,
Well, we all have shifted, solidly,
Now, worn but young,
Who was to know?
Six foot gaps tread upon where friendships once had grown,
I still see them as boys, and girls,
Gifted, of talent, and powered by voice,
Not physical, no…manifest,
Of that which lay within,
With causes that needed attention,
Are you looking closely at what we had began,
Playing freely,
Hearts and minds,
Although now higher strung.

Do you still see that we are young?

A life slowly made whole from ashes burnt and done,
Becoming complete slowly,
Ready to reach out, I’ll mention,
Not knowing quite what is clear to come,
I’ll admit,
We know what happened…
What syncopated motive, made movement,
For a moment was made,
Madness prevailed,
And what repercussions were left in that wave…

Bitten and stung,
Was my reward, though lying there,
Though on the edge, not just I,
The circumstances differed,
Aware that the blindfold was transparent,
Still an audio soul, photographic as seen,
As sound appears as word to me,
So with each note I saw, the wonderment ceased,
No longer sat in childish awe,
Was a boy so taken by another’s words,
I was struck by the insecurity,
Of the ‘whether we coulds’,
Against the ‘what if we win’,
And in doing so fail to forget our own sins,
In taking light of the weight,
Of what we had so tried to do.

You may ask what, but it is simply put,
Some may argue and others agree,
Because after all this is just generalisation,
Rambling thoughts, from I dare say me,
Present and correct, detached and left,
Still Starboard and looking, for the little bits to call Port,
From our agenda, burned gladly,
At the expense of our heads,
On long days that could have been spent as nights,
Laying awake in bed.

We sought to be happy,
And find something new,
To change the ‘being’ to positive of not just my friends,
Or I,
…but you.

“We’ll teach them all”,
With our united Verve,
Because we are one in our owns’ mind,
Collected, together – hell,
In an army, not forceful, just there to be dealt with,
A hallion battalion driven cultural semi-terrorist cell,
Believing in truth,
As we see fit, no authority but our own,
And who was ever to say that we were wrong?

Dignity adrift,
On a trip, a ‘fierce mild’ journey,
Destination not left, right or wrong,
Travelling along, only we will sing the greatest songs,
Feel that our group is the one who just belongs,
At the top,
Or the middle,
On that we I sadly say, differ,
And I don’t dare say the bottom on that I be clear,
Though no ear will hear,
I’m just trying to be realistic,
Self perception appearing legitimate,

Find me empowerment,
Or even strength,
In soured heroes,
With guitars dirtily strung at their backs,
On my living room floor,
Or yours,
From which our front lines do attack.

Though pause, and see where I first thought,
Outside my head, at what seemed bereft,
Of entertaining, imaginative, perfect flow,
Mathematical drum beat appearing bright,
Or that previously stated syncopated tempo,
You know the one,
That sets our hearts aglow.

So that said…

Your destination is twenty four,
Remember that,
Not forty two, no, though the irony is not lost here,
In the drum-roll reversal,
Attempted drop to something less vague,
Segue to a known laugh,
The constructs of originality laid out bare,
This isn’t a plausible universe in which to live,
Or a decent place to feed our souls,
At the near or the far side…

…there are feasts closer to home,
Where all my wild things used to roam,
Kidding myself about making all these kids remarks,
About things no longer relevant to the daily task,
Of keeping a step ahead of the last victim of mankind,
But those feasts,
Not mine, not yours,
Our their own, even, as we saw them,
There are feasts anew, and the ones we saw the edges of,
Frayed, imperfect, mistakes abound,
Don’t fret my unknown friend,
Even as this pop culture twist, exists,
You cannot miss,
There, still in the darkness,
The one shining light with the yellow door,
Hallway and Presidential in all but street,
Smartly tailored to our needs,
Forever ours,
And always will be.

Do you still see that we are young?
I do,
It gives me soothing comfort,
Past and future,
Sitting as one.


a new kind of light

inspired by all of the souls I’ve had the pleasure to meet this year.

Charge up all you stars shining on bright,
Give me to life,
One never known but cared for lying awake at night,
I love your light,
Burn out my soul,
As is taken too much,
Of what I don’t have to give,
Please let me live,
Please let me live,
I’ve given grace to all I can,
Leave me be as my own man,
Broken and twisted by all I’ve seen,
Surviving the overdose,
Of my own dreams,
Forced into my face,
At breakneck speed.

Still I delight, delight in the night.
Darkening my vision,
Shadowing sight.

Yet I don’t understand, how the logic is wrong,
When the maths of my feelings are theoretically strong,
And hell I think that the truth of all lyrics have volume,
But only in song,
Or also on prose,
That talk of sweet friendly birds on our shoulders,
And heartfelt dreams as we talk to each other,
In body and soul,
At the end of the day treating all not ourself cold,
And sometimes we save chills at our actions,
Beg to be the better being,
Or individual pieces more than we seem.

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The Captain

The tide of music washes loud,
Here in this place,
Soaks the earth at our feet in warmth,
Messages playfully written on our face,
Each pulled into heroic gestures the tall try to forget,
Many stories by the oul’ fires,
Yet many tales lay unspoken still to tell,
From within the walls of my mind,
This prison cell.

This island, nay city,
Don’t reach too high without holding hands,
Peak, trough?
Crest of the slump,
Scenes of love,
And all the above,
Solidarity’s wake,
All that has come will come in vain,
If at heart we no longer hold each others names.

There, the tide has come in,
The scales can tip,
And all we fought for can go down with this ship,
Smiles cut sharp on our face,
Hell we’ll do it with magical grace, and sell our souls
For to have genius carved in our place of rest.

On, into the skip, along as we will,
Clinging to these walls that talk of the clan,
Pasting signs out on murky nights marching,
Or casting out our nets, flooded with spam,
Soldiers we call ourselves,
By fuck but we’re green,
Endangered souls with rifles shiny and new,
Excited to be filled with novel ideas,
Based on tomes of old,
A fiction in our hearts not yet made fact,
Yet still we all clap,
Applauding a destination not yet reached.

They arouse all my passions,
And I’ll fight for this case because it fills me,
This love I know,
Just not the fashion,
Or tokens given,
The high born hips,
Punkish youthful sons,
All, that don’t look to their heads,
Those now clung to the deck,
Gripping on by their threads through the cavernous void,
That shows no respect,
To the original captain,
Weeping there on his pew.

Is he weeping?
Fuck no.
He’s on a ship new,
Away journeying fresh,
And now there are many,
But at first, there were few.

That message sent, lost in crimes unknowing,
Bottled at scene,
I’m drowning in sound,
Though not alone as I thought,
You’re here beside me, if ghostly,
So lets cry aloud, revolution anew.


We Are The Wings Of The Butterfly

Inspired by E.F. Schumacher.

I don’t exist,
Honestly, listen, I’m not all there,
I’m up in the sky, a part of the stars,
Just light reflected back by the bits that hold weight,
Fired out with a bang,
As this own discussion,
Ended before I’ve even begun,
Proudly part of the ‘ninety-nine percent’,
That is absolute space,
Empty shells full of so much potential, love and disgrace,
We think there’s so much within,
How could we be so wrong?

Man is small,
And small is beautiful,
In the mind’s eye,
To put the emphasis on the visible,
When it’s the little not the grand that matters,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

Wait, hold that thought…

I’m not pissed off, out of my mind,
Lost along the rabbit hole,
Or forest of locked jaws and knocking knees,
I’ve maybe just missed the point, of all of this ‘bliss’,
Following along random lines without an excuse,
Whilst I’ve been kicking up leaves,
And trying to breathe,
Between the first pages of the manual,
And wherever I put it down,
The given template found boring,
A guide that perplexed,
With each page that was turned,
I disagreed more with the text,
Now running freely abound, head in the clouds,
With independent ideas of what it is that life should be,
And the incorrect notion that its best teacher is, me.

I tried to branch out, process the fruits as presented,
Knowledge picked from the tree,
Natural, open, and deliciously scented,
Put all together,
Still don’t know what it means,
Any more than you do,
I suppose I just like learning, pretending at things,
Plucking the seams,
Peeking behind the veil,
Using any and all means,
At least that’s how it appears,
You cannot deny, this has an appeal,
Calm, don’t look at me sideways when I tell you my dreams.
I know you have them too,
That’s what keeps the smile real.

Though have you noticed, they all look the same,
Our processes unbalanced, though powerful, insane,
From back here where it all feels developed,
I say,
“Well that’s just my brain,”
“My way,”
“That makes me unique,”
But before I make that claim,
The synapses misfire,
And with that need to speak,
My mouth creates yet more grief,
I need to lose my grasp,
Collect my cap,
See I’m the same kind of crazy, and that thought is not bleak,
Gaining connection being triumphant feat.

Man is small,
And small is beautiful,
In the mind’s eye,
To put the emphasis on the visible,
When it’s the little not the grand that matters,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

These thoughts give me relief,
Though it only grips for a moment,
Before the internal movement aims with order to restore,
Thinking that previously occupied these shores,
What was once past, policed with vengeance,
Does not willingly shift,
As the wires connect, and the gap does regress,
These feelings continue to swell,
Swiftly returns the mental hell,
Of inferring invincibility,
Being the best,
The ego has landed, the body takes care of the rest,
Doing what it’s told,
Till I’m Saved By The Bell,
The pedestrian pleasure still not a hard sell,
See I’m weak, distracted, enamoured and often awed,
Meek, to the chaotic operation of life, which all seems too serious,
To call it polite,
Surprised by self experience,
And to tasteful applause delirious,
All in equal measure,
Delivered at the same instance, and without pause.
That’s why sometimes I want to jump back to my original cause.
To not existing.

…but then I’d miss the butterflies,
The rise and wane of night,
Agreement and opinion,
Battle hardened love songs and cobbled together lies,
Our time is running out,
How can I be carbon neutral when I want to burn so bright?

That’s why I’ve made it my mission,
To stop, look and listen,
As much as I can,
At least that was the plan,
To take it all in, as if missing out was a crime,
Watching until all motion blurred around me, vision slurring,
The walls presently pulled apart without fright,
Behind which was a mirror and what this play was about,
I could feel the writer’s pen at His paper,
His voice crying out,
And behind it I saw evil,
And with it came doubt.
I stopped, my train of thought dead in its tracks,
With all this new information who was I to attack?

Man is so small,
And small truly is beautiful,
We’d see that if we tried,
No emphasis placed on the considerable,
Efforts we expend to make life matter,
Worthy, original,
Seeking the individual,
That causes it all,
Our greatest accomplishments and our furthest falls,
Smallest wins and massive sins,
Do I feel detached, or too blended in?

Taken aback by this, I then felt refreshed,
In fact delighted that in the mirror there was equal blame,
The pen was in my hand,
Because I was looking at the universe I was standing in,
The very one and the same,
I felt I could heal,
Hurts first dulled, then dissolved,
Reach out and with colour paint the scene,
Join the dots between galaxies, or create love between friends,

In my power was the means to the end,
Something new needed be done, or eyes sent away,
But if all turned to static black,
Door closed firm, no,
It would not be just in shutting down,
Nothing would shine out,
No one over our shoulder watching,
Or answers to why,
Then thinking became bolder,
It hit me right there, I didn’t want to cover up this sight,
And with it the shame,
Most of it didn’t exist, including the pain,
So little was matter,
Most merely light,
Journeying unimaginable space,
To reach us inside,
We butterflies can flutter here,
Can make all this right.



Inspired by honesty.

I’m told it’s not ok,
That it’s not allowed today,
Tortured, hidden behind a shroud,
Veil of human crafted show.

Step back, whilst I sing along,
A tune now past its time,
Carries on out through the night,
That universal call.

Your preservation keeps you strong,
Yet at heart you know the wrong,
And if the Earth at feet grows dark,
It makes the stars shine bright,
And brings out all the names,
From a handmade book that life gives fame,
Then should those heavens fall,
We can find them any place,
Once cowards pass their shields,
Open doors, begin to feel,
Before it fades away.

Step back, whilst I sing along,
A tune now past its time,
Carries on out through the night,
That universal call,
Love one man,
Love them all.

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