Tag: observations

Distracted

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Photo by Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

I’m sitting here, comforting myself – and there’s no one else

I’d rather trust to hold me.

My pounding heart demands a sacrifice each night,

It hopes to die so boldly.

The veins have turned to mist, another substance

They can’t truly carry.

I always think I’m falling when I’m out of secrets

Left to bury.

Living is the strangest thing if you’re alone

But you’re not really lonely.

It almost feels like you’ve made friends with fiction, and for that –

Others call you unholy.

Being the keeper of my youth and audacity to take cover

Might be an extravagant act,

But who is to judge the difference between curses to heaven

And a genuine fact?

Don’t lose your tact

When you are attacked.

The arena is packed

But you don’t have to react.

Distract.

-JW

Frosty Paws

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Photo by Allie Smith from Pexels

To all the people in silver armors, high end saddles and low end taste

I bow so deeply it cracks my bones. They’re the meanest dragons that I’ve faced.

Too faced – everyone lacks one perspective as they see all the plot holes

And all the ways to get the deal through. Chasing money like stumbling foals.

Frosty paws get stuck on unsafe paths in places where stopping is a sentence

Of life spent is rotating fields of nothing – so you better run from that fake vengeance.

But how come we trust the system after it fools us twice before the alarm starts?

Did we simply nod when they said – you’re the target, circumstance is the darts?

There are 500 ways to write yourself out of the simulation this very second –

How could it be there’s only one narrow line you decided to reckon?

Furthermore, is it pure luck we’re born starving but manage to keep it at bay each morning?

I don’t know a lot about mourning.

But I trust that every fool in shiny helmet who chases money is doomed

As great ideas seldom come to minds very well groomed.

I know a thing or two about getting my frosty paws trapped in grounds

Where you never want to be seen by larger crowds.

It’s cold out there for us who don’t believe in glitz of serving

The ultimate purpose of always earning.

How much are you learning?

-JW

Red house by the Silk Road

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Photo from Pixabay

Some choose to follow the same predicament, the dusty pavement.

The particles are getting their brain rusty, but it’s a statement –

To be hollow, or not to follow? What’s the difference if time is borrowed?

I have such hunger to fearmonger. Don’t need to write down your area code,

If needed, I’ll remember the red house by the Silk Road. If needed, I’ll reload.

Some choose their steps like they’re graven, not to wake the death raven,

But feathers fill their lungs gravely. How bravely they cave in

At the slightest of touch… I clutch my madness and run away, blindly,

I’m alone together with my thoughts, oh, please don’t mind me.

Treat me unkindly. I need my feathers ruffled, nightly.

Some choose to stay put in four walls until something better calls –

The drying paint is shriveling the souls like bright leaves during falls.

It might be a stunning scenery but I prefer one wall broken. Helps the greenery.

What a pity I am, so well made and shiny, but unbound by machinery.

I bet they would cut out my heart – if it wasn’t a thievery.

Some choose to never leave me be.

-JW

Toast To The Last Deceit

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Image from Skitterphoto

Cheers to all the concrete walls, to back allies, to crossroads and canyons,

To all the secrets they keep and how they treat daylight like their

dying companions.

To the irreversible and unimaginable, to every beginning of bitter end,

I would promise that it gets easier, but my mind’s broken and body too

so I won’t pretend.

To every inch of floor you’ve cried on or spilled some champagne on in weekends

Because you’re so tired of the rut you’re stuck in, and I’m stuck in the middle –

with you, till the world ends.

Here’s to the people that won’t call back, and the ones who text too much,

I’ve never appreciated modern art but I will admit – 21st century communication

needs artistic touch.

And to the black abyss, darkest pits, death valleys with all the crows in sight.

To the moments where the only way out is through a window pane or screen –

No fight or flight.

To the smoothest chats and pleasant small talks about weather in shitty apartment

Where the peaks mask as fate, then you become obsessed – the end of night

Will taste disheartened.

Please pick up your highball, get the courage to drink to another lonely evening –

Or is it a lovely evening? I don’t want to get demeaning

But when the ego snaps, it’s never even.

So tell me again – what is it you’re deceiving?

Late Night Angst

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Photo by Romain Kamin

The lack of voices in my head sounds like a symphony,

The quiet times in my mind are showing me some sympathy –

They sing to me.

I would raise a glass but my thoughts are as tired

As a race horse the second new jockey is hired –

It’s true (if he’s a friar).

***

I don’t change for any wind: course northbound, sail’s intact…

Some days I think of myself as an act – or an artefact.

It’s rather wonderful how I change everything yet stay in place

But it’s only two cents to enter the race –

And it will always seem like I’m slowing the pace

So join. I’m the last thing in life I can truly handle

But it’s getting foggy so blow out the candle.

Dreams are a nomad’s lantern but I’m too tired to light it,

I’d rather use a sharp compass and a good map reader to fight it –

The imminent death that’s our carrot and stick,

To be honest, god must’ve really planned this trick.

Such naïve beginnings to end up wiser when it’s your time

Rather than taking you full of ego and youthful sublime.

***

I never truly understood why I even was born, I’m not kidding,

Because it’s so easy to climb and to fall, yet still feel like winning.

Your mind can make villas out of allies or department stores

So no one’s really the loser in reaching the highest of goals.

And that’s why I find life entertaining instead of depressive

As irony is a kind of entertainment if you don’t get obsessive –

Find it meaningful enough to plan out every move in the way.

Not to be the advisor to your wiseacre

But history’s also written by those who don’t live another day.

-JW