Is It?

Is it too much to walk on a path of thorns

When the well-travelled road is like industrial porn

Is it wrong to refuse the shoes

When they were bought in endless queues

Is it okay to swim against the tide

Rather than accept they lied

Is it out of style to sing out loud

A different song sung by the crowd

Is it okay to be me

And remain myself and free

Is it wrong to want to be odd

When most worship the golden god

Is it too much for me to want more

Than what is churned out by the media whore

Is it okay to question the status quo

Than to drown while going with the flow.

 

 

 

 

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a man…once

Once upon a time

It is written in this rhyme

a man had more to be

though never did I see

Once upon a time

a man becomes a friend

no secrets in the end

just road that curved to bend

Once upon a time

the man became much more

a child opened that door

and a heart took wing to soar

Once upon a time

as its written in this rhyme

I sit on ages throne

a mile not lost or alone

 

 

Window Lady.

Some secrets were best left unsaid. He knew this as he watched her through the slit in the curtain. It was cold out but he was warm as he watched her in her bedroom. He came here most nights, to watch her getting comfortable after a long day at her work.

He was happy she got home when the light was gone, easier to hide in the dark of the yard. He didn’t remember how he had found her. It wasn’t as if he had been looking to become this voyeur, but something caught him, something in her eyes that made him follow her so long ago. He had never spoken to her, he always just watched. He imagined himself in that room sometimes. Imagined having a life with her.

Of course right now he was more focused on her getting ready for bed. She always went to her room 30 minutes after she got home. Just enough time for him to get himself over to the window. She walked into the room still in her black skirt and white blouse. The skirt was one of her favourites, he thought of a life where he had helped pick it out. The blouse was silky and already unbuttoned to her naval. Her bra was white lace, hooked in the front.

God he felt guilty sometimes just watching.As was her routine, she unzipped the skirt from the side, slowly untucking her blouse. The blouse was just long enough to appear as a very short dress as the skirt fell to the floor. She never wore pantyhose or tights, just her bare skin. Now her legs looked as soft as anything he had ever seen and he marvelled at the pale magnificence that stood about 8 feet from him.

Through the glass he saw her stretch, the blouse raising slightly, just enough to see the black panties beneath. He was already excited by this, already feeling himself enjoying the view. Part of it was the thrill, he knew this. What he did was wrong and illegal. It added to the danger. Maybe he should stop while he could, maybe he should just go back to his own wife.

No he couldn’t do that, not while this was always waiting. He stared at her as she finished unbuttoning the blouse. She slowly let it cascade over her shoulders. She turned from him as it fell to the floor revealing her ass in one of her black thongs. She bent over as she stretched, her ass taught and round. He let his own hand fall, as she arched her back seductively.

She straightened out and turned to face the window. He already knew she couldn’t see him, he tested this himself one night. He leaned closer, almost close enough for his breath to fog his side. She reached up to her bra and unhooked the front. Her breasts exposed to him. They were not big, but they were perfect to him. The nipples round and perfectly positioned. She reached up to rub them, relaxing after a day in that bra.

To him she was rubbing them for him. He could feel himself pushing against the material of his track pants. She turned from the window and walked to a door at the other end of the bedroom. She walked in and closed the door. End of the show he guessed. He slowly turned away from the window and quietly headed home.

As he reached the door he still felt himself hard and longing dearly for the window. He opened the door and walked in, hearing his wife move around. So he followed the sound to their room. They had some hard times recently, but he really felt that his window girl had been helping. Hell he was so hard, that was one of the problems. He walked into the room and saw the mess. He wished she would pick up after herself. He reached down and picked up his wife’s black skirt as she opened the door of the bathroom just in black panties.

“Hey hon, long day for me. How was your run.”

“Fuck the run, come over here.”

Yeah the window lady helped.

A whisper, A tear…

And I heard it as a whisper,

Rustled in the leaves,

A tear that came from nothing,

A moment in the breeze.

I felt the warming light,

Lost within the leaves,

Like spots of molten gold,

A shadowed golden weave.

And what did I hear in that whisper,

I barely made out the words,

I strained to listen closely,

To be sure of what i heard.

The tree was being thoughtful,

Reflecting on its years,

It saw the world in silence,

And that’s what made the tears.

For a tree does not know violence,

It doesn’t know how to hurt,

it lives beneath the sunlight,

It eats moisture from the dirt.

So when it sees the sadness,

Caused by those that hate,

All it can do is whisper,

And hope to change man’s fate.

 

 

 

Heart and Wing

Tall stands the heart of cold

the agent of despair

the owner of souls

never meant for him.

Ever watchful is the bird

with wings spread wide

eyes all-knowing

all manner of sin.

The heart and the bird

in a dance of forever

one waiting to steal

the other wanting to save.

In the shadow and light

with fist and wing

each wanting the end

with the roads each paves.

And above the dance

is a god still sleeping

lost in a slumber

seeing with no eyes.

The heart likes the slumber

The bird wants him roused

and the world cries out

before the day dies.

 

 

 

Humanity

A study in humanity

A look back to a cause

or an act of futility

Your hands in pockets

with faded pictures

in a rusted locket

Too much to go back to

against a howling wind

reasons left untrue

The light of what was

unchanging in excuses

just grasping on straws

Be what it may

it made us what we are

an endless sad ballet

Humans we are flawed

and we never see

that perhaps there is a God

In the child’s hand

the tree’s  leaves

in the untouched sand

 

Maybe we will never learn

stay in our hypocrisy

and still the days turn.