Planets exploding in
dark alleyways,
fragments breaking windows
and resting on floors.
Fires ignited in an instant,
showing what lurks
in the shadows.
Cowering animals
we are,
sheilding our eyes
from light and debris.
Definitions dynamited
into piles of sand.
Boundaries crumble
like paper.
And Beauty,
the rising phoenix
with wingtips,
ascending
through the flames
towards heaven.
Instead of pouring over old faded photographs yellowed with age,
Instead of tenderly turning pages of an old, scribbled out diary,
Instead of playing old records and touching the covers smiling,
Instead of reading letters from all over the world,
leaking pressed flowers and glitter,
We will sit at out parents' and our grandparents' computers.
We will sit in a darkened room with
one finger moving.
try to recreate our history, the textures and toils and loves that have made us,
And I hope we will all
Find something.
The crickets and cicadas drown out the mellow music as
hundreds of white butterflies flit aruond boulders and coconut trees.
The suck of the ocean, the roar and tumble
as it buffets the edges of this island.
Stray cats and dogs, I feel an affinity with all of them,
mewing from underfoot and watching with deep brown eyes.
Grains of sand like tiny pebbles on the beach that merges with
the grey rocks like water folding into the densest jungle,
a myriad of impenetrable green,
The ridge of the mountain spiky with coconut trees that lean outwards
to reach the cloudy sky.
To throw away the past
takes forgiveness.
To grow into yourself
takes truth.
To love another person
takes empathy.
To remain real
takes awareness.
To become ecstatic
takes perspective.
To believe in magic
takes wonder.
To change the world
takes motivation.
To change your mind-
realisation.
To be fulfilled
takes determination.
To live in this world
takes guts.
I wish I was a train,
Id be a dark carriage and hurtle through tunnels,
Slice through causeways
And underground bowels of the city,
A silver bullet leaving light streaks in the night.
During the day,
I would lie in a yard in the beating sun,
Dormant and unaware of the graffers who risk life
And freedom to mark me,
So I might take their names on nightly missions
And spread their art far and wide.
I would stop only at secret stations,
The ones now unused,
Where lost souls of the city linger,
Waiting for their final ride.