Life in images.

Painting life,
Like a picture,
So we won’t forget.

Leaving out,
All the faces,
Draw the silhouette.

Tonight will end soon,
So let me paint you.

Cause my mind’s running,
In fear that,
We may soon forget.

Our only time.
So we try, and we fail,
Just to keep it all alive.
We wait, for the fate,
To turn it back, to the part,
Where we know it all began.
Right to the start, of this.

Searching for,
The keys of all the,
Locks inside our head.

Finding just,
A blurry picture,
Clear it up instead.

Won’t you try and lend a hand,
Just help me out.

Cause I can’t think,
Of the everything,
I might leave something out.

Our only time.
So we try, and we fail,
Just to keep it all alive.
We wait, for the fate,
To turn it back, to the part,
Where we know it all began.
Right to the start, of this.

Now it’s all,
Here again,
It’s all in my head.
And I will never,
Forget this day.

Our only time.
So we try, and we fail,
Just to keep it all alive.
We wait, for the fate,
To turn it back, to the part,
Where we know it all began.
Right to the start, of this.

There it goes.

You led me on,
Had me thinking we were real.

There wasn’t a thing,
That you would really feel.

I played my part,
In the sick game that you made.

I don’t need you now,
To find my way.

There goes the pain,
Weight off my shoulders.
I drop the chains,
Lightened my arms.
There goes the world,
Lost in translation.
You’ve lost your hold,
Over my emotion.
There it goes.

I know it scares you that,
I can be something more,
Than what you planned for me.

You may feel confident,
That you have broken,
The little humanity left in me.

But now I don’t need you,
Don’t need your games to play,
I’m leaving today

Now you don’t control me,
You can’t take away from me,
All that I am.

There goes the pain,
Weight off my shoulders.
I drop the chains,
Lightened my arms.
There goes the world,
Lost in translation.
You’ve lost your hold,
Over my emotion.
There it goes.

We’ve lost the feeling,
It has no meaning,
Just let it go.

Psychosis.

It’s a different kind of,
Motivation.

A darkened kind of,
Emotion.

A wrong but fitting,
Solution.

An answer cause to,
Evolution.

I keeps me crying for,
Some peace within.
I makes me find,
A doubt in everything.
Demons in my head,
Inside my psychosis,
Which I can’t repel.

Feeding on the wrong,
Information.

Dancing in my head a new,
Recreation.

Looking for a reason for a,
Revolution.

Or is this just some kind of,
Natural selection.

I keeps me crying for,
Some peace within.
I makes me find,
A doubt in everything.
Demons in my head,
Inside my psychosis,
Which I can’t repel.

I think that I should start,
My own religion.

It seems the only sane,
Explanation.

No one thinks I’m crazy,
If I call it devotion.

I’ll forever me remembered,
For my contribution.

My life will be,
The front page.
Defying death,
Create an age.
Demons in my head,
Inside my psychosis.
Which I won’t repel,
So they treat me well.

End of Days.

There's a man walking around,

Taking names.

He will decide who's up,

And who lost the game.

You know everyone wont be,

Treated all the same.

Be sure not make,

Even a sound.

When you see that old man,

Come around.

You will scream out in terror,

And freeze.

Your breath will leave you,

On a strong breeze.

He will decide who goes,

And who remains.

Hear closely now,

As he explains.

The time for retribution,

Has arrived.

The names of the sinners,

Have been derived.

Those who sinned,

Will be left behind.

The rest of us get a chance,

To hit rewind.

The lonely man,

Leads the way.

Guiding those,

Who've gone astray.

He turns around to see,

Those who follow him.

Right behind him,

The crowd has gone thin.

Conversation.

I met God,

On the corner,

Of a dusty boulevard.

I saw him stand,

With broken clothes.

And a cigarette,

In his hand.

I had to know,

Where was he,

When my time was low?

What was wrong,

Where had You been,

All along?

Where was He,

When the old man,

Was killing me?

Were you lost,

Or didn't You,

Realise, what it cost?

I met God,

On the corner,

Of a dusty boulevard.

I saw him stand,

With broken clothes.

And a cigarette,

In his hand.

Was it something,

Wrong in my part.

Was it something,

I should have known,

From the start?

Why didn't You help me,

Couldn't you hear me cry?

Why did you,

Let me bleed there and die?

I met God,

On the corner,

Of a dusty boulevard.

I saw him stand,

With broken clothes.

And a cigarette,

In his hand.

He held me hand,

And led me away.

He told me child,

I couldn't let you stray.

Here in this world,

I made with my hand.

Among all this evil,

You were too good to stand.

You maybe dying,

But look at me face.

Follow me onward,

To a better place.

I met God,

On the corner,

Of a dusty boulevard.

I saw him stand,

With broken clothes.

And a cigarette,

In his hand.

The World Will Move On.

Hypocrites fill the world,

Speaking out,

For what they haven't heard.

Try and make,

Some sense of it all.

Struggling with the door,

The sign says pull,

But yet we push some more.

Holding on,

To ideals that we lost.

The world will move on,

Yet we just hold on,

To things we should,

Have left long ago.

The world will move on,

Long after you are gone,

We will not change,

The way it spins you know.

The privilege of our birth,

Laughing out,

As we burn the earth,

Maybe we were,

Wrong from the start.

Common man he screams,

Waking up,

From one of sordid dreams,

Did he choose this life,

Or did we make it up.

The world will move on,

Yet we just hold on,

To things we should,

Have left long ago.

The world will move on,

Long after you are gone,

We will not change,

The way it spins you know.

Broken dreams and scars,

Stealing suns,

And reaching for the stars,

Is it any wonder,

How it fell apart.

Castles in the sky,

Falling down,

And you wonder why,

How could it,

Have all gone so wrong.

The world will move on,

Yet we just hold on,

To things we should,

Have left long ago.

The world will move on,

Long after you are gone,

We will not change,

The way it spins you know.

The Killer.

"Why would you kill me?"

Asked the pastor to the thief,

"Is it because you're poor,

Or because you have no belief?"

"Or do you do it,

So your table has food,

Or does my life depend,

On convenience and mood?"

The thief said, "Father,"

"I know that I sin,

But you know not the turmoil,

That I hold within."

"I was not always this man,

I could not kill even a bee,

But one night changed my life,

With the death of my family."

"Since then I believe,

That there cannot be a god,

And for preaching in his name,

You are no more than a fraud."

The pastor said, "Son,"

"Maybe life is not as you see,

Just because your love died,

Does not mean you cannot be free."

"You may choose to murder,

Loot, steal and kill,

Or you could try and listen,

To your own free will."

"True," replied the killer,

And brought the gun to a head,

He squeezed on the trigger,

And the pastor lay dead.

"My child never sinned,

And nor did my wife,

Then tell me this father,

Why didn't the lord spare their life?"

"In His name you spoke,

In your preachings you lied,

I find it ironic then,

That with his teachings you died."

The killer stepped outside,

From church and Lord's home,

Again he realised,

That he was truly alone.

He reached for the paper,

That he held in his hand,

And he crossed another name,

As he cleansed the land.

He stepped in the rain,

Slowly he moved on,

Another preacher had to pay,

Before the break of dawn.

Trapeze Artist.

How long had it been,

I just cannot say.

Coz the day I had arrived,

Looked a look like today.

The years rolled by,

And the seasons changed.

But everything inside me,

Still seems the same.

How can I say,

What happened in my life.

When I don't even know,

Why I'm still alive.

The days have all gone,

As the sun rose and set.

And someday I will die,

Without a drop of regret.

Everyone wants to ask,

Why am I here?

What is in my life,

And what do I fear?

I know not what to say,

For I don't know myself.

But I tell them the answers,

Are the same as yourself.

Why is it then?

That life comes around.

When all that I had lost,

Was someday found.

What do you say?

When you seek no answers.

You tell who ask the questions,

Why do they wonder?

Why do they care,

What I have to say?

How does it matter,

To them anyway?

Why do they wonder,

Under which sky I lie?

Does it even matter,

Wether I live or die.

P.S.> I've been on a roll. I don't know why, I don't know how, I don't even know if all that I wrote in these 2 days of March, is even worth anything. All I know is, I've felt this urge to write and for some reason I'm thinking too much. I just felt the need to put it in words and tried to make them as songs, but they are not. 

These last few works are poems, no matter how much I try to deny it or change it. People will scoff, ridicule, point and amuse themselves. Or maybe they will wonder for a deeper meaning. If you are a part of the wonderers, then please, just regard these as nothing more than a youth's ramblings put into rhyming prose. 

"I'm not a poet. I hate the term. I consider myself to be a trapeze artist, swinging from words to phrases and thoughts to ideas. I carefully balance the words and attempt to keep the reader's eyes on me throughout my act of a few verse. Maybe some lose sight and some find it boring, I find it a way to express myself to those around me." -- Bob Dylan.