Thousand Years a’ Mote

If there’s nothing hereafter,
emptiness after sorrow,
the end to all morrows,
where does one stand thereafter?
Scores of years end so abrupt,
each breath a curse the Midas touch.

For not all that glitters is gold,
existence may be a canvas yet each life is a mote.
A thousand years a’ speck,
we have a few scores of note.
A million years a’ fleck,
The more I know, just how little one can know of hereafter.

À Toi Mon Espoir

428D446F-057A-40E7-830D-331FA9A436FB.pngIf without sharing you lead half a life, what’s the full service?
What’s the perfect portrait to make life picture perfect?
Should your lively thud decide to cease
I’d split my heart so yours could beat.

For if one thing is certain, it is time.
And such time has taught me well,
for it isn’t time we should grasp, its hope.
It’s hope that makes what is certain bearable,
it is hope which is good for the soul.

You cherish boats, you cherish gold,
yet not the hope which make us grow?
The hope to learn, to see, to know,
To be, to strive and rise from the bleakest of feats.
Hold the intangible dear,
Engulfed in hope we extinguish fear.

5267D235-A7A6-4CA2-B5E0-D536CFE978E0Wonder if I care at all,
Can I really care if I don’t share it all.
They share the load I try not share at all.
It would take 1000 years to share this all.
But for now I have seen 23.
For now I yearn for old memories,
and smile at the thought of more
as time levels and I grow.
If I could get 50 more,
With guidance maybe I can become a man of worth,
if time permits such things for me.
I smile at the thought of who I’ll be
and maybe then I’ll share a piece.

12D9A95A-332D-49A0-AF76-691106992AE3I don’t see the beauty of life when I close my eyes.
I see the purge of pain,
I see the death of tranquility.
The sum total of destruction,
For I am the stump that grows from the root of all what I resent but keep.
I am proof of solitude,
The orphan wolf astray from the pack.

They fear the darkness,
I fear the light.
As light reveals all,
even the shadows,
It takes light in order for us
to see shadows move.
So I fear the light,
I fear exposure, I fear not death
but life.

Beyond Reason…

89994E0F-278F-473C-8DDE-E2116F466CC5Why am I still praying?
I have walked that thin line between a good man and an optimist.
We really should be on top of this.
Instead, we are still praying…

Yet I understand, nothing changes.
You’d say ‘all praise to Allah, one day we will make it’
then at the Mosque you’d pray we do
and at Sunday mass I’d pray for we too.

Me too,
but mostly you.
Pray for your growth and retention on this earth.
Yes, deaths promised but I’d pray that it hit me first.

In the end I’d still pray for you,
I’d pray your safe.
Still every time you weep I feel your pain but when I think of joy I hear your name.

So, in the end, I’m sort of praying for me,
Or we… or us?
As distance leaves us both hurt.
So, today, to save my soul, I pray for us in turn.

So ask me if I’m still praying, I’ll say “not to god but to reason”
To the reason within us both and that which exceeds us.
To thought and wonder and all that which is deeper.

CABA8787-C2AD-4E8B-A455-7A7588563648.pngI wonder sometimes,
Is it worth being selfless.
Shall I just see my side
and nobody else’s?
I guess I’ll tell my side,
but nobody else’s.
I guess I’m ensuring I’m fine
and if I’m honest that’s selfish.

As each moment passes,
life happens and I revise,
I try and try,
to see good in that what’s worthless.
Where lies lay in prey I try stay earnest.
As time decays I search for purpose.
A knife in my back knocked the wind out my sails;
but this is our story and no-one else’s.

I wonder who’s story it is if nobody tells it, if I leave it blank, maybe that’s selfless?
maybe only when I tell it am I truly selfish…
if this is our tale and nobody else’s.

 

SBIW, Asya Valentine ❤️✍🏾

Silence

DFA14E17-EF64-42EA-9244-CA7B830099C7.jpeg
As that fire within you builds, they can break your bones
but not bend your will.

Fighting.

You drop ideals which once seemed so heavy and true,
when you realise those ideals weren’t developing you.

Timing.

It can’t be right or wrong, for time is only time
and if something is right it shall always remain right.

Right?

If only all things were as simple as time,
would our existence be easier with a simpler life?

Silence.

I ask this question, I hear no answers,
there’s nothing.

Just silence.

Still Busy In Wonder: Chapter 18… Eden or Nihilism? Driven by hope

My fundamental understanding of life is that everything that you love will eventually hurt you. You have 2 options, love nothing or embrace the suffering that love brings.

If nothing else this provides hope. Hope is knowing that life is a garden of daisies and thorns, but picking without fear anyway. That feeling of joy you feel as the baby opposite you smiles at you on the train, because you know that canvas is blank and if nothing else that canvas still has hope.

I’ve been figuring why it is that hope is important and I’ve come to only one conclusion. Hope is what allows us to wake up everyday, regardless of yesteryears troubles and tribulations. Regardless of where thought may take me, to the depths of complete nihilism or Eden better yet, hope is what allows me to strive, despite the fact that I know little of what awaits me.

In a way it’s exciting, the fear, the wonder and the chase for all that which is beautiful. I guess my life is still ultimately a mission of wonder, but it’s a sequence of hope, hope for and endless supply of better tomorrows.5AD8F51B-B825-44DD-B340-F4C393CB407F

Winter Days

I mostly remember you for the winter days,
The streets would freeze as you lit my soul,
If the heart could speak then I’d let you know.
You got me through the winter days.

The snow falls, the wind blows and
Our streets are filled with muddied slush.
Even when I was alone on my way to school,
I’d hear your voice say, ‘don’t run’.

Don’t worry, I were always sure to walk,
Even when you left,
I never felt alone, I felt your step
and for all those journeys in my mind we would talk.

I mostly remember you for my winter days,
But I love you for the days I don’t remember.
That Tuesday morning, you remember right?
September 5th, 1995.

The day you became my goddess and you gave me life.
The day I stole your heart and you gave me mine,
you gave me the most precious gift… time.
Yet I must live without you every single day.

Reminiscing of the early years,
loving you for the latter.
Missing you hereafter,
But mostly…
mostly, I remember you for the winter days.

Art

They say art reflects time, I wonder if I die would my art reflect mine?
If my art reflects pain can my art reflect life?
When my times gone, can my art outlive it’s frame?
will my song soar and ring again?
Supported by pain. A Zimmer frame.
To support and carry what should also be in the grave.
If when it’s done only this remains, then I say let it be.
As I face what’s ahead of me, I just let it be. For if my art is any tale, it’s my own, and until it is retold it’s incomplete.591BCE48-CF89-49C5-AEFA-73BAA396E9D2Ar