I continue in service of memory,
My debt settled in honour,
For the light that pierced
Through horror.
For in the abyss, the
Concrete desert lived a nomad.
A fitting place for
The truly deserted.
A modest life,
One riddled with burden,
A soul littered in pain,
Yet it was love you worshiped.
In that shadow I lurk,
In your shadow I learnt,
Now in your honour I work
And your memory I serve.
Asya Valentine, Busy In Wonder
The more I sit and ponder,
The less my thought wander,
The simpler my wonder,
As Iโm humbled by age.
We all have hopes,
Delusions of grandeur,
To mask our simplicity
And act as an anchor;
To illusions drawn
In the prison of individuality,
Yet we all become aware,
Even if gradually.
That our pain is ordinary,
A promise from life
And no one soul is special,
Not even mine
Hereโs a tale of a few,
A trodden path,
A told tale
Of broken bonds,
A folk tale,
A stolen song.
You shaped his soul,
He took your breath,
You lost your time
And he lost his head.
One went that day
Yet both hearts wept.
Your spirits left.
His soul is dead.
The path of a social deviant,
limitless qualms and little agreement,
Itโs hard to be stable
if youโve never stopped grieving.
I never were whole,
Not since you stopped breathing –
Itโs sleepless nights
And lonely evenings,
Itโs troubled thoughts,
Itโs countless demons,
Itโs constant rain
Forecast this season.
I can see some better
Days on the hill
As I lookout
This time,
Thereโs a little hope
In my dreams,
Thank you,
You changed my life.
Somehow you always
Know what to say
And what to think
Or write.
Youโre my final
Chance at a smile,
You really
Saved my life.
Thereโs still no happy endings in site,
I guess thatโs life,
Itโs fine.
A thousand days of tears in this life,
It feels like time
Itself cried.
Maybe sometime Iโll be fine just for
a moment in time,
All the wrong could feel right.
No brighter days on this hill,
not a flower in site,
no happy endings in life.
Brief moments,
in the end we are merely highlights,
a showreel – conscious, yet not of thought,
the sum total of action
and not a touch more.
In the end, intentions matter little,
desire is a petty distraction
little matters in theory
and theory matters little.
We are action.
Mercy, itโs in our prayers
and itโs our biggest cancer,
societies poison, humanities pill,
itโs mercy, the sweet nectar of power
at mercies behest some plunder and steal.
Mercy, it both separates
and connects us to the animal kingdom.
The power of mercy
bestowed upon lords,
the bedrock of hierarchy
and so much more.
Mercy, the noose around the neck
of the 21st century serf,
the promise of subjugation
at birth,
the promise of death by a thousand cuts,
mercy, so misunderstood in a merciless world.
