I stand upon the precipice
A thousand voices cry my name
A thousand disembodied limbs grasp out
The tattered flesh of their hands taking hold
They try to drag me into oblivion
None but I shall fight this battle
Only I against my demons
The will of the people behind me
The anguished wails of my screams echo
Across the cavernous walls of the depths of Hell
There can be no revolution without bloodshed
Che's words become etched on the padded cell of my mind
I raise arms against a sea of troubles
Rolling in pain, bitterness, agony, and hate
The only blood I shed is my own
-OT-
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
?
Why do people do favours
I have often asked myself
Do they believe
That they can really help
Or does the effort they make
Make them feel successful
Maybe if they relented
Their joy would soon turn to grief
As they realized the attempts
They once proudly made
Were simply self-satisfying
Did their motives cancel out the good they did?
Are peoples’ emotions subject to intense scrutiny?
Of which we are unaware
Does God judge us on the motives that drive us?
Everyone is contented in the end
And if not feel they have been giving a fair deal
So what need for debate I hear you say
The person feels better about their self
A feat difficult to achieve in an ever-depressed world
A much-needed task has been completed
Both interior and exterior necessities
I have often asked myself
Do they believe
That they can really help
Or does the effort they make
Make them feel successful
Maybe if they relented
Their joy would soon turn to grief
As they realized the attempts
They once proudly made
Were simply self-satisfying
Did their motives cancel out the good they did?
Are peoples’ emotions subject to intense scrutiny?
Of which we are unaware
Does God judge us on the motives that drive us?
Everyone is contented in the end
And if not feel they have been giving a fair deal
So what need for debate I hear you say
The person feels better about their self
A feat difficult to achieve in an ever-depressed world
A much-needed task has been completed
Both interior and exterior necessities
Responsibility
Responsibility is a terrible word
It’s owned but unlike money there is no rush to possess it
No loud brawling voices claiming ownership
No inherent rights are attached; in fact it’s a package on its own
It goes unwanted in a carefree world
Great mounds of the stuff are formed
But like a traveler’s car no one claims it
People run from it
And call it by other names and don’t see it for what it is
Yet they know it’s out there
Its in the lost and found in the airport
No baggage handler brings it home
For a Christmas present
It’s owned but unlike money there is no rush to possess it
No loud brawling voices claiming ownership
No inherent rights are attached; in fact it’s a package on its own
It goes unwanted in a carefree world
Great mounds of the stuff are formed
But like a traveler’s car no one claims it
People run from it
And call it by other names and don’t see it for what it is
Yet they know it’s out there
Its in the lost and found in the airport
No baggage handler brings it home
For a Christmas present
Monday, July 9, 2007
A Moonlit Vision
Many years ago I spent a restless night in Compton in Los Angeles ... and as I watched the city in all of its full-bodied, grande glory, I was inspired to write this piece as I gazed upon Venice Beach.
Tenderly I held the moonlight in my gaze,
As though caressing a long lost love,
Sourly I cast my visage across the bay,
Momentarily distracted by the glimmer of streetlights below.
The cars go by,
Their sounds drowning out the night's melodious cricket-song,
Fortuitously I had drawn in my mind's eye
An image; sought after by those who seek solitude in the masses.
The water rushes in and fondly runs its fingers through the hair of the sand,
I lie alone.
-OT-
Tenderly I held the moonlight in my gaze,
As though caressing a long lost love,
Sourly I cast my visage across the bay,
Momentarily distracted by the glimmer of streetlights below.
The cars go by,
Their sounds drowning out the night's melodious cricket-song,
Fortuitously I had drawn in my mind's eye
An image; sought after by those who seek solitude in the masses.
The water rushes in and fondly runs its fingers through the hair of the sand,
I lie alone.
-OT-
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Visit Sicily
Inspired by no one ... dedicated to everyone ...
Staring blankly as I walked into the room
I watched as her evanescent form vanished into mist
And as I searched frantically for her voluptuous form
The gentle curves of her like a Sicilian hillside
The moonlight gently reflecting off her a mirror sheen
Her form captivating me
I fall into a world of my own creation
Time means nothing and all I have is her
She speaks only to me and all I hear is her
We spend an eternity in each other's arms
Where none shall disturb us but the warm breath of Sicilian wind
Ah Sicily ... what a beautiful country ...
Staring blankly as I walked into the room
I watched as her evanescent form vanished into mist
And as I searched frantically for her voluptuous form
The gentle curves of her like a Sicilian hillside
The moonlight gently reflecting off her a mirror sheen
Her form captivating me
I fall into a world of my own creation
Time means nothing and all I have is her
She speaks only to me and all I hear is her
We spend an eternity in each other's arms
Where none shall disturb us but the warm breath of Sicilian wind
Ah Sicily ... what a beautiful country ...
The Gambler
Having lost more than I knew I had
I realised how meaningless possessions were
With them I was unaware without them I was searching
For something that should be confined to darkness
I still dont know I still dont
But I do care for gains soon turn to losses
She spoke to me when she whispered
Softly in my ear I gambled with the chance
That maybe someday in some distantly eloquent future
That one da y she would be the loss I had feared
And I, destitute and alone
Heartless as the slot machines I played upon
-DJ-
I realised how meaningless possessions were
With them I was unaware without them I was searching
For something that should be confined to darkness
I still dont know I still dont
But I do care for gains soon turn to losses
She spoke to me when she whispered
Softly in my ear I gambled with the chance
That maybe someday in some distantly eloquent future
That one da y she would be the loss I had feared
And I, destitute and alone
Heartless as the slot machines I played upon
-DJ-
Number One
The bursting earth sprung forth and delivered sustenance,
Sustenance to the countenance of the wild hawk,
Who dwelt subconsciously as he dove and scoped a rat from the surface,
Tearing his bloody flesh twixt his razor beak he tore flesh from bone,
In a beautiful symphony of predator and prey.
- OT -
Sustenance to the countenance of the wild hawk,
Who dwelt subconsciously as he dove and scoped a rat from the surface,
Tearing his bloody flesh twixt his razor beak he tore flesh from bone,
In a beautiful symphony of predator and prey.
- OT -
The Opening Act
Hi, my name is OT and myself and a friend, Dream Junkie, have decided to set up this blog in order to express ourselves artistically ... we hope that you enjoy reading our words as much as we enjoy writing them ... and please do feel free to leave a comment. All feedback is welcome.
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