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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

I am the rock ever giving, the stone ever yielding
I am alone in this world of self,
Alone in this world of me, I’ll give
You my heart if you ask it of me, I’ll yield
My choice and my life to you.
I am alone in this palace of self,
Alone in this palace of me.
My job ever to carry the flag so white, be burdened
By the feather so black. In the name of peace,
In the guise of love this is My surrender. Bereft
Of my self, what I have left is of no import
Only a sole reminder of the being that once
I was.
The being that cared.
The being that was

Lost in a world of self with no self, being, but not.
Stranded in a time that cares not
For the leaf that falls, the pebble over turned
In the stream. that which is spilt
Means nothing to me, just a trifle wasted in a disposable world.
The dregs in the bottle that once were drunk, in a world of plenty
Remain to be emptied down the drain. Swirling with
The suds, just a faint pink stain in a chemical whirl.
A time unwilling to become involved in concerns
Of that not me, exercising rights to futility and
Worth, love and concern for the shed leaf and disturbed stone.
Marked incurable. Shelved at the back.
Never to be released. All serve equally the purpose well.
Never consider
Never Care
Alone in the palace of self.
Alone in this palace of me.

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

The orange peel dries slowly upon the kitchen floor
Brittle it becomes as
Love has been withdrawn.

Serenity blows in the open window,
Curtains barely rustle so silently it comes.
Downward drip the Madonna’s tears, upward float balloons,
And the orange peel dries slowly on the barren kitchen floor.
Autumn comes and leaves fall down
Amber no longer green.
Fatigue arrives as if late at night
Pleasantly surreal
And the withered peel still slowly dries upon the barren kitchen floor.

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

This old life is tired and it wants to go home
It’s had too much to drink and it’s falling asleep
As the party rages all around
This old life is bored and wants an escape
It’s seen it all before and finds it dull
The repetition and the repartee
This old life has had enough and is seeking out
Every day to it seems the same
It?s capacity for originality gone
This old life is weeping and wants it to end
It?s memories haunt it day and night
With pains of times it knew joy and love
This old life has done too much
Worn out it’s welcome and has become nothing more
Than a parody of it’s past
This old life goes on and on and on
Nobody still alive who cares enough to end
This old life

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

Unburden yourself and get rid of it all
The clutter, the joy and the pain.
Lift it up and throw it away,
The jumble, the rabble and the mess.

Cleanse your existence, wipe it all clear,
The stains, the grime and the marks,
Sweep it under the rug and out of the door,
The dust, the debris, and the chattle.

Erase the past and make it disappear,
The memories, the remnants, the loss,
Mop it up and squeeze out the rag,
The trash, the slops and the swill.

Make room in the closet, you’re going back in,
The secrets, the truths and the lies.
Make room in the closet I’m coming in too,
With my secrets, my truths and my lies.
And we’ll live there together
With our secrets, our truths and our lies.

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

An enigmatic aberration sits by my side
To talk of the world that should be,
Of places to go and little corners in which to hide,
Where to be seen and of all the things to see.
But ethereal being don’t really exist
And the specter by my side begins to fade.
His solidified thoughts dissolve to mist
Leaving me alone sitting in his shade.
Like the pages of a book once turned
Are forgotten and lost to the past,
My solitary companion, whom the world has spurned
Loses distinction and disappears at last.
His name was Dream and Hope and Redemption,
He sat by my side to provide salvation,
But just like he, all is now lost.

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

My skin is cold.
The chill breeze blows gently across me.

I am alive!

Wish it were you here
Warming my body
Breathing life to my soul.

The bottle floats with cork in air,
Bobbing slowly to the sounds of the sea.

Wish you were me.
As time goes by the message is sodden,
And yet we continue.
Indistinguishable purpose and yet I know.

I am alive!

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

If I ignore you long enough will you go away?
My haunting love, my dying soul.
Will you fade away like all else before?
Will you dissolve and wash away like
The chalk drawings I left as a child upon the footpath
As my mark upon the world?
Will you sail away like boys to war? To be lost
On distant shores, never to return?
Blown to bits in a desert I’ll never see?
Will they take you like the child that died in the night?
The one we waited for for 9 long months?
The one we felt kick at night?

If I burn you on a pyre of grief will you go away?
My disappointing life, my impotent existence?
Will your ashes float away on a westerly breeze,
Scattered to empires edges?
Will your breathing cease with the soft pillow pressed
Firmly against your once smiling face?
Will your rose lips turn blue as your last breath flees?
Will I feel the struggle cease as you die in my arms?
Will my guilt expire like the used by date on the
Milk from yesterday?
Or will you continue past the end
Into the darkness as we both descend
To meet the fate that I have contrived?
Or will it turn to the hatred that I so desire,
The justification for it all,
The punishment for which I yearn?
Forgive me for what was done to me.

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

Through the darkness
I see a light
Of hope and sweet abandon
Where matters not the riders three
For they have come and we’ve forgotten
Nirvana blooms resurrected
Eden frolic with abandon
No shame or thought of nakedness
All has been forgiven

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

The trees have grown up and died,
And the orange vase remains.

The radio has stopped making any noise,
But the ants still crawl around my bed.
Maybe this is what it means.
Loneliness is never.
How far away you are, and still
You are near to me now.
Billy Joel still sings and I wonder
If I knew the right question?
The calendar lies so I lie back to it.
The wicker is woven as I am woven into this world,
Your world.
My underwear is dirty and the washing machine still works.
The poster has fallen down but it was not symbolic.
The grouting is gray and the grass is gray
But what does it mean to me?
The orange vase remains and the suntan lotion has ceased to drip.
Maybe I now drip? How do you tell if you are dripping?
I need to know
The soldiers sleep but I cannot.
Forever vigilant, I want to know if we have the right question.
The orange vase remains

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Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

Shining new,
Sleek and sexy,
But what does it mean?
Does it go round in cycles?
Is it a new washing machine?
Why do trees grow up?
Why do people fall out of love?
The self destructive tendency
Uninhibited in most,
Passive in some.
An orange vase sits on the floor
And the clock is not working.
Law suits can make you richer and
The suntan lotion drips
Slowly onto the floor and I am not in love.
Ants crawl around my bed in an endless march.
I?m filled with indecision,
But still what does it mean?
The tarot lies discarded
And the orange vase remains,
So still I ask to you,
What does it all mean?
Stamps are going up in price and there was a war that is now over.
The radio blares
My shoes smell,
Dates fade in and out like endless winters
And the orange vase remains.
So can you tell me what it means>
All my love is all I say but what little that means to those
Who already have.
I don’t know what it means.
I don’t know what it means.
The soldiers are sleeping.

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