I have no light,
It does not shine within me,
This globe has no power,
This diode will not emit,
I have no light,
Until you flick the switch.
Quiet at the water’s edge, The
The final rays of sunlight fall,
Golden and fading as they crawl,
At the water’s edge shadows unfold,
A wrapped body laying prone and cold,
Washed onto cold stones from who knows where,
Dumped with malice and without care,
With cold white skin and glazed blue eyes,
Staring lifeless into the darkening skies,
Silent within the suns dying glow,
Christened Jane today, her surname Doe.
The Rude
I sit upon my own doom-laden eve,
Nothing seems solid, nothing is usual,
Everyone seems disinterested, or ignorant,
Zero communication breeds hostility,
An anger builds due to anxiety,
It takes nothing to acknowledge, lift your game,
A lesson is learned, those who should matter don’t,
Expect a comparative reply, lesson result = fuck you!
All the tech in the world cannot fix the fucking rude.
Keep of Hollowness, The
There is a hollowness deep inside,
A place I crawl into when I need to hide,
Where nothing can emotionally affect me,
It’s a safe numb place that no one can see,
Something activates behind my eyes,
And another me removes his flimsy disguise,
While I’m curled up within in my hollow place,
The other me now owns my face,
He’s uninterested in what you have to say,
He feels nothing for what you wish to convey,
He is my protector, he’s my defensive shield,
Guarding the inner me while I’m being healed,
Until a change within fills this hollow space,
There’ll be no emotion, there’ll be no embrace,
He’s insincere, his actions are purely robotic,
He’s a wall, dividing me from a world so chaotic,
Someday the colour will return to my eyes,
The other me will fade, once the chaos subsides,
Leaving me present again, with no need to hide,
Within the Keep of Hollowness, that I’ve built inside.
Rainbows in the dark
Eyes closed, my stretched form has become at one with the couch,
Keyboards pan and echo, blending with a deep drone,
Visiting from 1979, the guitar of Steve Hillage floats through time and space,
In the darkness, the sound of shapes form, morph, and drift away,
Rainbow Dome Musick gives every colour a soundtrack,
The pitch rises and the four ever rainbow meets its crescendo,
The drone lowers, the keys swell, and new sonic doorways are unlocked,
43 minutes and 49 seconds have passed since it feels like I’ve taken a breath,
The rainbow’s drone fades out into an echo, and I’m left in silence,
I am at peace; my mind feels like it has been through a Garden of Paradise,
Cleansed, pure, and ready for sleep.
Madame Sickness
Madame Sickness seeps in, like a thick black gelatinous mire,
She hangs upon every breath, and every thought,
Her weight is immense, overloading with ballast,
However, Madame Sickness is a fair-weather friend,
While she lingers, she will leave her mark,
Like teeth pressed into skin, she leaves temporary scarring.
When Madame releases you from her embrace,
She vanishes, leaving little evidence of her crimes,
She will visit you again, but never when you expect her.
by Edward Burne-Jones (c. 1872)
Who will be there to pick me up
Who’ll be there to pick me up when I fall,
This is a question that the anxious call,
When it all feels too much to bear,
When happiness only brings despair,
When the mind races and the heart beats panicked pain,
And the body is held a hostage by its very own brain,
There’s nobody to pick me up when I fall,
So, from under the weight of things, it will be me who’ll crawl,
But not until heartache runs its painful course,
And anxiety has drunk her fill, without remorse.
Birth of Summer
New growth leaves the earth,
Soft during its virgin spring,
Not yet a thorn, until it dries,
As spring passes, death beckons,
Now sharp and hardened, they pierce,
They cut and tear, death is overwhelmed,
And summer is born.
Injured and Blue
Bright blue lights fill a darkened room,
Cool air flows from air conditioning,
The injured lay prone, away from the burning sun,
A swell of music creates a dreamlike state,
Eyes remain closed in this quiet healing moment,
Pink Floyd asks a crazy diamond to shine on,
The injured oblige, trying to block out the pain,
With a cold drink and two sleeping hounds at hand,
A sleeping bride breathes deeply in a nearby bedroom,
The injured drifts in and out of consciousness,
The summer heat outside is held at bay for now.
The serenity of this moment will soon be over.
X
I am not the night,
I am not the morning light,
I am not the earth beneath,
I am not the hope you seek,
I am unseen, yet everywhere,
I am he of greying hair,
I am one for whom no one cares,
I am just another statistic,
From a generation born fatalistic.
X
Dan Verkys 