I’ve been traversing this rocky road for eons,
Strewn with the dirt of life choices,
And stones of detritus from those same choices,
Cane in gloved hand,
Occasionally with a travel compatriot,
Often alone,
Along the stones,
Many of these travellers walk hand-in-hand with me,
Sharing grand times and raised-hand toasts,
Becoming lovers and allies and mentors,
Others have kicked me in the shins,
Robbing me of every positive emotion I dare felt,
Leaving me lamenting by the side of the road,
Along the stones,
Each step taken is a year,
I may stumble at times,
Sprint at others,
But I am bound to this endless trail regardless,
Like a train tied to a track,
A slave to time unending,
I have become a hollow man,
Cracked porcelain,
Empty inside,
With no signs of smiles,
Since my best friend became obscured,
Through my own foolish artifice,
Without your voice,
My mind has nothing to chew on,
Without your saintly cuddles,
The world is a frightful place,
Without your rainbow hair and honest smile,
My eyes simply cannot light up,
I am an empty vase,
Fractured with its contents leaked,
Only my best friend has the glue,
And the deft touch,
To put me back together,
And fill me up once again.
Am I really human?
Even a person?
I often feel out of place,
Feeling like an alien,
Like a mimic,
A puppet made to resemble a man,
But still somewhat off,
Purely in the uncanny valley,
Impersonating what a human should do,
Imagining narrow-eyed looks from passers-by,
I do what I think normal people do,
Without truly understanding why,
Badly copying fashions of others,
Fraudulently trying to fit in,
When everybody laughs,
I join in perhaps a beat or two late,
If mankind were a puzzle,
My piece is curiously askew.
I found a new nation on my excursions,
This place of good feelings,
Rainbows and all,
All are welcome,
This land of love has open borders,
Manned by open arms,
Do not fear being yourself here,
We are all consenting adults,
Love any man,
And love any woman,
Or any shade betwixt,
Our flag says freedom of expression,
Souls have marched to create this nation,
Against status quo foes,
Stonewalls that stand for any soul in amour,
This is no mundane country,
Its borders span to every heart,
That has felt adoration for another,
Lets sing a swansong for division,
For judgement,
For homophobia,
That is this nations anthem,
Love for all,
However you identify,
I hope that you’re all having a suitably wonderful day today. I’m settling in to my new asylum cell rather nicely. I realised i’m absolutely rubbish at packing and therefore, it took a great deal longer to unpack stuff. In particular my clothes which took a day on their own. Despite all of that, I am loving my new circumstances and I’ve been told I’m looking a great deal happier. So yay!
So it is time for the next volume of the Harlequins writing music. We’re very rapidly closing in on part 50, which is still staggering. What is even more staggering is that you guys still seem to enjoy them, so yay again! We’re going to be exploring five artists that I enjoy listening to while I’m writing and chilling. Inspiration can come from the wildest places after all.
So, join me as we delve into the musical minds of talented artits the world over!
As always, I hope that you all give these artists a try. Even if they don’t seem like your cup of tea at face value, you may be surprised! So try a few songs and then judge eh? The world is full of surprises, or so the voices tell me!
As always, I’ll include the links to the social media pages for the asylum. I have a Facebook pagea Facebook page, a Twitter accounta Twitter account and an Instagram pagean Instagram page. It would mean a lot if you could give me a like or a follow over there, it really helps! Also, if you like what I donhere at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-fi page.on the Ko-fi page. Thanks so much my friends!
Well, until next time, have a very crazy say inmates!
There is only one deity,
And you walk upon her fair form each day,
She is resplendent but in pain,
Choking in an unwanted gas mask,
Built from smokestacks and uranium,
She gave us a home,
But we try our best to destroy her for it,
We burn her green hair,
Her make-up blemished by craters and battlefields,
Her aqua veins are tainted,
Predetermined she limps through space,
She is gripped by barbed wire,
Painfully stopping her from fleeing,
From the satellite gnats,
As they photograph unwanted areas,
She cries in thunderstorms,
As we deliver naught but agony,
She is tempted to burn or wash us away in rage,
She resists though,
She is our mother,
Yet we garrote her each day.
I once left my body,
Off into the night,
Not into a dream,
Nor into my mind,
But careening into the sky,
Imitating a cosmonaut,
I found myself in an ethereal state,
Riding the coat tails of a comet,
Like a wandering gentleman,
Swept right up,
On a cruise through the cosmos,
Surfing through the silver,
I saw stars die in colour,
And be born from the void,
Attempted slow dances with meteors,
Finger painted with nebulae,
Excursions upon the edges of black holes,
A stellar vacation,
Despite the Earths assertions,
Of sheer importance,
Declarations of eminence,
I could barely glimpse it in the black,
It became an afterthought,
Just another speck.
In the new world,
Upon the fields of Lagillas,
A warrior of the Mapuche,
Once defeated,
By the spanish governors soldiers,
Felt shame like a sabre to the heart,
This man of rebellion was punished most severely,
Disrespected even further,
For his insurrection,
His hands were removed,
Out poured blood and fury in streams,
Sent home as a warning,
Returning to his people and chief,
He begged to be sent back to war,
Hands newly fastened with double blades,
Thirsty for Spaniard blood,
Becoming an instrument of revenge,
A warror transformed into a weapon,
To protect his native lands,
The governor would meet his new hands,
Or his teeth.
I once met a lady,
Beautiful in body,
But simply divine in intellect,
We found ourselves alone trading words,
Lessons and stories,
Fables and songs,
Learning and cavorting,
We make love with words over warm cider,
Each anecdote a kiss on the neck,
Syllables and verbs are lips and tongues,
Words are caresses,
Our conversations are as a moan in the ear,
Soft music plays somewhere out of sight,
The dark begins to lift,
We each are spent,
Our minds sweating,
And the night ends too soon,
Will we ever meet again?
WorldofHarley 