shrouds

 tell me brothers and sisters       how well do you sleep?     do you lie down gently with acquiescent lambs?      or run in terror with ravenous wolves?      do you follow secret paths known only to your heart?      are the thoughts that await you there a burden to your mind?     because we abhor what we fear      and we fear what we don’t understand       

that’s ok    just don’t think about it       avert your gaze     hide your eyes     bury your fear somewhere deep inside     where it will learn your secrets as it festers in the dark     the lord of death knows each of us by name    he nestles in our sheets as we sleep      and we walk with the ghosts and spectres he sends to haunt our dreams       

we’ve been to some dark places      that’s the topography of life    this world is made of fear and death    there is love of course    but that’s just on the surface     deep down we are motivated by fear     and our greatest fear is death     but if we give it no name      perhaps it will go away       like a bad dream    or a spell of rain     it’s three in the morning     we’re wrestling angels and losing again     but we’ll keep up the pretence as long as we can      there are burdens enough with the coming of day       we’ll shake off our shrouds as we roll out of bed      in the land of the living there’s just no room for the dead

archaeology

poor boy was a loner    poor boy was a shadow     he’d been banished from the tribe       because he had this one weird gimmick     you could say it was his calling      poor boy used to dig up ghosts       he found ghosts everywhere      and people didn’t like it       the ghosts didn’t like it        poor boy didn’t like it either        but he was obsessed with his ghosts        he was so obsessed he became a ghost too      and gradually faded away       soon to be forgotten     but I’ve seen him  by the canal      and on the viaduct too         in the company of ghosts    in the melancholic gloom

 

bipolar distemper

 the blunt edge of depression     rolls across my portion of the sky     it’s gonna rain again    nobody can gauge when or why    somebody help me     I’m coming undone       we all have secret sorrows       I’ve had enough of mine     I woke up into a nightmare      I might never sleep again    some have wounds that do not show       but they bleed     they bleed from the soul    I’m not helpless – I’m hopeless      they call it suicidal ideation    my life is a burning building     I may have to jump     it’s burn or dive      there is a terror beyond falling    the choices here are stark   

bipolar distemper is a side effect of living      and living is a disease with one cure     and one cure alone    I won’t cry in public     I won’t rend my clothes       I’ll weep on the inside    I’ll weep from my soul      there’s no comfort to be had    no magic pills    my soul carries more scars    than living tissue   this is not sadness       sadness will pass like the common cold     this is cancer     a cancer of the soul      I feel so ashamed        to carry this burden     I’ve done something wrong     something so huge   I can’t even comprehend it      the devil has hold of my soul     and from where I sit now       he’s welcome to it

 

lies

 I like to drink    but I only with my friends     I don’t care to drink with strangers     I have to factor in my concentration     got to keep my story straight        my lies always carried more weight than my truths   after all, lies are the common currency    truths are rare as diamonds     I save the truths for the people I trust     what do you say to that?    I don’t know what to say myself      it’s not my place to say     but what do you think?     coz I don’t know what to think    I never knew what to think  I always moved in the wrong direction    is that symptomatic of a poor education?    I could blame my past       but with little conviction       I’ve always been the victim of my own machinations    I couldn’t care less now     but I suffered then     nobody suffers like the poor      and I was impoverished in spirit      I could tell some stories      we all could tell some stories     life is anecdotal and fifty percent deception     but that’s to be expected     how could we live with ourselves if it weren’t for our lies?

the devil

they say it takes one to know one    that the devil knows his friends    and I’m not ready to repent    I’m not through sinning yet       I don’t care what people say    I don’t care what they think     if I pour the poison    I can bear the shame     I’ve often been the villain     in other people’s schemes     but now I set the agenda      we’ll see where that leads      I might play the devil      I might just steal his clothes     I’d rather play the devil    than someone you don’t know     it can take a little evil    to get your business fixed     but they say the devil is worldly wise     and he knows all the tricks