heaven

as he-Matthais-lay

lay quietly

restlessly

waiting

waiting for death

he wondered

what heaven would be like.

/

Then he lay still

and tried,

tried to think

of younger days

days gone past

of what he-Matthais-

wanted

heaven to be like.

/

then it

came.

it came.

/

that with which

cliches

describe as

"life... flashing...

before... me... "

/

flashing.

/

No.

that feeling of it all

coming full circle

of it all

making sense.

/

Then he-Matthais-he,

in the soft darkness

smelt first

smelt first the sweetness

of freshly-cut grass.

/

and felt its dewey blades

tickle his bare feet.

/

felt them, them, behind him

gazing at him

full of love.

still there

still in his bed

dying.

/

but oh, so wondrous

oh, so everywhere.

it was everything he wanted

everything he had dreamt

indeed, it was a dream

for each man dreams his own heaven.

/

it stretched

stretched

into God

into eternity.

Waiting

Who are we but waiters
Upon oblivions edge?
Where is our Eurydice
Our Odysseus, Our
Henry?

The lost lover, beyond
away.
Out there somewhere, her
presence
is real, felt
accentuating her absence in our now.

A time traveller,
random, uncertain, yet
the only thing we know.

We shuttle through life
Oh, its wicked and lonely
ebbs
Waiting.

Our eyes stare into the
nothingness the void the
absurdity
of it all.
Yet we cling.
Because we believe
beyind all measure
that she's out there.
Somewhere.

And oh,
what bliss
what ecstasy
what sheer joy
she would bring.
If only she came.
Alas for now,
only emptiness.

We waiters watch
wait
yearn
wait an eternity
for moments,
fleeting seconds,
yet
it is all worth while.

Is it all
gone
past
behind me?

Something that touched me
touched me so,
yet something
I can never touch again?

God, help me
Help me find find her.
Help me wait.

Of Youth

Ah! We are but young
That thing so elusive
So desirable, so
epheral

In time, our youth, our
beuty shall fade
In time, we will grow
and change
and change.

In time, our bright days
Would be confined
comfined
to a definite past
A memory we struggle to
keep.
In time.

Yet, now we shine
Noe we smile
Now we think not
of those years creeping
of those times that seem
so far away.

Now, we are bright
Now, we are young
Now, we have everything
And nothing can stop us.

A Murder And A Death And A Life

"And while she wishes she was a dancer

And that she’d never heard of cancer

She wishes God would give her some answers

And make her feel beautiful."

--Innocent, by Our Lady Peace.

There she lay. Still. Young. Dead. Alone in a large dark theatre, sprawled elegantly across the stage. She always did have such grace.

Cher could not believe her eyes, she simply stared, blinking hard. Still, Cher looked intensely upon her friend, as if looking somehow make her see that the deep red were just scarlet cloths, like in another one of her many plays. Jules always was alive, fiery, brave. An actress, an insurrectionist, a rebel. Somehow, what she lacked in looks, Jules made up for in charm, grace and imagination. And such imagination she had.

Perhaps it was all meant to end in this way. Her death did strangely mirror her life; dramatic, elegant, and red. Theatric and poetic to the end. Cher always wondered if Jules did it all simply to feel beautiful, since she could not look it. Well, it was too late to know that now. After all, Cher would not want to dishonour the dead.

And as dear dear Jules lay there, still, young, and dead, in a most peculiar way, she was beautiful.

Fin

daydreaming

I saw a cloud within the sand
Beneath my boots today.
It took me to another land
That was pink and blue and grey.

A mystery, the night of stars
And quite a strange melancholy,
That strummin' on my teak guitar
Would spell my greatest folly.

For in that land as bright as light
Sing out, oh we could not.
We yearned and waited for the night,
When light was light, no more.

The princes, horses and their foxes
Chased me down that road,
With my teak guitar and lacquer boxes
Filled with quite a precious load.

In the Land of Dreams and Sand and Cloud
I ran from the bright lights
And from wicked men in holy shrouds
While orchids bloomed within my sight.

And then, as if by magic chance,
Saved by my guardian's chalice,
To sing the praise of circumstance
With my guitar, against their malice.

Lances, swords, and spears of death
Fell upon me that hour.
And then, faith filled, (I had some left.)
I sang that hymn of p'wr.

So those same clouds, to me they came,
The ones of pink and blue and grey.
They shielded me with shadows tame
In a stange and quiet way.

But still I shut my eyes in fear,
Tho' fear itself feared them no more.
They beckoned me to open, dear!
And hide in dreams no more.

green on green and gray

a leaf fell in a tank today
of different shades of green
soft and supple tendons
rest upon rigid heavy steel.

green, transient.
youth, passing.
thoughts flood as
engine rumbles and
steel chassis roars along
violently

strength, could it be?
in unlikely tenderness
cool soft alive
in a dream, within
vulgar noises and coarse shambles

don't wake me up.

Dust and Echoes.

the old old School Hall
was bigger than i remembered.
it stretched beyond, behind, and high up.
dusty cold walls holding
dustier memories.

the old old School Hall
was bigger than i remembered.
larger than life, it seemed
days of granduer behind her
when dreams and voices
cluttered her veins.

now, the cracks and crevices can hear
no more laughter.
but somehow i know that she
must still remember
youth, a fluffy pink cloud
that once was, alas

clouds are transient.

and i bid the old old School Hall
one last farewell-
too small a tribute to
too large a hall.
she seems to echo, ever so softly.
or maybe it's just me.

stepping out slowly
i leave a sigh behind.