Realisation

From http://snappyrockets.webs.com/poetry.htm and written by a friend of mine. One who has been able to learn to play a list of instruments, is learning to sing, and now is beginning to write poetry - for anyone who has time to read it.

Realisation

Realisation
Like that man, that crafty thief.
As he left he lifted all
But the dirt never touched him
No, he strayed from that.
Did he live happy after?
Did he remember it or let it fade?
He says, "Im happy,
Now that my money is made
Although now my memory's faded,
And my clothes are pure,
I'm only glad I didn't
Have a moment of realisation."

That ultimate moment, regular,
Realisation. Not for him.
Lucky man, ceaselessly living
Money-Mattered, without matter.
For me, I realise that realisation
comes in ebbs and flows,
So I must keep above the surface.

That man, that crafty thief.
Stronghold your money, matter.


Unmoved

The scented candles will not
Break the summer breeze's
Scent, brought across the sea
Surf, turning and yet still.

Half of the day is gone,
And the cloudless ceiling
Glistens along the water,
While I am unmoved.

All but two birds have stayed.
The rest will be found
On see-saws, slides and sandboxes
Playing with careless faces.

Half of the day is gone,
Half still to come.
I can see this all,
Yet I am unmoved.


The Last Words

Even if what you said was with thought
Do you think that'd shake me at all?
Difficult as it may be to understand,

I honestly have no regard for that.

How can you say that?
And you have never stopped
To think that maybe your
Ego has rocketed beyond the clouds.

You need to fix your head
Or your friends will start to fade.
Useless, corrupted, sad person.


Cinder Hole

It's hard to concentrate on you
So this will be short.
There is an elephant in this room
But rather it than you.

No, I didn't at all
Not for a second.
And I can't and won't fall
Back into that hole

And the hole went down,
And I heard your strange sounds.
They would have caught my fall.
But I fell through.

No you didn't at all
Not for a second.
And how good is it that
Concentration burns holes.

I'm burning your letters
To keep me warm.


Descent

Two grains bound
From the pestle and mortar
Onto the hard wood floor.

Tumbling through much;
Particles, Dust and Air.
They're comfortable
Even when they're odd.

The happy ground
Happily welcomes.
One bounces,
The other grounds.

While one savours the
Climax of descent,
That broom, merciless,
Will relinquish their affair.


The Lonely Castle

Cracked windows, Broken glass,
Created a twinkling constellation
On an almost fertile floor.
Fertile; as moss, in perfection,
Crept in cracks to the door.

Moss gave this castle life,
Which once was alive,
With sounds of men, sons,
Women, daughters. Rife.
Presently, nature contrives.

There’s a large door
Adjacent to the staircase.
Top floor. So I ascended,
A beautiful wood door stood,
A sign: “The Observatory”.

Hosting and shepherding
That light giving life,
Life giving light.
Preserving and illuminating,
Keeping and gratifying,
The lonely castle