The Highway and The Hearse

The highwayman had a past,

To confide in he had always sought.

Everything seemed to threaten his highway oft,

And for his highway ,this world he had fought.

Alas the fights leave the dead in smears,

And the death black hearse were his wheels.

Gathering the honest , shunning the dishonest,

The hearse is dark, but in good earnest.

Alas came in one passenger,

Whose soul he thought to be no stranger.

To his wandering highway heart, he finally had shelter,

The reins of his hearse grew looser , not tighter.

How strange is this stranger ,

To have left him in this manger.

But the hearse now welcomes him ,

The highway is the only one that can shelter him.

/* So this one draws from audioslave's I am the highway and Porcupine tree's I drive the hearse. It's about a solitary wanderer realizing that wandering is ultimately what he has to do . It is the only thing real for him. Everything else and everyone else comes and goes like various passengers on the hearse and only the highway remains. The highway is the wanderer's ultimate muse */

All Roads Lead Home

I walked down my solitary hill,

Into the city and its monotonous mills.

Into the quiet night,

I reached my door divine.

The door to what was once my paradise,

But now hope slipped like black ice.

All roads lead home,

It is just a romantic hope.

I looked over at my untouched chair,

And found myself lying over there.

The dilapidated house did once again transform ,

As if welcoming me with open arms.

Not a soul was in sight,

But the one I had to fight.

Crying is easy, but it is hard to hope.

Maybe, all roads lead home.

* This was written a long time ago , but I see the meaning now. Self fulfilling prophecies?*

Raven

Beautiful creature
Perched so purposefully
Dignified in stature
Each pointed feather in place
Seemingly youthful
But your eyes give it away
Shinning, yet sad
There is a weight in those eyes
A weight larger than your frame could ever carry
Under the gleam of pristine feathers, you’re a fighter
Protecting yourself is second nature
That sharp beak does not go unused
You keep up your image and hope to protect what’s underneath
Flight from others gives you that protection too
Majestic wings to carry you to solitude
But with solitude, you lose those that still choose to care

A Red Tear Rolls Down White Flesh

A red tear rolls down white flesh

The first year in many years,

But it doesn't help ,

Maybe more tears will.

Red tears rolling down white flesh,

Do not help ,

Even if clear tears would,

But don't come out.

Red tears do not help,

Yet they are wept.

The Room

I have always  dreaded that room. It's too loud, it's too bright. Sometimes I wish I had dark sunglasses on . Sometimes I wish I had ear muffs to block out all that clatter. More than too bright , more than too loud I think it's too many people. Just too many of the , talking about different things. Every one talking and no body listening. I wish someone would listen to me. So I try to talk in that room even though I find it uncomfortable. I talk and no one listens. But no one listens to anyone anyway. They talk at me . They say I don't know how to talk. They say I am too silent.So I keep away from the room . I talk to myself. Myself keeps me happy . He is my best friend. Sometimes , he even listens to me. Sometimes we make a louder noise than the entire dreaded room. I am happy to finally have someone who listens. But I can't understand why they won't listen to me. More so ,why would they say that I don't know how to talk . I talk to myself ,don't I? And he understands me too. So why can't that room also listen. So I decided to give it one final try. Since everyone calls me silent , I decided to go scream in the room. So I went to the room and screamed at the top of my voice. I thought they'd be happy that I wasn't silent anymore. But they just scoffed at me and called me too loud . This room is beyond me. I think , it's not that I don't know how to talk , it's that they don't know how to listen . Anyway , I am going back to myself. At least he listens to me. I don't like being alone, I just like being heard.

Faceless, Nameless-II

Lonely , desolate roads tonight are alone,

The cobbled stones will not be bloodied anymore.

There is no faceless, nameless boy here tonight,

To shed blood with all his might.

There is a faceless at a ballroom,

As sharply dressed as his knife.

There is a nameless at some dinner table,

Dissecting through meat as if it were of another stable.

Faceless makes a joke,

All faces rise up in a roar.

Beneath the table, faceless feels his knife,

The blood thirsty stranger tonight will get respite.

Faceless blends in , becomes a part of them,

Yet no one can see his diadem.

He lures one named face into a dance,

And now he hopes for bloody trance.

The waltz moves on, the sweet talk drools on,

And at the right time, comes a flash of the knife.

A flash through the spine-no more tables left to dine,

Lying in some corner, she looks like another one who had too much wine.

Faceless continues without a face,

His knife clean-without a blood trace.

Faceless looks out to find another one,

Till ballrooms happen at lonely desolate roads.

Truth and Cowardice.

They all are delusions ultimately. Funny part is some are put into a Psych ward and some are celebrated for their delusions. But they all are delusions. Too much of truth drives a man insane. No one can handle the plain naked truth. It hurts too much. It may hit you when you're walking down the street. It may hit you when you're again involved in some other activity of your humdrum existence. But do not even for a moment think you are close to the truth. You can't take it. You will be burnt by it. All the plastic on your face will melt by its heat. All your anorexia will be washed by its gravity. You Are no one in front of the truth. And no one can look the truth in the eye and say that he has been truthful. Such is humanity's curse. What you wanted to see good has made you blind. You will never reach the hilltop where the truth lies. And every time you get close, you will be pushed down to start your struggle all over again. You are lost as Sisyphus. Lost in a crazy vicious cycle. There is no way out only a way in since the day you were born.All beauty is ephemeral. Because the beauty comes from the truth. But your delusions are a sick perverse way to deal with your incapacity to face the truth. So your delusion will last. Go on then. Delude yourself. Betray the truth. Happy as you may be, you are a coward. Find other cowards and delude with them. Go cry to weak friends that sympathise .Make a mass delusion. So if one poor speaker of the truth ever comes around , he feels insane. The tellers of the truth have all the angst, but they don't deserve it. You deserve it ,you liar. You are lying, you are concealing . You are the weak one hiding your weakness behind another lie. You deserve all the angst. You deserve the malaise. The sublime is for the truthful. You don't deserve the truth. You can't handle it. Don't ever try getting close to it. Don't pollute it with your presence. You are beyond purgation.