Identity

Terror of self
To be cased
Buried alive
Safe to be dead
Safe to be selfless
In sickness than in health
Silent or gagged
Poignant tongue wordless
Smith with no tool
Dinner of a fool
Given to a shelf
Terror of self
Unmoving and boxed
Given to trace
A map of the world
With spit and nail
Chained to an identity
That won't identify
Love when it seeds
Pain when it bleeds
Clueless consciousness
Minimal mettle
Terror of terror
And a natural disaster
Waiting to occur

Under Weeping Lights

Under the weeping lights
On holy temple grounds
I meditate to float from pain
I worship death to live
And I sleep on a bed of vapour
On the edge of a cloud
Where a silent pool
Mirrors the stars
And draws red lights on its surface
In sleep, I too draw my strength
I too know my strength
Gathered from the wind
Where my voice is echoed
In every swaying tree
And even then
You can feel each leaf whisper
In my soft tones
My roar in the bark
And each flower calling
With the sweet fragrance
Of my sorrow

A Dying Future

Reality is a curse
And words are scarce
When the city turns
On its own head
Spinning to oblivion 
Its fragments raining 
And those of us
Who will stay
Will build castles
From the rubble 
As if to find ways 
To ascend
Beyond ourselves 
Beyond fantasy
With this young deed
Dead as when we began
But with little cause
Not to live to the fullest 
And continue our dream 
Ascending the stars
Ascending the stairs to immortality 
Since within our pain
We are awakened
We won't let the future die
Anymore