Another night

Oh Cobain you burnt out half a generation too soon.

If you were alive, you would kill yourself all over again.

The pains of our singular personalities, are the burdens of the masses today.

The weight on our collective shoulders grows heavier each day.

What cruel world we have inherited,

where

Our human coil lasts forever

and a moist Cigarette burns out in a flash

with

a Single Drop.

The stench of our filth grows stronger.

The rain cleanses, not our bodies but bares the soul naked.

This is the world the meek have inherited today.

The lighting still flashes from behind the sea of dark.

The thunder rages and the rain falls steadily, cautiously,

on the ground below.

It serves no purpose but to degrade and deride us further.

Oh there is no prayer that can SOS us tonight.

There is no emotion but fear.

Scene on a rainy night

Like flashes from a DSLR, the dark sky flickers with light.

The darkness is forgotten for a moment, as the rain thunders on.

“Boom, boom”, the clouds cry out; below a stream grows wild.

The oft-repeated “tipper-tapper” romanticised picture of the rain is forgotten;

What becomes clear now is the fury of nature.

“Lights out”, Thor seems to command; few seem to listen.

’tis no forest here and the woods are clear. And even in the darkness, the view appears dear.

The light shines on on a few houses there

and a few houses ‘ere.

But our own temples seem so bare.

Suddenly, on the horizon a false moon rises, trying to break free from the clouds.

At the time when the night and day meet, and the rising skyline shines bright, as the hills recede.

“What have we done? What have we done?”

in my head

in my head in my head i have often strayed.
Thought of all the things i could have had.
After having gulped many a beers,
i’ve often pondered over so many wasted years.
In my head in my head is the pain of knowledge.
The wisdom of self existence and the angst of carnal storage.
Thankful i’m not of the good that’s come my way,
instead i seem to think of things gone away.
In my head in my head i hear the sound of pain.
The pain of self inflicted misery and of disdain.
In my head in my head oh have i so often strayed.

Of whisky and promises or (For the love of whisky)

The fan creaks slow and the calendar waves as if to say hello,

Whilst gladiators on TV fight it out.

The ice melts and turns brown becoming one,

like passionate lovers in a final embrace.

With hearts filled with lust and loins burning with carnal desires,

They juxtapose in holy union.

“We meet once more old friend”, they must say.

But they are not alone, for a ménage à trois awaits them.

A third wheel, he is not.

For joining them is their old Romeo.

A Romeo living on the balcony with his two Juliets.

“Clink, Clink”, they whisper to him as he holds them in his palm.

They go down him like warm sunshine on a cold winter night.

“Aah”, he moans.

He sits back to soak it all in.

Their journeys’ like the opposite ends of a prism;

One so young, the other so old.

One so white, the other so bright.

“You’re so misunderstood, both of ya’ll”, he comforts them.

“Don’t worry, for I will love you till the calendar ends”, he assures them.

“Many false gods came to me”, he confesses,

“and accepted them in my youth, I have”, he continues.

“Wayward I was, have mercy”, he weeps.

“I discard them tonight and forever pledge my allegiance”, he swears.

——

Ironically, written sipping on vodka.