tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33833324407393081012024-03-13T03:41:23.328+00:00Poetry | joncoledalton.comPoetry and Short Stories by Jon Cole-DaltonJon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-36831623090061510922015-01-23T21:03:00.001+00:002015-01-23T21:04:23.885+00:00Fuck Everything (or Bring Back The Old Mild Riots)<p dir="ltr">Can't shake that feeling that we've given up<br>
Far too much in exchange for nothing<br>
More than excuses to be unhappy</p>
<p dir="ltr">Allowing our heads to be held under water<br>
Never let us speak poorly of this<br>
Agreement bonded in secrecy</p>
<p dir="ltr">Smoke coming from the ground where dirt used to be<br>
Kicked up to fight for much less<br>
What pitiful worlds we have become</p>
<p dir="ltr">Mustering the shared strength for real change<br>
Won't happen in time<br>
For us to enjoy the spoils</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-46976163381571793012014-12-11T09:48:00.001+00:002014-12-11T09:49:27.001+00:00Raised By Wolves is a Hat Slogan<p dir="ltr">Sometimes you just get sick</p>
<p dir="ltr">The not so pretty girl being courted<br>
By the obvious human waste<br>
Bragging about being banned<br>
From the prestigious establishments<br>
The McDonalds and supermarkets<br>
For calling people fat and stealing food<br>
Standing by self proclaimed</p>
<p dir="ltr">Innocence</p>
<p dir="ltr">Of the girl not far from here<br>
Just as inexperienced with the pink<br>
Bobble hat hiding well groomed<br>
Blonde hair and a backpack<br>
That screams transitional youth<br>
Doing her makeup</p>
<p dir="ltr">To the recovering drug addict</p>
<p dir="ltr">You don't need to reveal anything<br>
We all know<br>
Those nights slept rough or for money<br>
And chemical abuse are all too<br>
Recognisable in your skin<br>
The lines of experience and<br>
Sunken eyes of a chequered past</p>
<p dir="ltr">Betray you</p>
<p dir="ltr">All of this is utterly pointless<br>
There's no benefit to this<br>
To these words<br>
A fun distraction and exercise in</p>
<p dir="ltr">Building a quaint little part of the world</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-9026554331608546452014-11-19T10:02:00.001+00:002014-11-19T10:10:59.622+00:00Holding Hands in Different Scenarios<p dir="ltr">Constantly late when I'm running early<br>
Try to read a little and get lost in<br>
Awkward fantasy requiring eyes closed<br>
Most of the way and a bag to hand<br>
Feeling more or less vividly</p>
<p dir="ltr">Teenagers always have everything worked out<br>
Perfectly down to every futile detail<br>
Wonder if they'll look back and cringe<br>
Probably not</p>
<p dir="ltr">Smiled at the girl with headphones<br>
Got a smile back<br>
Always intrigued to know if a little narcissism would help<br>
Feel sick just picturing it<br>
No smile back today</p>
<p dir="ltr">Close eyes a little less to visualise<br>
Which feels somewhat pointless<br>
Get excited considering a coffee<br>
An obvious distraction</p>
<p dir="ltr">From a Canadian prospective the venue is<br>
Less than innocent which seems odd<br>
Hear the words and feel the movement<br>
Looking into her eyes<br>
Holding hands </p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-43239781064647428432014-11-18T18:43:00.001+00:002014-11-18T19:03:45.865+00:00Quite The Opposite of Adrenaline<p dir="ltr">It doesn't comes close to making sense anymore<br>
I've gained so much of myself that reality has become<br>
So far to be much of a nothingness<br>
I can't wish my pain upon anyone<br>
Trapped within the prison I erected with glial<br>
My own personal glory box<br>
Fucking everything without discretion while<br>
I hide myself away from it all from everyone<br>
To keep myself on the fringe<br>
Comfortable yet in agony<br>
Loving and dreading the attention<br>
Purchasing an early bird ticket<br>
One day I'll have dim lit quiet spaces<br>
To myself and those of my choosing</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-71085905251327192532014-03-25T20:58:00.001+00:002014-03-25T20:58:54.242+00:00Erroneous Honesty<p dir="ltr">When I consider all that I am<br>
Everything ugly and deceitful<br>
All my fallacious honesty</p>
<p dir="ltr">My basest needs and desires<br>
Rooted in unlikely lust</p>
<p dir="ltr">Devoid of merit and talent<br>
No distinction beyond existing<br>
Thrusting my existence infinitely<br>
Releasing all that is vile and rancid<br>
Everything evil and hateful<br>
Bursting forth from my core<br>
Burning through pores<br>
Blistering the skin</p>
<p dir="ltr">There is oddity in my odyssey<br>
Through every misplaced vanity<br>
Wanting more or less wants<br>
Secretly and openly<br>
I long to be adored</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-32885880324598426242014-03-24T21:00:00.000+00:002014-03-24T20:59:55.104+00:0077<div dir="ltr">
We should rejoice and revel in our achievements<br />
Enjoy every last drop of luxury we stole<br />
A society built on faulty foundation<br />
Cracked and corrupted from the start<br />
Success that depends on exploitation<br />
An addict constantly hunting<br />
The fix of creation conjoined with greed<br />
Plundering to satisfy the slovenly<br />
Every resource is finite<br />
The last morsels in sight<br />
Saliva dripping from our chins<br />
We turn on ourselves<br />
And celebrate the privilege</div>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-50444938457741277352014-03-21T22:20:00.001+00:002014-03-21T22:22:55.391+00:00Player Two<p dir="ltr">For finding that special soul<br>
The one that was hidden<br>
To help you conquer the castle<br>
Vanquish the megalomaniacal<br>
Defeat and defend in unison<br>
Perfect<br>
The dragon is slain<br>
Through rainbow brightness<br>
Shades of grey<br>
This is truly special<br>
Let's play more together</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-39244603317323033322014-03-16T00:01:00.001+00:002014-03-16T11:38:33.522+00:00Whimsical<p dir="ltr">What magical things words are<br>
Alone they can shock and evoke<br>
United they can inspire all<br>
A need to celebrate the human condition<br>
Contemplating the abyss is death<br>
And everything in between</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-74409265568832812002014-03-04T12:00:00.000+00:002014-03-04T12:37:53.796+00:00Black Phantom<div dir="ltr">
If only I could drift through existence so clandestine<br />
Like birds flit through life and death<br />
Seemingly phasing through spinning bicycle spokes<br />
There must be some sort of happiness to be found<br />
In choosing when to be and when not to<br />
To shut it all off without shutting it down<br />
Holiday by the seaside without a care<br />
Being the waves clashing against the world<br />
While languishing as the sandcastle of grandest childhood<br />
The plastic bucket my saviour and creator<br />
Still fighting as the giant robot from my dream<br />
Creased reflections of myself in glorious red and blue<br />
Becoming the weave that connects it all<br />
No more intricate than delicate tapestry<br />
Existing in nothingness and everything<br />
Surely that is the hope that crashes my thoughts<br />
The robot and the sandcastle and the bird through the spokes</div>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-79568404277086848772014-03-03T19:39:00.001+00:002014-03-03T19:39:26.651+00:00Just Fucking About<p dir="ltr">Spinning in pointless ferocity<br>
Exponential power a touch away<br>
Discipline has been lost through generations<br>
Expectations and entitlement<br>
We must respect the imposition<br>
Marvel at the beauty<br>
Because everything becomes lost in marked droplets<br>
Fearlessly forming rainbows against the common threat</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-6991241817489866382014-01-26T04:58:00.001+00:002014-01-26T09:51:51.856+00:00The Limited Edition Conundrum<p dir="ltr">Even now failure seems imminent<br>
Where even a place of my own wasn't enough<br>
The little homemade open and close signs<br>
Be right back in 5 minutes<br>
There had to be travel to something new</p>
<p dir="ltr">The metropolis was beyond epic<br>
Store fronts went on for miles with no end<br>
Rooftops appeared to block out the sun<br>
I walked barefoot across fake marble floors<br>
Moving steel steps that nipped at the my feet<br>
Trying to find an end to this madness<br>
Only to find new friends<br>
Who spoke excitedly of old friends<br>
They were performing nearby tonight<br>
Their latest triumph was already upon us<br>
Ripe for the picking since this very morning<br>
I felt so excited yet so foolish<br>
Why didn't I know this already</p>
<p dir="ltr">Walking into a store that dwarfed the others<br>
Thinking of my place with cardboard signs<br>
Isle after isle of everything you could ever need<br>
Or for that matter hope to imagine<br>
I found solace in my old friends new record<br>
Limited edition 1st printing one of few<br>
Just one whole track played in a brand new way<br>
You had to find the right frequency to hear it<br>
A brief moment of brilliance hidden away<br>
I had to have it</p>
<p dir="ltr">The store was a maze but I found my way<br>
The old store keeper had come from China<br>
She did not look pleased to see me<br>
Asked if I was a member<br>
This would cost slightly more than usual<br>
Heavy taxes and fines were incurred<br>
My Limited Edition just quadrupled in price<br>
Before leaving the store I promised to put it back<br>
She accused me of attempting to steal<br>
I lied and said that I wouldn't<br>
Navigating the maze to fail at good intentions<br>
Nearly at the point of redemption I lifted my shirt<br>
Twelve inches to hide away<br>
Faked a return gesture of compliance<br>
Motorised eyes on me as men in uniforms walk past<br>
I hurried to the exit<br>
Almost free<br>
Birthing myself onto the world I begin to run<br>
Men in uniforms appear to multiply</p>
<p dir="ltr">Are they here for me</p>
<p dir="ltr">I run against the flow of a stream of people<br>
Trying to get back to my small corner of the world<br>
This Church of Capitalism<br>
Much like my small corner<br>
Is an illusion conjured by my mind<br>
Much like the Limited Edition whose corners<br>
Stabbing at the fabric of my shirt<br>
My eyes are stirring and it's no longer there</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-77071292991384982502014-01-24T10:02:00.001+00:002014-01-25T09:11:42.734+00:00We Don't Go There Anymore<p dir="ltr">I pierced your soul without hesitation<br>
A great spear launched through your eyes<br>
Trying to find the fear that must reside within<br>
But all I found was you<br>
Smiling back at me with skin so loose<br>
It didn't hang it slipped away like wet newspaper<br>
A vessel too thin for you to inhabit</p>
<p dir="ltr">I wasn't ready for you to see my weakness<br>
My folly was giving away the opportunity<br>
Resisting the urge to cry out<br>
You didn't advance rather you were just there<br>
Teeth on my face scraping cheek bone<br>
Letting up just enough to allow me to leak out</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had that day dream again<br>
Where my fingers glide as your mind wonders<br>
Under clothes and into the familiar unfamiliar<br>
Softest skin already slick<br>
Just a trace of unclaimed maturity<br>
Leaning your head back<br>
Exposing your neck<br>
A tongue escapes you and toys with my ear</p>
<p dir="ltr">There is no time for day dreaming<br>
She smiles at me and mouths the words I love you<br>
The feeling was unnervingly warm<br>
As my pupils expanded and wrapped over my head<br>
Creating another warm secret place<br>
Another womb to hide from the world</p>
<p dir="ltr">I can't picture a scenario in which I'll be ready<br>
Until then I'll envelop myself in warmth<br>
Feel that reassuring presence<br>
The one that makes me feel uncomfortably good<br>
Consider the end game option</p>
<p dir="ltr">Probably best to keep my guard up<br>
Carry on strafing left and right<br>
Keep things mixed up and don't forget to parry<br>
Gather myself up from the floor when I'm done<br>
Look into fixing this and improving that<br>
All to some sort of end</p>
<p dir="ltr">I assume<br>
But assumptions are for the uncommitted<br>
The drifters that you can get swept away with<br>
A man once told me that nothing beats death<br>
One day I'll prove him right</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have everything and nothing to offer her<br>
Yet I'm pretty sure that's the way she likes it<br>
Care for the emotionally wounded<br>
Dismiss it yet revel in the drama<br>
Such a quaint little torture<br>
I've developed a taste for it</p>
<p dir="ltr">Watching in awe as demons crawl through the walls<br>
Blood thirsty and snarling in an all too obvious way<br>
I'm enthralled at your majesty<br>
The violence is drawing me in<br>
Please hold me closer<br>
Just this once</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-62163669600484907502014-01-15T11:14:00.001+00:002014-01-15T11:15:14.934+00:00Canthus<p dir="ltr">You kept appearing unannounced<br>
The apparition that was predictably unpredictable<br>
Standing still in quiet corners<br>
Screaming through whispers when disturbed<br>
That blood stain that won't budge<br>
Shocking red on dead lips<br>
Still dead eyes that shouldn't be<br>
Ready to give me a fright</p>
<p dir="ltr">But it wasn't you who crept up my back<br>
Tormenting me like a monkey on my shoulder</p>
<p dir="ltr">Naked slick yellow skin<br>
Why am I reminded of feathers<br>
A startling white skull<br>
Covered by a bed of fleeting black hair<br>
A mess to frame your scowl</p>
<p dir="ltr">You were furious when I found you<br>
Hiding in the corner of my eye<br>
Scraping away at my back<br>
Feeding on my fears</p>
<p dir="ltr">Suddenly it made sense<br>
The girl with dead eyes doesn't exist<br>
She never did<br>
Only your callousness is real<br>
The demon that won't leave me alone<br>
Waiting until I'm most vulnerable<br>
Taunting me before the sun rises<br>
Leaping from my back into the darkness<br>
Hovering above my closed eyes</p>
<p dir="ltr">Out of sight but still there<br>
Until I face you</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-55212370644901567142013-12-16T14:38:00.001+00:002013-12-16T14:38:28.647+00:00Success<p dir=ltr>Why do we have that odd fascination<br>
With destroying all that we hold dear<br>
When we are close to losing something<br>
While someone slips through our fingers<br>
Or an opportunity escapes our grasp</p>
<p dir=ltr>We always reach for the bottle to smash<br>
Whether it's figurative or literal<br>
Destruction is what we are<br>
Pretty in our purity<br>
Vicious movements of the upmost elegance</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-9221194968835769222013-11-14T00:26:00.001+00:002013-11-14T00:26:34.955+00:00The Equity of Resolve<p dir=ltr>Why<br>
Without meaning and full of falsified intent<br>
Why have a bag full of morals to show off<br>
Losing your dignity<br>
Just allow someone to punch your teeth out<br>
Smile politely and ask for more<br>
You'll disarm them every time<br>
I promise you<br>
When those days come<br>
All I want is for my head to split wide open<br>
For every thought, feeling and ideal to spill out<br>
Be placed neatly on an innately woven rug<br>
That I'll sit behind<br>
Legs crossed in the street<br>
With a flat cap upturned<br>
Begging for people to throw something at me<br>
Thanking them through half broken teeth<br>
Blood stains on my collar<br>
No longer hoping for what I deserve<br>
Taking what I expect in the grand humour of Its design</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-64705649620171616202013-10-17T13:04:00.001+01:002013-10-17T20:24:10.902+01:00Postponed Past Plans<p dir=ltr>When I look upon an empty page<br>
Interlaced images<br>
Versus an undesirable path<br>
My soul can feel empty<br>
Integrity can seem broken<br>
Success achieved through fakery<br>
Placebo pills to satisfy<br>
I want them to force inside<br>
I'll gladly push with them<br>
To have hands move favourably<br>
Filling in the void on my own terms<br>
Time to move the images<br>
On my watch</p>
<p dir=ltr>What happened to that grand idea I had<br>
The spark of creativity that once compelled me<br>
Where words and form came natural<br>
Yet nothing could be molded in one sitting<br>
Was it the control in other images that halted me<br>
Or the passing of time<br>
I like to think that it's the undesirable path<br>
But I can't be sure</p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm starving myself on so many levels<br>
The smallest of treats now make me sick<br>
They once only used to kill me</p>
<p dir=ltr>Decision that nothing can be truly devoid<br>
That artistry exists in all things<br>
No matter how benign or intrusive<br>
Must be held as true<br>
Distractions fed by touch have to be<br>
For action reaction and emotion will be valid</p>
<p dir=ltr>I've begun the metamorphosis<br>
At first it was painful<br>
But I will have my second stage<br>
It has begun<br>
Only greatness awaits me now</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-80322296630941291232013-08-22T09:17:00.001+01:002013-08-22T09:17:34.825+01:00An Idea<p dir=ltr>Kindness that slept in her eyes<br>
Movement through waves that scream<br>
A presence like no other<br>
There but never invasive<br>
Comforting with a breast to sleep on<br>
Enticement without confusion<br>
Above the sheets<br>
Becoming lost in her moment<br>
Losing myself simultaneously<br>
Struggling to breathe<br>
That perfect silhouette that excites me<br>
An eagerness for something more<br>
Patience in knowing that we can wait<br>
Creating old theories on what is right<br>
Giving up my secrets in cautious trust<br>
Feeling something real<br>
Protecting the fragility of an idea<br>
Defending the belief comes easy<br>
Only words and my world dissolves<br>
Self made iron bars fall away<br>
As goals become clear<br>
The alignment of the self alters<br>
I'm hungry for less because I want more</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-34583144762680359492013-08-07T09:15:00.001+01:002013-08-07T09:15:45.522+01:00Wolves<p dir=ltr>Back to the wall<br>
Wolves at the door<br>
Terror gripping my stomach<br>
Twisting my spine<br>
Considering the wrong way out</p>
<p dir=ltr>There has to be another way</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-36426605016580858462013-07-25T22:43:00.001+01:002013-07-25T22:43:10.664+01:00Nothing More Than<p dir=ltr>No more breaking hearts to a beat<br>
While everything else may fall to pieces<br>
A part of me is full<br>
Consuming my whole at that perfect moment</p>
<p dir=ltr>No more snapping fingers<br>
While wearing shades and turtle necks<br>
I gave in to the temptation<br>
Telling her she's cool</p>
<p dir=ltr>Sharing electronic distractions of passion<br>
Accepting that what I am is enough<br>
Knowing that I can be more<br>
Aiming for what we want as one</p>
<p dir=ltr>Sharing the pain of it all<br>
Folding the right words into place<br>
Feeling safe and secure<br>
Holding on with relaxed fingers</p>
<p dir=ltr>Other possibilities currently hold no purpose<br>
Charts have been etched in pencil<br>
The destination is both uncertain and surplus<br>
The here, now and soon to be keeps me warm</p>
<p dir=ltr>Other things and perfect dreams<br>
Nothing more than that</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-61560978955606059332013-06-27T20:17:00.001+01:002013-06-27T20:17:51.998+01:00Two Hands<p dir=ltr>The rot has well and truly set in<br>
Yet I find myself energised<br>
Filled with a desire for strength<br>
To fight a good fight<br>
To have something to die for<br>
To have a goal to champion</p>
<p dir=ltr>Somehow I can't shake the feeling<br>
All that I am is a sense of desperation<br>
Trying madly not to lay waste<br>
To hands of a faulty clock</p>
<p dir=ltr>There has to be better<br>
Engagement with a worthy challenge<br>
Pushing myself to find new limits<br>
Reason to break a sweat<br>
Reason to mend a broken back<br>
Reason to rebuild slack muscles</p>
<p dir=ltr>When I seek peace at night<br>
Dread grips the fabric of my being<br>
The inescapable fear<br>
That I can't destroy that infernal clock</p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm still letting time win<br>
In many ways I always will</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-46975024495487612592013-06-25T19:50:00.001+01:002013-06-25T19:50:00.058+01:00It's Only Arson<p dir=ltr>I could spend an eternity<br>
Contemplating it all<br>
I always come back to one notion</p>
<p dir=ltr>When everything has been turned<br>
Twisted and romanticised</p>
<p dir=ltr>I would never pass up a chance<br>
To burn everything you are</p>
<p dir=ltr>All that you stand for</p>
<p dir=ltr>Until you are nothing but ash<br>
Dancing in the breeze</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-90946220449672766522013-06-18T10:47:00.001+01:002013-06-18T10:47:35.325+01:00Champion<p dir=ltr>Slipping ever further<br>
Splints giving way<br>
Shadows clawing at my feet<br>
How can it be possible to fall so far<br>
To think that you've seen the end<br>
Crashing through barriers<br>
Seeing into the deepest depths<br>
Bruised blues turning to black<br>
How can I heal<br>
When I keep kicking myself<br>
With little to fight back with<br>
I can't help but wonder<br>
What's next<br>
Cheer me on</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-27344349299048966172013-06-15T09:50:00.001+01:002013-06-15T09:50:43.476+01:00Dead Bonfire<p dir=ltr>A glimpse of creation<br>
Purest energy igniting the air<br>
Catching kindling in a hurry<br>
Licking limbs in good time<br>
Flames that grew<br>
Birthed by betrayal<br>
Sewing seeds of doubt<br>
Eventually stoking the fire<br>
Then fanning the flames<br>
Of discontent</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-45200032499509717662013-05-28T01:12:00.001+01:002013-05-28T01:12:18.818+01:00But What If<p dir=ltr>But isn't this what was always wanted<br>
To be no more than needed<br>
Never allowing oneself to be complete<br>
Otherwise what would be the point</p>
<p dir=ltr>But we can't help but ask of ourselves<br>
Why would someone do this<br>
Not to someone else<br>
For that would cross unspoken boundaries</p>
<p dir=ltr>But to themselves<br>
Destroying every aspect<br>
Every particle of being<br>
Until nothing remained</p>
<p dir=ltr>But debris<br>
Just remains of what once was<br>
And then do it again and again and again<br>
Without learning</p>
<p dir=ltr>If repetition makes no sense<br>
An answer is in reach</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383332440739308101.post-91340051921956647022013-05-21T00:01:00.001+01:002013-05-23T22:57:37.371+01:00Completion<p dir=ltr>See infinity beyond probability<br>
Never explain your lines<br>
Never pretend to be a Woolf<br>
You'll get found out</p>
<p dir=ltr>Stick to smoking on the sofa<br>
Contemplate the next kick<br>
Keep moving<br>
Curbing an axis</p>
<p dir=ltr>Great liars with greater minds<br>
Writing in riddles to hide<br>
Sharing pain to keep it secret</p>
<p dir=ltr>The watch has ended<br>
Lights flickering in change</p>
<p dir=ltr>The spirit cannot be hollowed<br>
Not by the user and the habitual inhabited</p>
<p dir=ltr>Don't follow blindly<br>
Dictate with ferocity<br>
Write a map with ink not pencil<br>
and follow it</p>
Jon Cole-Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14563726296803490297noreply@blogger.com0