Men are puzzle pieces,
Their rough edges point in
Towards cuts and bumps of a pretty inner life.
No piece more important,
no piece unnecessary,
Society is a puzzle made of intersecting pictures
Shaped by space,
Subject to time
Ever shifting shades of evolving design
Mankind builds a puzzle.
One subject for all
For man to live in harmony,
Both great and small
In my heart lies a glass door
Behind it lies a demon
pretending to be a saint
Her room, blood red
adorned with pictures
A secret hall of fame
Different emotion, different frame
She won’t stop herself from going
Better broken than dead
Where can’t she go?
Earth to Heaven,
Joy rides past Hell
Don’t you dare trust her
She’s too much for her own good
Her emotions lead to ruin
Her frailty spells doom
Cracks beneath the surface
It’s a plain fragile thing
my heart is a glass door
I keep it protected
trapping my demon inside
I keep it padlocked and hidden
This glass door of mine
Treat it like buried treasure
Heart-spoken silicone dioxide
Computers: The modern informer.
Connecter of nations,
you who has brought us: relief and stress,
sleepless nights and lazy mornings;
great and terrible news.
How long have I spent with you for my own purposes and whims?
But, Alas I cannot love you!
I find you cold and indifferent.
Your monitor displays no inspiration.
Only icons and data are your priority.
You aim for perfection, yet you were made by imperfect hands;
your precious data imparted by imperfect minds.
You who have no loyalty;
yet everyone wants to befriend you.
Anonymous keeper of secrets,
you share to anyone who knows how to press your buttons.
The controller has become controlled.
The unseen power has caused a sick obsession.
Are we truly advanced?
If we can connect with strangers then why can we not connect with family?
Does this world have nothing to offer, that we need to create new ones?
Is tradition outdated?
Oh! Citizens of Cyberspace, hit the like button
how dependent are the masters to their creations,
the Systematic Destroyer.
I’d like to grow
until I’m ten feet high.
Not grow wide,
stretching from side to side
Like a skyscraper,
Built to reach the stars.
Not like a farmhouse,
Face red, Beef marked.
To Grow like a mountain,
The pinnacle of tall.
Not be like a molehill,
Insignificant and small.
To be like a tower,
Strength personified.
Not like the hut,
Death by pizza, suicide.
Just like spaghetti
I wish my spine could stretch.
Instead of my pants,
No belt buckles to fetch.
I’m vertically challenged
In case you haven’t heard.
But don’t call me fat.
Supersized is my word.
Drinking coffee,
Head tilted skywards
In supplication for caffeine
From my cup’s bottom arises a dirty, brown stained moon
Brown-bottom Styrofoam
Unwasted colored remains
A reminder of what I do
How I function
In the craters of a recyclable moon
My awakened caffeinated desires reflected
Into pretty trash, a mundane consideration
I toss the cup away
Task fulfilled
Coffee consumed
Goodbye moon
An air of intentionality
A certain gravitas in my working
My reading, my typing
It’s not just leisure but effort
Finishing goals
The blossoming ideas tended by lack of outings
I miss the noise
No, not the noise the background
Muted but ever present
With the world and time passing
As I sit quietly in my corner
Visiting streams of consciousness
Close enough to dip your toes in
If God didn’t care, would you still be here?
If God didn’t watch, why is life full of drama?
If God was dead, then why dream of nirvana?
If religion is bondage, I’m a slave eternal.
If religion is cancer, my case is terminal.
If religion is a crutch, I’d claim infirmity.
If loving you was folly, I’ll be the biggest fool.
If commitment was stupid, I’d forget about IQ.
If time had a price, I’d spend millions on you.
If love was a drug, I’d be an addict for you.
If we ever came apart, I’d use super glue.
And If love be a liar, then burn me at the witch’s pyre.
If kindness was idiotic, I’d gladly be the dunce.
If chubby is deadly, I’ll live on the edge.
If chastity was suicide, I’ll stand on the ledge.
If people aren’t equal then the factors are wrong.
If modesty is old fashioned, then I’m a classic song.
And If the good die young, I’ll accept martyrdom.
I live with two angels, the epitome of naughty and nice.
One is my guardian,
the messenger of Divine Grace.
He is strict and straight and true.
Nothing escapes his notice, my conscience within his sphere.
He breaks bad habits, pushing me to achieve.
The Other, my Fallen advocate,
lieutenant of the Greatly Accursed.
My angels fight and bicker and force me to decide.
No matter what I choose, one is left unsatisfied.
My angels are not like cartoons.
They don’t stand on my shoulders and they don’t look a thing like me.
They just want me to be happy.
But is it happiness or fancy?
With the path I wish to take they offer me free advice.
One cautions to stay, the other loves to stray.
To wander like a pilgrim, will my desires be mine alone?
Have I been fooled by the fallen or am I fooling my guardian?
My guardian so wise, sweet and guiding,
the Fallen is sweet too, honeyed words oozing with temptation.
I know they tally their scores of who I listen to more,
it’s like a mini-championship, the winner brings home my soul.
I know my every decision affects their score, for the grand final on Judgement day,
to bliss or condemnation,
Winner takes all.
A while ago, I went away
scared and alone, spirits low,
full of ambition, dreams and doubt
but even if I achieve fortune and fame,
who’s to say I won’t still feel the same?
My love ones, players of fond memories,
am I important to them as they are to me?
We had fun, we had our games.
We have lives filled with shenanigans, laughter and tears.
Visiting infrequently, hopefully , happily
My parents are quasi-strict, quasi-there
My grandma is kind with religious flair
My siblings I annoy and are annoyed by in turn
My extended family both nebulous and firm
Their love is the greatest credit to my name.
It’s a family of Hicaps, Sons and daughters
Broken and glued with pieces wondrously made
A tumultuous and wonderful rollercoaster of emotions
Better than any wealth, power or fame
My family, the starting point of my acclaim.
Pursuing Prose & Poetry 