Pandemonium ideal

 My sporadic mind is at it again.
I am told to focus, my heart is saying.
My heart knows my mind is straying.
Loving clarity shouldn't be a crime inside my psyche.

There could be creative guidelines instead I'm flighty.
But as soon as those ideas start to form.
It all just feels like i'm living the norm.
Deep down I reach for tools to sculpt me.

To write when winning not when sulking.
To narrow words when cutting.
And expand when bulking.
Live each day happily.

Is my sporadic mind helping me.
In gaining intellectual hypertrophy.
Or just obsessed with pandemonium.
With grand dreams we own and hold in.

The last ship to safety

 We will save ourselves on the ferry.
It is getting ready to take off.
The laggards skip and speed up.
Trying to get close to the boarding ramp.

Some will dive into the drink.
Chasing the boat out beyond the straight.
Those people will swallow salt water and disappear,
beneath the low drippy waves.

The rest will wait on the shoreline.
As if to get the last little glance of the vessel vanishing.
Makeshifts shelters and desperate chanting.
For they didn't make it in time.

The last of the voices are silenced,
restless midnight murmurs.
They know to hush.
As things that can't be named roam the land.

Tracking us down by the demons in our heads.

The simple thing doesn't cure

 The simple thing may not cure you
Perhaps it is the complex flavor you seek
Life a hundred choices valleys and peaks
Reflecting back into who you are

Dulling or lighting up your eyes
Pushing you forward or holding you back
You wish, you yearn, you seek, a straw to suck
That tiny drop of hope

The cold hits the face, the heat blasts it off
The shock lingers long until it stales
The feeling of success the feeling of failure
The feeling one must always do better

Pale blue atrium

 I get to school and the vegetables are rotting
It's a simple science experiment
Their big halls, stained walls, state owned sense of identity
Wooden desks and titles, room for smiles and brief programmed empathy

Rotten vegetables were distilled and converted into the corridor's aroma
The lines of hip young students trying to get their class schedules
But there are not enough subjects not enough classes at this school
The book is partially filled out so many empty pages

The town relies so heavily on their prized university
But the walls go unpainted and the floors uncleaned
Education with the smell of rotten vegetables
Emanating from the lunchroom

Tarmac's dreary refrain

 These grey days have a way of convincing.
Closing in on another go or stay.
Interrupting the work and play.
Dreary tarmac last night's refrain.

Solitary on a pathless mountain.
Sands flow out each visible grain.
Let go of the past, sour sense of blame.
Seriousness of life, no easy fancy game.

The grey way toward the grave.
Where destiny will have us lay.
You seek sacrifice and loyalty.
Ready to witness me self betray.

But I will keep trudging up this pathless mountain.
The steps echoing last night's dreary refrain.

Chasing static

 The boys were what they were
Boisterious
Their toys all over the ground
Their behaviour unsafe, unsound

Life is happening before my eyes
Life is living and changing
I am concerned with the static
most pray for a short one

A toy comes flying past falling into the office
Not knowing themselves
mimicking and emulating over the decade
I am concerned with static

Crying within the helmet

 The motorbike was so fast, the driver likely stoned.
Deliveries on his morning blast checking his cellphone.
The last message he read slow, life it seems so brief.
Before he knew it, he was fractures and busted teeth.

The helmet didn't really protect him this far.
His negligence sent him headlong into that car.
Smashing the bumper off with force and impact.
His whole body fell over the car then he pushed himself off.

The damage was done and the bumper sat in three awkward pieces 
Random jagged fragments with little plastic shards on the roadside
The man didn't take his helmet off and turned around his bike.
Positioning it close to the road for the next possible strike.

He put his hands on his head and started some kind of plea
In the helmet I'd guess the man was crying underneath
keeping it all to himself as his bike wasn't working anymore
And there was no insurance for any of this under law