Face in question

Sit back and tell yourself it can´t be true.
The image I conjured in your mind so foreign, that hint of disgust sparks sarcasm when we discuss it.
Sit back and bathe in the standards that conditioned your existance.
If not for a small stain in your mind "brainwashed".
Question this little insight I had the gall to share.
That breached conventions sentiment and reached your fears.
Early assumptions of good and bad that molded your conscience before you could even walk.
Meet my eyes again with contempt, deride my notions of compassion.
Some rule with no exceptions escapes your lips to justify everything you can´t explain.
Some hard fact that would break under truths weight.
And delight radiates between my lobes just to see your face in question.
Maybe you´ll wake.
 

Empty vessels drift.

Emptiness consumes the thirsty heart.
When every idea has it´s absurdity, it´s nonsensical part.
A predictable set of beliefs so very excrutiating.
A concrete floor full of cracks, watch your step.
And beauty how she inconveniently beckons.
When ugliness dulls our ambitions, some peace is reached from...
Our destructive expectations.
Simple intoxicants calm our embered temples and restless urges and egos.
It´s inevitable that you lose yourself divinely only to find yourself obsessed with dogmas and romantic theories.
Every idea has it´s absurdity, it´s mysterious appeal.
Emptiness longs to be filled.
Ignorance traded for ignorance, distancing mundane wisdom from our fantastic theories and opiates that get us closer to the heavens in our fickle minds.

Posture of treason.

The way my neck betrays me.
Shoulders and morals.
Stand up straight, the blood flows quicker.
Your knees are as your will, easily bent.
And your hips can´t turn much...
you´re afraid to dance.
See it by the way you sit.
Your many angles, crossed legs or supporting elbows.
You´re body is such a puzzle, kind of like this life so many sell formulas for.
Your posture neither prostrate nor vertical.
As stable as your moods are.
kick it out, though the cramps stick when you´re stuck.
Life has to make sense about as much as poetry has to rhyme.
Beautiful rules give the superficial people platitudes to cushion their fragile spines.

Fruitful

The day I sowed you.
Springtime´s clock hand pointing to lush.
Seeds and excited cotyledons.
When you germinated, I was contented.
The sun invited you and the wind vented.
The growth of your leaves and stems saw my merriment arrive.
The sweet soil I´d prepared for you dark and alive.
Branches gave way to shoots.
Tiny flowers were replaced by to fruits.
God in nature is abundant and marvellous,
as summer´s clock hand pointed to harvest.

Clandestine quirk

I lift up my life.
I find so many great ways of helping others.
You can delay may flight!
You can slander my work.
I don´t mind you can´t hurt my feelings or breach my rights.
I´ll light you up clandestine quirk.
Satisfaction is mine.
So lift up your life and desist to hate in wrything knots of hypocrisy.
Claims are noble, but behind your actions there´s something missing.
Obsession with being right, class and trials.
You say you´re next to god, I´d say you are miles.
The baggage you carry, the fear in your heart.
Love is about being together, you´d like to see us all apart.
You can be a priest preaching purity and peace.
Though corruption hides behind the cloth, the desk and even the police.
So lift up your life and put your money where your mouth is.
Accept others and find where the truth lives.

Summer legs.

Incredible legs.
Tones of brown that knock me around.
Tans that smack my face to attention.
Hammer my eyes to down there.
Summer legs and quite often sunshine smiles.
As they cross the road, they shock my world.
I get hit across the stomach by a lust oar.
lose my attention at the wheel.
Short skirts and shorts so short you´d think I had them custom made.
Though how´d those cheeky girls know that from the hem to the...
Sandals and flip flops and my wonder grows.

Daydream class.

Instructions and information, little tricks to get you interested.
The curriculum a set of rules and facts to be memorized and listed.
The teacher stood with his back against the desk and his fist holding up his chin. Waiting for you to answer... Waiting.
Then he tosses your latest essay swish shot into the bin.
You were more interested in the distractions of life.
Each time you woke clenching your well bitten pencil you sharpened with a knife.
No relief from the threat of bad grades.
And all the acne and emotions of the teenage phase.
The teachers there telling you about last century and your minds in a game.
Your work was always late and your excuses were lame.