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Tomorrow May never be intended to appease everyone intentions.

Tangled up in seeking the meaning or if these things really hold permanently .

A vision distorted to every onlooker and the sun sets differently to every person,

Here on earth joy is often misshaped, also mistaken for happiness

Contrary to what we’ve been told the two don’t work interchangeably,

When we change the outlook the outside falls under different lenses.

A balancing act

Promises kept on earth are often non existent, we can only promise ourselves that one day we will leave this place. And what will we do up until then?? Don’t get too caught up in the high, walk the balancing beam.

Looking..

In searching for happiness we find it in others, as if tucked away in some hidden place we no longer have access to.

In transit – The beginning of forever

Forever in search, in transit, even when standing still the wheels are still turning.  Creeping closer to an answer or rather an idea of what our answer should be.
-Just some brainstorming for my book of poetry-

Burried underneath my clothes

Deep inside my closet

Searching for the thing closest to me,

Pass old regrets and bad habits.

A habitual risk taker

Taking everything more serious than I
should.

Should I not sweep the mind

Should I not leave behind old vices

Which produced tainted pleasures
Pressing against my grain.

Spirit engraved with everlasting touch.

A rush of many winds

And many wins;

Many loses lost in transit.

Thoughts, feelings

Off the spur of inspired moments

Which momentarily shine light.

Today will be that day,

Changes occur at random.

While others lay peacefully

On their private beach

I search through lost treasure.

Prepared for that next wave of influence.

Drowning any sense of being comfortable.

Circles of insanity

Try to find inspiration tucked behind a wall full of earthly plaques, some not worth mentioning but nonetheless heavy.
Heavy enough to weigh true self,
What does become of it all?
We’ve all seen it’s reflection; all tasted the poison before the purge.

Urges all over to counterfeit and be counted in multiples of him, her and nature takes its place.
Under this great scheme,
All where we can grow, dream, repent
And still go back to the childhood cul- de- sac,
Running circles around blind eyes.
The harder it is to see the more it
Seems logic to lay in disbelief.