Dream

Rain falls from the sun in you eyes, and ambiguity leads one from truth, from oneness, and now there is uncertainty, and truth is a bird in the sky, circling endlessly, seeking the comfort of the tree at times, away from the storm, free from trouble, and this moment of the day wishes to escape, to a simple place, perhaps of an abandoned memory, now coming into focus, and there is a new moment, naked in itself, and looking for accompaniment, and the eyes are empty in indifference, and the mind is taciturn, in a neutral place, there is no knowing, and there is the mystery between the present and the past, with a question mark staring at your face, and your face refers to its eyes, absolving itself from responsibility, and you look for truth, perhaps from the memory of the dream that you dreamed last night, and the memory of the night, is but a dream also, and there is darkness in the eyes, in their search for discovery, and then the moon begins to moan, clouding truth, and truth, lies within, waiting to be expressed, and it gazes into its mirror of doubt, and the mirror looks back at truth, with a question that only truth can answer.

The Minister

She gives life to the bellringer, and her mind is free from her occupation, some say she is fake, while others let her speak for them, she is the God to them, of Sunday morning, and I have felt the kiss of her mouth and the touch of her breasts, yet, her love is for the man, Jesus, and she preaches her belief in him, and she will not let him go, not like, she let me go, like I have let her go, eye to eye and soul to soul, and body to body, and love to love, and severence, and departure, and the present and the past, and remembering.

That Masonic all seeing eye, may just rest in the shadows, neither in the third degree or the thirty-third, and then the kaleidescope continues in its whirling motion, and it journeys to peaceful places of soul and understanding, where you might feel that you belong, away from trappings of whatever society, and dreams hang on the edge of personal reality, and former relationships explode into some kind of hatred, and they are aside from understanding, and their feeling is confused, and extraneous to what once was, and in the evening, without any kind of touch, there is the suggestion, that makes you turn from the present place, perhaps to the wall, and there you are, clinging to the wall, lost to yourself, in a hopeless place, and then you study who exactly it is, that you are, and you are in motion, and the past enters the present time, and your life appears to be in oneness.

Awesome

The only thing that is awesome, is the beauty in life, when it enfolds you with its magic, to your fond embrace.

Eyes Again

Electric eyes seeking moon, they are a together dream, and they merge, and in the colours of the day, there is explosion, until there are no colours left to consider, and there is purple and there is orange and there is lime, and quiet, and easiness, that will not betray, and on the road to truth, I guess that you have to endure many colours, the search is on, and freedom is in sight, and it will take you to the strangest places, and time is alone, and you wonder if it is at peace with itself, and then you move on, continue on your journey, and perhaps love has cornered you, perhaps it wont' let you go free, and perhaps it has allowed you freedom, and perhaps you walk on your own, and perhaps you reject it, and perhaps you ignore it, and perhaps you look to a place where there is no spotlight, life is forever there and it assaults, gets into you face and asks questions of you, and there is weakness in your eyes, and all that they want to do is dream, and all that they want to do is see, and then they see.

Yesterday That Must Stay in the Past

A knock on the door of dream, in an intermittent sleep, and frequent awakenings, and then the seeking of memory of the dream, and understanding, and searching for the source and the reason why, and then the darkness of current memories, alive in the recent past, love that is lost, and the lack of that warm embrace, of the nearness of blood, and then, what is of blood, cannot escape, cannot leave to find another place, and then memories of the distant past, children and love and the treasure of parenthood, knowing then, that it was something to treasure, that wouldn't return at any other time, but the clock was ticking onward, and time became older and there was aging in all of the players, and then a revertion to my early time, and the vacancy that was known to me then, and the emptiness of the time, was the very thing that thrilled me into growth, into strength, into progression, and then I had to look at you, without that experience, without my experience, in our relationship, and there I perceived difference, and then our imperfection arose, and in all of my selfishness, I lie in a place of guilt, and in all of my guilt, I stand in a hopeless place, and I look to where love had been in this place, where I hadn't been true, had not been complete to you, and then I allowed you to wander on your way, thinking that freedom was the gift that I could give you, not knowing, that freedom could not be a friend to you, and this evening, just like the dreams of the last night fill me with dread, with my disappointment for you in me.

Sport

I think the stadium housing a sports' event, should be the domain of sport and nothing else, a place of brotherhood and understanding, a place of fair play, good feeling and spirit among the assembled. Once you start introducing politics, you create division, which is contrary, I believe to the whole idea and ethic of sport. Sport should be a uniting force, and a sporting event should be a celebration of humanity. In my country Ireland, I believe we have this with Gaelic games.

Memory Foam Pillow

Bought a memory foam pillow today, and as I was waiting in the queue at Penney's in O'Connell Street, I happen to ask the lady behind me if she had ever used one, and she said, 'I have, and I felt like it sucked the blood out of me.' Sleep should be interesting tonight then.

Media Gods

Just about had it, with the highlighters of social injustice, who offer nothing in reply. When you take it down to an interpersonal level, our relationships are imperfect, as our lives are, and as life itself is.

Eyes

Eyes, they speak, and when the voice has spoken, it thinks sometimes and it regrets, but the eyes they speak, and sometimes they search, and other times they are inverted, these are the thinking eyes of contemplation, and eyes determine the countenance, they are decisive and the most alive part, this is where the truth dwells, waiting to be interpreted understood, they can be quieted and stilled, and they may also be on fire, but they are never free of expression, and sometimes they may laugh, and at other times they may cry, when they have beheld too much, more than they could have wished to see, and then these eyes are oppressed, and recline, into darkness, and they can speak of care and they can speak of love, and then they can overwhelm another pair of eyes, they are the truth of soul, when soul needs to be expressed in a visual way, so you look into the eyes, and then you see.

Strength

Showing to me the weakness in your aggressive strength, and the volume of speech in which you care to express it with, but alas also a show of weakness, and I wonder if the real strength is held in silence, and in its understanding and compassion, and in love.