The Beauty of Grey

16.04.2010

2010-04-16T07:01:00.000-07:00

Over the dawning of blue African hills
the jewel of love forever encrusted in your soul
the stare of a gaze, as clouds grow strong
the feeling of love, as rivers grow bolder
In your hands the gift of life, a new spring
a rebirth of joy, a life of no regrets
a spirit young and wild, unbroken by the hate
spared by the gods above, a fresh view on me
When you speak, the words fills my being
when you touch, the warmth fills my soul
when you promise, the safety fills my heart
As another dawn springs on our Africa
my heart beats faster as the first ray of light
comes to rest on your cheek, as I lay here
watching you while you sleep, I know that
forever is not long enough to have you

09.04.2010

2010-04-09T07:05:00.000-07:00

My head is pounding, my heart is breaking,
my soul is withered and I am dead.
Dead to myself and dead to you.
The heartache that I carry is too much to bear.
I've carried the burden of hate for too long now.
I need to unleash, I need to let go.
I need to let go of you.
You kill me with every word,
every gesture, you might as well beat me.
Your words have become fists and the
blows to my psyche have become blows to my body.
I feel remorse at being so bad.
I feel remorse at not pleasing you enough.
I feel remorse at always being wrong.
How you must hate me, but why
oh why don't you let me go?
Every day my soul dies a little more,
it swallows me up with no letting go.
I wonder mostly to myself if I will survive this.
A beast lurking in the night,
words that once caressed me, protected me,
loved me, made me feel whole, is now destroying me.
Africa save my soul before she withdraws and dies ...

08.04.2010

2010-04-08T02:41:00.000-07:00

The aftermath is never pretty,
the dust settles and the rain stops.
The sun goes down and clouds cover my view.
The path of destruction is desolate and alone,
dusty ... dusty ... and still alone.
The road to victory is never clean,
blood so innocent flow across our ways,
blood so pure fill our rivers to the brink.
Winds blow over empty carcasses,
carrying with them the stench of morality gone.
When night settles into day yet again,
no birds will sing for their territory,
no dogs barking, no kids laughing and playing
and no hope flowing in our veins.
When will we learn that we only
destroy ourselves if I destroy you?
The touch of frailty in our hands alone,
the peace for our people in our hands alone.
How can you not see what you are doing to me?
Killing me softly with every breath you take.
I am Africa, I am dying ...

07.04.2010

2010-04-07T03:14:00.000-07:00

As day settles into dusk
and night dawns on us once more
I feel the tension of the weak slipping away ...
giving way to some peave but not for long.
Our lives are filled to exploding with madness
with hereditary hate and guilt.
If only we could stop the madness
that we call life and actually live our lives the way we choose,
wouldn't it feel odd as you wake up
in the morning to smile and not to cry?
Cry over spilt milk is a waste itself .. or is it?
Why in this dawn of war do we contemplate
yet another way to blame each other for what we have created ourselves?
Is our Africa dying not the direct result
of the mistakes that you and I have made?
Our mother earth is purging in the sins of the mortals
feasting on her ... rich, powerful but dying .. slowly dying
with every breath we take.
Will we notice when the oceans are dry
or when all the mountains are flat and
no more rivers flow to make our fields green?
Will we cry then for our Africa?
Oh Africa forgive our cruelty ... I still cry over my Africa dying.

06.04.2010

2010-04-06T06:28:00.000-07:00

In the dark of night across the horizon
a bordering evil arises, a new hope
extinguished by the flames of hate
a love so pure, how to survive in an Africa
wild with war. Our hearts asunder smarted by
the tears of eons of revenge and pain
how to survive in an Africa ravaged by guilt
spilt blood overflowing our rivers, our
mountains shudder beneath the weight of guilt
of murder and death of children, their spirits
roaming wild and free across our African hills.
How to forgive the sins of the past, how to move
on, to forget the evil of ancestors long done. How to
remember the good of our childhood, the good of
o fear, no rules, no pain. The illusion of an Africa pure
an illusion in my head, an illusion in my heart.
My Africa lies dead at the bottom of the sea along
with the guilt of yesterday and the hope of tomorrow.

31.03.2010

2010-03-31T00:12:00.000-07:00

I am a leader without a nation,
I am a mother without a child,
I am a storm without thunder,
I am a river without water,
I am a lost soul without a spirit,
I am a poet without words,
I am an ocean without currents.
I have lost my flair, my taste for this life.
I have lost the meaning of words so pure.
I have lost the love of my youth.
I have lost myself.
I feel the wind although it does not blow.
I feel the sun even though it does not shine.
I feel the rain although no water falls.
I feel your love even though you are dead.
I sense the guilt of millions, guilt that is not their own.
Guilt for surviving, guilt for being spared,
guilt for moving on, guilt for smiling today.
My mind and feelings are not my own
I feel lost in a vast ocean where nothing makes sense and nobody can see me.
I am lost in a vast ocean of emptiness.
Africa, my love, Africa, my guilt .... how I hate you.

25.03.2010

2010-03-25T02:34:00.000-07:00

The soft whisper of a touch, a new thrill
of a life just begun. The spring a rebirth
of past winters dead. A leaf from a tree
full of memories, the autumn burns as
summer lives. A new tree of life born
of the ashes from a new fire of hope.
Things undone and unsaid between
this life and the next, falling clouds of
sins already committed. A father's hate
thrust unto his son. A mother's hopes
laid unto her daughter. A hopeless circle
of evil never ending. The road ahead dark
and misty. The silver moon adding to the
resonance of hopes already dead of
mysteries never solved. A broken heart
never mended, the soulful cries of the crazy.
The mythical embrace of an angel from
the other side. A child lost and lonely
adding to the weight of so many lost
before him. The soft whisper of a touch, a
new thrill of a life just saved.

24.03.2010

2010-03-24T00:15:00.000-07:00

From the fields of burning echoes

the resonance beats a dull ache

behind the rock of infamous beauty

lies the secret of within.

From the mountains of eerie silence

the thrill of yet another war

behind the violence of intricate hate

lies the secret of within.

From the rivers of pulsating sadness

the pressure of peace builds

behind the masks of delicate feelings

lies the secret of within.

From the trees of majestic royalty

teh flair edges a perfect harmony

behind the crown of precise judgement

lies the secret of within.

23.03.2010

2010-03-22T23:18:00.000-07:00

All things great and small, our time on earth is nearly done. From the majestic mountains
to the rising wisps of dust in the deserts, from the spraying waterfalls to the listless gait of antelope we all live in harmony, in a time so vast ..... so long ago ..... my walk down memory lane takes me back to 1894 when we battled in this land not just with each other but with the lion and
the hyena, the rhino and the elephant, we fought for survival even then and now we are doing it again only this time we fight ourselves. Love no longer rule our hearts, hate has taken over and
guilt took the place of compassion, the guiltier we feel because we hate, the more we hate because we are all guilty. In this world we live in, nobody is innocent any more.
Africa, my soul, my precious, you I hate most of all.

19.03.2010

2010-03-18T23:18:00.000-07:00

A flaming fire burning down the walls of conservatism, a flaming fire burning down the walls of respect, a flaming fire burning down the walls of hope, a flaming fire burning down the walls of peace, a flaming fire burning down the walls of rationalism, a flaming fire burning down the walls of realism. How long with the fires burn? The melting of one's self respect, one's self worth, one's self love. Maybe I'm a cynic maybe I'm realistic maybe I'm negative maybe I'm right. The what if's of life will never stop once the questioning starts. The doubt will grow and grow and manifest itself until you can no longer think of anything else but the nagging feeling of doubt inside your own mind. Do we merely survive because we are suppose to or because we simply don't feel like trying anything else? Listen to the silent whispers, the silent secrets carried on the winds of our minds.

18.03.2010

2010-03-18T00:12:00.000-07:00

Another day, another dawn,
another sunset, another deep ravine of sadness.
Another exploding well of deep unfulfilled feelings
and emotions waiting to erupt,
waiting to be cast into the light,
waiting to be lifted.
Another seemingly endless day,
the sun will blister but never falter,
the moon will caress but never leave.
Our paths across desert sands will disappear
and blow away but the footsteps
in our hearts left by others will remain forever.
The weariness of years past of sadness of guilt over death,
who is really to blame?
We cast our problems unto others
but what do others cast upon us?
The masks of time will tell who is real and who is not,
do we not all hide inside ourselves a monster waiting to come out?
A monster that will defeat the ends of this world
and beat the odds that we are up against?
Will our questions ever be answered?
Oh my sweet Africa, you lie rotting in your own pool of death.

17.03.2010

2010-03-17T03:05:00.000-07:00

A butterfly slowly awakens to the
pulsating beat of an African drum.
The leaves of yesterday still wet
with the fresh dew of today.
A silent tear filling a river
a decade of rebirth, an era of
long gone magic. Silently dying
in the vast ocean of a new world.
Who will save my Africa?
My soul dies with her beauty
as each new cocoon opens
it's eyes to a new day. A silver
moon hanging low watching by
night as the scorching sun
guides by day. The tribal wars
long over but the mountains remain
steady as Africa struggles her
battle with the sadness of being human.

16.03.2010

2010-03-16T05:02:00.000-07:00

The lonely despair of a broken heart exiled by
the deep well of loneliness as we cry out
for our beloved Africa, a country long
dead, the roots of pain too deep. No
dark magic from the ancient sangoma
can save her beauty. Lost and lonely
exiled trees, we weep for those that
come to declare our Africa dead.
The heartbeat of a nation at war
surrounded by the ugly addiction
of hate. We rescue our sons and
daughters from the evil spells of
darkness, but we leave behind mother
earth. The clouds have broken once
again as my tears cascade over the
majestic mountains to feed the soul
of an Africa dying. My wings glitter
as the sun awakens, how small my world
compared to yours as you roam my Africa
taking what you find. To kill a nation the
lonely despair of a broken heart.

15.03.2010

2010-03-15T00:25:00.000-07:00

When you look over Africa's dawn, the deep red glow warms you from inside. The overwhelming feeling of loss a numb ache at the back of your skull. How much longer must I keep this secret from us all? The feelings inside of me like a steam train heading my way and I'm frozen on the tracks, a poet forgetting how to write. The heavy burden this secret has become, but you always want what you cannot have. A passing river rages, how calm you seem in the presence of my mighty Africa. Thunderstorms come and go but still these feelings remain solidly like the darkness birds in my soul. When you look over Africa's dusk, the deep red glow warms you from inside. Time seems to move too swift when you are around. Has it been only a day? It feels as if eternities have passed since last I heard your voice. Calm this storm and set me free from this prison that has no walls.

12.03.2010

2010-03-12T02:39:00.000-08:00

An ant crawling ... that is how they see us. They view us as nothing more than a scuttling ant crawling around the surface. The Crowl and all of his "Us". I have seen his mind, the darkness holding it, caressing it like a lover. How small and petty it all seems when in reality the "Us" is everything, all around, they can be any shape, any matter. The dominance of being the "Us", reaching a level of perverse persuasion ... burn them. Focus on that point and burn them all. The Crowl laughed at this, the Crowl is the "Us" and there is no escape.

13.01.2010

2010-01-13T02:45:00.000-08:00

The dust settles as dawn reaches down and wakes up humanity. The filth of being here, the hate of passing through another day, the demanding overload of a smile for the neighbour down the road. The heavy guilt of faking through another relationship. How do I get out of here? The power of the bullet , the power of the sword, the power of one. One reaction, one hate, one dream, one vision, only one chance ...

22.12.2009

2009-12-22T02:12:00.000-08:00

Falling from the heavens, thunder crashing around me. The heavens recoil in pain as hell gathers another soul. The weeping of angels falls down to earth like a thunderstorm of rain and hail. Goodness in each of us, waiting for the opening of the first blossom. All makes sense once again as the warrior rises. From ashes and dust, the mighty Gate Keeper watches. Crimson blood flowing so freely, our rivers bursting, cascading blood over soil. A rainbow appears, only a glimpse, but a glimpse of freedom nonetheless.

21.12.2009

2009-12-21T01:37:00.000-08:00

The fire burns slowly, the embers molten and deep red. The angel whimpering in pain, shivering with the cold. The fallen, the mighty, the chosen, how far away heaven seems. The loss of blood, smeared on the tips of silvery wings. The broken point of the sword still lodged somewhere inside. Oh how the heavens cried, when the mighty angel fell. Breathing raggedly, painfully, will this end in glory or am I already dead?

18.12.2009

2009-12-17T23:59:00.000-08:00

The stormy clouds are rolling in. The frontier is bloody and miserable as a lonely white horse slowly walks amongst the bodies of the brave and stupid. The light drizzle fills up a river, mud and blood washing away, a new spring in a fresh tomorrow. A new start as the war rages on. A bonfire for those crossing to the other side. The boatman watches and counts his quarry, as each old soul passes through. The darkness on the other side, the fear, the stench of misery. The dreadful howling of the newly born. The curse of living in this world of pain. The war is at full bloom.

08.12.2009

2009-12-07T23:24:00.000-08:00

As the tide clears the footprints on the sands of time, a fleeting spirit haunts me still. Life as we know it has come to an end and only the empty corpses wander around aimlessly thinking they are still alive. How can one become so lost? How can one forget the pain of death, the brutality of leaving this place, the empty spaces as we cross roads that were never there? In a hole in a cage, a prison with no walls, a windowless space called hell. Forever darkness. The pain after death intensifies.

02.12.2009

2009-12-02T06:20:00.001-08:00

As the end draws near, the twinkling lights makes my stomach turn. All the festivities are more than I can handle. A sunflower cast unto the desert ruins. How long will this torment last? I want to close my eyes and wake up in a brand new world, one without guilt or suppresion, one without failure and dominance. A warpath chosen by few but followed by many. How close is death to you?

01.12.2009

2009-12-01T05:28:00.000-08:00

A single teardrop filling a river, a waterfall overflows into the midst of your mind. The glory not quite yours to claim as the wars of the centuries have yet to come to an end. A dragon slowly rises from his cave. A dawning on a new day, a new battle to win, a new hope to restore, a new destiny to fulfill. A single rose in a vast empty world, strangers following shadows as the moon gently guides. A spirit so frail the end is almost here.

30.11.2009

2009-11-30T04:29:00.001-08:00

As the new dawn creeps over the hills ever so silently, the twisting knife in your back leaves a scar in your soul. How the soul can bleed an eternity of never forgiving the torment, the guilt an ever increasing rush of your senses. How the mighty can triumph in light of the weak, the poor, the sick and the dead. In this place we call life, a void of blackness is all I see. My senses are numbed as you twist the knife deeper through my heart.

20.11.2009

2009-11-19T23:27:00.000-08:00

A breaking heart, a mother's failure. A frightening revelation, a father's nightmare. A troubled world deep in the hearts of the youth. The elderly with glassy eyes, mourning day after day. The past outlives the future, the present a memory of things to come. The ocean vast and domineering, the mountain top strong and steadfast, the raging river, a monument marking our passing. In a world so wide, where do I begin to search for you?

19.11.2009

2009-11-19T00:28:00.000-08:00

The fate of the world resting on your shoulders, the lie that was never meant to be told, holding together the bonds of a truth that can never be revealed. The ashes of a long ago fire, the timbers of wood slowly falling, clearing your mind. A single feather resting on a mountain top, how far can this road take you? How far are you willing to travel the unkown?

16.11.2009

2009-11-16T06:14:00.001-08:00

Life is the one mystery we will never solve.

13.11.2009

2009-11-12T23:58:00.000-08:00

As the mist clears it becomes obvious what the day will bring. The pilfering war galling those left behind, the smoke and debris fill our beings, can death really be the worst that will happen? When left behind, to fight, to rebuild, to forgive, to kill .... ? Why is it that these things are the norm of our social calender, why is it that when something bad happens it spreads like fire throughout the world? No good in mortal souls, the blood that rushes through your veins, only there to keep you alive. You are damned to death, condemned by yourself, locked forever in a prison with no walls, no windows, no time. You are a slave to your own socialist ideals. A slave you were born. A slave you will die.

12.11.2009

2009-11-12T04:46:00.000-08:00

The first breath when you wake up in the morning, the first aroma of a freshly brewed cup of coffee. So follows the routines of our days present and past. The ones walking forth on paths of old discoveries, I have seemed to lost the plot yet again.

As our days fill up and our nights become more routine, are we living or just being? Sarcasm seems to take the form of our conversations and we find that we are only polite when we get paid to smile. How sad it seems to be human in the life we live today.

The moon becomes dreary and the sun whithers in the desert storm. How long will we live this lie in each of us where the lunatic hides?