For Them

Remember the days, remember them,

remember the days when we were without worry.

The days when we live in blissful ignorance,

days with no strings attached.

 

Now, every twist and turn a wall we face,

where laws of both said and unsaid assaults us,

where logic have become twisted and abstract.

I’m here, sitting with you, joking eating laughing crying, sharing,

not to go against some higher power or someone behind a majestic desk.

 

No, I’m here for the young ones.

For the children, for the future yet to come,

we’re fucked there’s no denying.

Our generation, perhaps the most influential,

here the balance is tipping,

a crossroads in history.

 

To raze or rise the generations to come,

not to save the world.

For it’ll be here with or without us,

we’re the ones who should change not the world.

 

For a chance at innocence free from worry,

free from prejudice and borders.

Where we’ll be free from mindless deaths and hatred,

where we’ll all be understood and equals.

 

So…

Should we start?

You Weren’t There

I opened my eyes and you weren’t there,

that special blend you smoke wasn’t in the air.

that smell that grew on me,

the bed did not sink or rise when you wake.

 

I opened my eyes and you weren’t there,

on that chair across the room.

Bent over your notebook scribbling away,

as the morning rays slowly move across your skin.

Your pipe dangling on the corner of your mouth,

your guitar resting on your lap.

 

I opened my eyes and there you stood in front of your fans,

as they howl and cheer together.

Even with exhaustion weighting you down, you never disappoint.

You look back at us for approval and on you went with another.

 

Now, on this chair as the sun slowly light up the room,

I sit here with your pipe barely dangling on.

As I stare at your open notebook,

smoke rising and dispersing like a small camp fire.

Your body, your voice, your writing, your music, gone now on this day.

 

Your ashes spread across the beach in our hometown,

Remembering all the moments we spent, growing up.

Our first cigarette, our first song, our first moment,

Now, I just sit here waiting as the smoke steadily rises up into nothing.

 

Revolver in holsters

Next to bottle and glass

Rain hitting window and roof

 

Old scars aching

With joints following close

Weathered face look back

 

With sleeves rolled up

Calloused hands holds glass

Scotching the mouth

 

Faces flashing before him

From both dead and alive

Caused by the choices he made

 

His phone vibrates

Unhooking from his belt

“Precinct” visible on the screen

 

Downing last of his whiskey

Pulling down his coat from the hook

Closing the door behind him

Backs I Watch

In the darkness I walk,

through a door of splintered oak.

Absent of stars or light.

 

In the dark, myself I still see,

moving aimlessly

then, a light appear from nowhere.

 

Illuminating a chair

a simple chair of polished wood.

A smell of familiarity.

 

Of what I couldn’t place, only familiar.

I sat as everything starts to shift,

a pair of leather boots, battered and weathered, appear before me.

Colors splashed across the darkness.

 

The floor came, realizing barefooted I was.

She appeared then, like when we first cross.

In red coat, hair in dreadlocks,

looking smaller then when we first cross.

Reaching out but I stop short, like I hesitated before.

 

Scared of what to say or do,

looking at her back, like always as I watch others passed.

A chance in a million, passed.

 

As I rise, the darkness returns.

Realizing when my eyes open, another lost chance stood before me.

As she faced me, sometimes I can see her eyes sometimes not.

Her mouth moving as if trying to speak, but nothing reaches me.

 

Pretending to sleep avoiding them, again.

As I begin to fall through the darkness, everything passing before me.

Splashes of colors, images, things, people.

As I fall passed through the door, before I lost sight of it.

Slowly it closed forever.