My biggest fear was dying, nowadays it's feeling alone. It took me twenty-eight years to peer into the looking glass. Somehow, I found that my habits weren't so destructive. Overly mindful of my own disruption, I was dangerously close to doing nothing.

Struggling, searching for pieces long removed from its subject, led me to the mountains. Time unveiled its wisdom; the pain made me philosophical as the years escaped my grasp. Alas, as the years amassed and the veil slowly faded, I came to understand that trials and tribulations should never foster hatred. It's never too late to ask. Every path you tread should never be your last.

Perfected words whisper through me as the pain comes to an end, and I delve into the depths where habits lie shattered. Self-destructive patterns become easier to distinguish. I knew I could pursue some new beginnings if I quit being distant.

Picture me fitting in. Picture me painting pictures in sync, not as a victim. There are things that I've been missing out on.
I just haven't been living.
I relinquish my resistance—for me.

One step in the soft concrete
and the direction you turn from there
will shape decades.
You may find the very place,
step there again, walk over it;
turn again.
It is the same pavement noticeably
worn by micro erosion, cracked
by the hard ice of twenty winters.
The place is the same,
the space is changed—
shaped as it is now
by twenty years of urban development.
Some buildings provide
familiar shelter,
others drip stormwater on your head
from strange appendages.
Stand there
if you can spare a moment.
Turn again.
No pavement lasts forever;
concrete is liquid
and can take decades to dry.

the planets will align
every once in awhile
to arraign all who need
or are deserving of it
those who find themselves
treading the wrong path
those who can no longer
see what lies ahead
despite all those
gazing upwards
     silently questioning
these immaterial messages
will be overlooked
unheeded by the majority
only recognised by the few
comprehended by even fewer

this singular occurrence
rare and rarefied
may be explainable
in its most basic sense
logistically
     empirically
to even the layman
it is but a simple matter
of timings and orbits
calculations of gravity
versus mass and inertia
but that which truly matters
the universal push and pull
will leave even
the most discerning of minds
in the dark

i eat the food of the soft and hard work
   no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that works
   a life of effort all live with the true

of not excisting in the mind of self
   and what we call god is a bandaid that
is better than nothing as we bleed life
   out of love upon a table raza

which is true yet maleable so now
   we walk and talk the walking head maybe
not a word is true that's not thought softly in
   a moment of yells and we follow

as to the inner true unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i do not know what

like two cars
at a crossroad junction
we glided into different
paths

Life,
A path diverged, splitting in two,
And alas, my beloved, you cannot tread both.
Choose one journey, yearn to endure,
It's an intimate voyage, a solo race to embrace,
Gaze far ahead,
Where it curved amidst the foliage, and witness how
Mortal society ebbs and flows,
Amidst an unchanging factor.
The masses conform to the transient norm,
Beloved,
Many sorrows arise from faith's inertia,
Idle and hopeful, they bear consequence.
Do not play the assigned role, for conformity persists,
As humans, we mimic one another,
Pride precedes ruin,
And arrogance leads to downfall.
They are shackled by their lack of freedom,
Drawn to those who flaunt their fluidity and uniqueness.
Beloved,
Tell this tale with a wistful sigh,
Somewhere in distant ages to come: that
Once, it was unfashionable to be rebellious,
Yet as multitudes assumed the rebel's guise,
It lost its distinctiveness, its defiance faded,
But two paths diverged, and you,
You chose the one less traveled,
And that choice has made all the difference.

ticket to the train station
tempted to train my motivation
singing swan songs for my salvation
toking for a moments vacation, coaching vocation
warp the world around my thumb
sway to the beats of my drum
angels pick me up, scared to become
all the things i have been ashamed of
iridescent sparkles that were judged as vain
steady shovelling the ****, shaving down the over grown bushes
the path was there all along; i see her now
what the **** was i even doing

Wake up, get ready, leave, come back, sleep
Wake up, get ready, leave, come back, sleep
Like a giant loop, I follow the path.
No real goal in sight, no real plan when I stop.
It’s almost as if I’m sleepwalking, hell, I probably can sleep through most of my day and my body will still follow the path.
But one day I’ll need to look back at how long I’ve been on this trail, and all the self destruction I’ve left.