Body and Soul

"Do you believe in angels?"
She said,
As she placed her hood,
Upon her head,


And let the rain fall,
All around her,
With an umbrella at her side,
Embracing the cool water.


"Do you believe there’s,
Someone watching?
Someone who knows,
How were moving?


Someone who knows,
Every last sway,
And every last footstep,
And every last day?"


With that I said,
"Close your eyes,
Listen to the sounds,
And realize,


That with nights we have left,
There’s just so many thoughts,
To let run through our heads,
To run us overwrought."


"I was curious,
Of what its like to die,"
She said, "for every person,
There's not enough stars in the sky.


If we were meant,
To be alive,
I’m sure the angels,
Would make us realize,


That a star,
Has no conception,
To our,
Person."


So I took her hand,
And placed it over the moon,
To show her how dark,
The world could be soon,


And I said, "we’re all the moon,
We’re not the stars.
The angels are all flickering,
Guiding us through who we are.


I know the way,
You feel right now,
And I know the world,
Turns up somehow,


But in these dire days,
Please don’t separate,
Your body and soul,
Don’t contemplate,


Just step outside,
And breathe the air,
And realize,
That life’s not fair,


But it’s the people,
We hold close and dear,
It’s the people,
That we hold so near,


It’s the angels,
We all have in our hearts,
It’s the angels,
Who have grown to be a part,


of us


that make this life
worth living.


I do believe in angels,"
I said,
As I removed her hood,
From her head.


And let the rain,
Run down her face,
"Those are the angels,
washing your tears away."




© 2011 The Still Air

not what i hear

why should someone like me,
deserve something so great.
why should someone like me,
have to sit and wait.

last night, there were signs,
loud and brilliant and bright,
and they were hidden in the sky,
and i slept right through the night.

i'm here because you want me here
not because anyone else wants me here.
if i was meant to be alive, then truly i would be,
but that's not what i hear.


© 2011 The Still Air

When lost at sea

location isn't key,
when you're lost at sea,
it's not the first thing to come to mind,
nor is the time.
You simply feel your way through
without fear of whats in front of you,
and in the moment of despair,
you'll remember you're still here.
No matter which way you steer,
you'll eventually come near,

the shore.


© 2011 The Still Air

we're all the same, we're all uniqiue

we're all composed
of 206 bones
layered with skin
layered with sin
we're constantly told, "we're all the same"
blood cells, muscles, tissues, brain.
we all contain similar physique,
so why are we told, "we're all unique?"
our insides, in a way
are all the same,
though some pieces are missing,
hearts are still beating
pumping blood at intense pressure like some sort of perk,
brains are functioning even if they don't work
and we live the same life,
find our meaning, and then die,
so if we're all so unique
why are our days on repeat?
the outside is where the differences are.
we're labeled like we're in boxes and jars,
and sub-categorized for our own terms
even if we don't affirm.
if we looked in our mirrors,
would we see any clearer?
or would the question ponder
would we even slightly wonder.
are we all the same,
or all unique in different ways.

or are we all the same because we're all unique?


© 2011 The Still Air

The Train

A thought train leaving a station
appears to be heading to the little town of reasoning
instead of the city of facts.
Neither is more pleasing.

The train scheduled to leave at a quarter after four
reminds me that there is no rush this quiet morning.
reminds me that there are no more facts.
reminds me that everyone's thoughts shut down in the evening,

while mine just started its engine.
I fed it. I gave it coal.
and this reasoning that i should hate,
lacks all control.

and having no control,
                  just happens to be something I love.


© 2011 The Still Air

the door at the bottom of the sea

Sea sights; no sight has ever been seen
                              like these sights
and fights,   i might          consider
opening a door at the       bottom
of the sea.

I might consider reconsidering my consideration
                         to open that door at the bottom
of the sea.

only because fear drives the driving thoughts
that fight the lights in my frightful head.
and it steers the freight ship charging through
                         ruggid            waters.
the sea.

the frightened freights fight forward
     and when they stop
when                           all else fails

thats when i'll reconsider
          considering diving deep down
to open that door


at the bottom of the sea.          

© 2011 The Still Air

Reason

If reason is what drives ourselves,
Into question after question,
Then how can we accept anything,
If we're focused on obsession?

Reason infects the mind,
And spreads like the cancer,
Until our conscience can't tell us,
  -Not everything has an answer.


© 2010 The Still Air

knowledge

if  knowledge                 comes with age,
does    age define our             knowledge?
or  does       knowledge                define itself,
with  the     experience   of                   how far's the edge?

the        close                  mind,    no matter the     age,
will     not                   develop its    knowledge,
     and                  cannot      define itself,
 even           after slipping over the
                                                    edge.

© 2010 The Still Air

the fever

It's     really all          a game,
Where I don't             win or lose.
I'm more    of just the         observation,
With a    confused        FUSE.

In a  moment,   from    spiking,
To  the moment of        looow,
I'm      afraid of my mind,
And the places it will       go.

I'll sacrifice the         hours,
  In an        attempt  for  warm,
Under my   cold   sea of     blankets,
In      this   eye   of    the   minds  storm.

It's a matter     of        time,
Until   the   clock  finalizes,
And    inthat  matter of time,
All   I'll  realize    is

i like   feeling alive  .

© 2010 The Still Air

am i?

                                    first, are you our sort of person?

         If I was your sort of person,

         I couldn't call myself a son,

         I couldn't be who I am,

         couldn't call myself human.

                                 you're living a lie.

         I'm living a lie?

         says the one who denies,

         the perfect setting,

         for scenery unsettling.

I thought I knew me,

         guess I was wrong,

         and wrong for so long,

         and now the question is subtle,

         

         am I my own sort of person?


© 2010 The Still Air

Rotation Room

This is the rotation room:
     I'm lost in its attic.
I love it; I hate it,
     I'm just another addict.

A hall to the left,
     columns eagerly wait
beside an endless stairwell;
     each step screams hate.

The room offers me,
     it's broken arms,
as i count each second,
     for the sunrise alarm.

The worlds way of wireing
     the dorms lights
next to the back
     of critical night.

The varnish will tint,
     and tint till noon
as I count each second,
     in the rotation room.

© 2010 The Still Air

mssing lttrs

in a momnt th mnd wll fll in bl nks
seing thngs tht wer nver thre
som wold fnd this dscovry
wnderng how ths is fair

tht ones mnd cn b so dmb
to fll in smethng tht ws nver thre
wy do we se sch thngs
sch wrng thngs, unfair

i tll yu i’m th sme
nthng shold mke sens
bt ourslvs let thngs hve reasn
bcase reasns our nly sens

reasn fr evrthng
dth, scknss, prblms we list
bt no reasn fr ourslvs
no reasn to exst

so if we dnt mss a mssing lttr
thn hw cn we say
tht we’ll ntice ourslvs 
whn w’ve lst our way

© 2010 The Still Air

just paper.

                                                            
disconsolate paper sings for someone to
come and write just a simple song. anyo
ne could write, anyone can write and wi
th writing, really, what could go wrong?
i am the paper and i just want some pen
to etch it’s thoughts and write out its am
en. i need someone faithful and true. Ple
ase write this life out. i’m calling to you. 
i’m wiped clean of any possible flaw; i'  
m just a blank piece of paper, why can’t
anybody draw on me, write notes on me
Secret notes, love notes, even hates too.
a drawing of a future. A drawing of truth
. what am i for if no ones to etch on me  
a future, a story, a life amazing and free?

i mean, i really am just a piece of paper. 

© 2010 The Still Air

a different colour

It’s        a different col our,
and a     different                 size,
and it caught          my   att entio n,
now  I’m
                 mesmerized.

 This   round  shape  ,
             seemssmallertonight,
the          proportions  are     odd ,
but    an interesting        sight.

Imperfection      could
mean          something,
a change?   A thought?
Emotive              sting?

Does   it        represent  me
Growing smaller with earth?
Or earth     growing smaller,
as     my     eyes     unearth?

              Is it my mind deciding,
to let go of me?
        Or me deciding,
to just simply see,

            who it is I am
                            am I who it is
                            am I the one
with    the pair      like this         ?

The grey;
               never before,
the size;
               so noticable,
and yet,                       I’ll let it slide,
         I know I’m just unstable.

© 2010 The Still Air

insomnia.

          Faded faces
in
          picture places.
The sleepless,
          momentary monsters
are
          Undisclosed, undercover,
images of
          perfect problems,
hiding
          Where? When?
Places;
          Unmanful, ungrateful
Our
          Half Hateful
Little
          Minds making,
hearts
          Simply shaking,
desires
          Out of Orbit
and
          Trying to transmit
sleeplessly,
          All along,
I was
          Simply not strong,
but alone in
          Dark depths,
an
          Extraction of exhaustion.


       Insomniac
 Mind     .

© 2010 The Still Air

Wars.

Saying last goodbyes,
screaming oaths and lullaby’s.
wondering what life’s for,
with these stories and rumors of war.

The crushed, tightly packed flowers,
underneath the lifeless soldiers.
As they tell them to implore,
into useless reasons for war.

As he’s called back into line,
the shivers run along his spine.
Has his moment come to no more?
Will he die a hero of war?

Blood stained jackets on the ground,
something so incredible would leave no sound,
they all fall down, these men where adored,
but claimed on the beaches of war.

Where is the freedom?
Buried in columns?
How could we possibly ignore,
all these stories and rumors of war.

© 2010 The Still Air

colours&shapes.

So perfectly aligned,
like I’ve never seen before,
so intertwined,
the colours and the shapes.

I’ve never seen something corresponding,
with such a vary of lively things,
or something so responding,
these colours and shapes.

And with the simple breath they were given,
they can be free with all potential,
but this complex world they live in,
reducing the colours and the shapes.

Although living amongst the rest,
even if you don’t notice it,
I looked for, only the best,
in the colours and the shapes.

What was it I saw?
I don’t even know,
whatever it was, it left me in awe,
the colours and the shapes.

© 2010 The Still Air

discrimination.

planting feet on firm foundation,
where i stand is solid plantation,
but i find now, i've no explanation,
I'm hiding all of my frustration,
inbetween cracks of fake elation,
cause now, I learn, i'm a creation,
finding my way to a new location,
I can't live up to expectations,
i'm just my own personification,
learning through infatuation.
Discovering the horrors of imagination,
finding it's only collaboration,
of my mind and fear of my desperation,
cause what i'm going through, you've no relation,
I've stormed the beaches of compassion,
hearing voices and screaming vibrations,
I'm trying so hard, to run from temptation,
but only finding more cheap sensations.
Sometimes my mind will take a vacation,
from scared to alone, then back to hesitation,
and i stutter my words, in my own deprivation,
but i'm finding peace in salvation.
being one with someone, allows integration,
back to health,
cause the only discrimination,
is from me to myself.

© 2010 The Still Air

walls.

are these muffled crIes,
 and stupId lullaby’s,
enough just to get by
 your sore, dIsconsolate heart?

             i am
        falling
                   falling

  failing...

Is your Inconsolable heart,
 rememberIng depart?
Is It mIssIng a part?
 or Is It mIssIng out?

               i am
                               calling
        calling

  failing...

Is there somethIng InsIde,
 that scares away your butterflIes?
that takes all your prIde?
 that turns your lIt heart to dawn?

 i am
      watching
                watching

   waiting...

waIting for a tIme where doors are opened?
 when you can depend,
on someone as close as a frIend?
 or just for someone’s heart?

                             tell me,
       when i am left between
                                  four symmetrical walls,
someone like me is no longer
            struck by calls?

makes me wonder...


                 god put,
   everything around me,
                     and called me his own,
and the things as useless to me
       as a telephone,

make me wonder...

               wonder why,
          i was put on this earth
 with everyone else,
yet i am seeing no signs
                                of the slightest pulse,

so why am i alive?

why
                do i sit talking to walls
   when i should be talking with someone?
why
                do i stand in awe of others talent,
   when i am merely as talented as them?
why
                do i dread life’s failures,
   when i should be learning from them?
why
                when i am given something wonderful,
     i simply let it drift away?
why
                                   do i do the things I do,
           when i am the one who hates them?
why
             does my mind wander,
          when the path is right in front?

                                                              i am learning that life,
                                       is not good enough for all of us,
                             but, for me, the only strife,
          is between me and a wall.

                           So a glimpse to my future.
              falling
        falling




  failing...

© 2010 The Still Air

Alive.

Help, a word commonly used when one is troubled,
But my trouble won't stop, and help isn't the word I would've used.
I think just a few more drinks, I'll be fine... I'll be fine even when I've stumbled.
I feel them at my back, laughing, God, Why are they so amused?

love... Love? well, I never new real love.
True I had her every now and again. It was just her to myself
but she.. she seemed so... so proud of,
so damn proud of herself.

And the chemicals. Yes! The depressants,
Thank God for the narcotics that filled my breath.
who knew such wonderful things could come from plants,
and... and... fuck, I can see my death.

I was drunk at the wheel, summer of 08.
They said "get a taxi", but I was out of my mind.
If they had just helped instead letting me take the wheel of fate...
It's not my fault, right? cause something tells me it is... something inside

I lay here now... alone, but alive.
I'll cling onto life, no matter what's happened.
I know... I know I should've, could've strived,
but, lets face it, we all get distracted.

So as I lie here on my bedroom floor, tears...
tears across my face and scars on my arms,
I'm confused, and I doubted you for years.
but you... you can take me from worlds reach... from the worlds harm.

Help, it's hard enough just to think I'm alive...

© 2010 The Still Air