#3 Ode

definition: a lyric poem, typically one in the form of an address to a particular subject, written in varied or irregular metre (a classical poem of a kind originally meant to be sung)


Mayflies.

Mayflies spend a year awaiting their birth, and then most die after living just one day. Their sole purpose is to pass on their genes.

we all are born
bright eyed like mayflies
on a linear path
to our own demise
no purpose but to 

die 

but that doesn’t mean we won’t
try find meaning to a short lived life
no time to cry
fly towards the light
quickly, before –
good night.


Leaves.

if my hope for humanity
had to be stored somewhere
I would place it
in a seed
planted into the palms of lovers
entwined love
grows a giant oak tree
eve’s apple
bleeds humanity
yet
I see some leaves are caressed by the sun
while others

   a

       l

          l
silently
littering roadsides,
trampled over,
so carelessly
even though the shared roots suggest
we are all children from the same family tree


#1 #2 #3

forest

I hate the dichotomy that controls me –
spending every day with
the paralysing fear of death and
inability to commit to life

I find myself lost in the woods,
searching for a purpose to my existence.
filled with envy towards those that cling to the highest branches,
holding onto the hope that
perhaps trees grow towards the sky
to be closer to something just outside our line of vision
something better than
humanity’s nihilistic tendencies

meanwhile, I stumble blindly into the clearing
collapsing onto the ground
with a heart that has
no confidence in a soul

scattered thoughts about identity
fills my mind
spilling from my hair
as I open my palms
to the possibility of catching
principles to guide me
they slip through my fingers
(like how they often slip my mind)
and stain the grass
with shades of my hypocrisy

always holding people up to standards built on their actions
yet judging myself merely on my intentions
ephemeral thoughts do not construct reality
– only who you want to be –
so I vow to the sun in that moment
to live with more integrity
I stop talking to the birds
and start walking

I wake up besides the enchanted lake.
spending days,
trying to find some semblance of meaning
in the face that stared back at me,
I realised too much self-reflection
only resulted in less clarity.
vague shapes and lines
ultimately paints no more
than my indulgence in vanity.

after all,
your perspective from your limited capacity
is not a path to true discovery.
journey instead on the road less taken.
overturn every rock,
and discover the unexpected.
keep companions that will set fire to fallen leaves
because only when your world is up in flames,
will you realise all that’s vital
burns the heart.

I will never find my way out of the forest,
and I still fear for what lies beyond the trees,
but my bruised and battered body holds substance
in the knowledge that I will keep walking.