poetry 101 rehab: revolution

pace the pavement,
punctually tired.
routine well-established
(if you're not careful

you will wear the
asphalt down)

same old days;
they ignore dark winter's
chill kiss
(summer's humid embrace
as well)

pace the path
you accidentally created
day after week
after month.

snap and tear;
you're darkest in your
imagination.

(it won't change anything,
you know?)

pacing turns frenzied
hurrying towards a dozen
imagined goals.
(there's never enough time,

is there?)

and on a blistering-hot day,
(you're not even aware of it yet)
this is how you decide.

it's time for your
revolution.

the deluge

she is the
deluge,
one you never
see coming.

not until it's
too late,
that is.

watch out for her.
she will wreck a
mansion
with a
thought,
lay waste to a city
in a heartbeat.

and she won't
think twice before
she does.

she sweeps through
the world.
it is no more than
a playground to her.

she dances in the
street, careless and
wild and
unchallenged.
(none will challenge
her)

watch her hair
tangle in the
air, a Gordian
knot of nature's making.

watch her twirl,
wildness in her
blood
unrepentant and
casually destructive.

she is a
hypnotist
and you
cannot
look away.

vortex

this happens again and again.

you are the scrawl, the
faded dull white writing on
a murky piece of blackboard.
i am the silent scribe.

this is my duty, you
see to always write and
keep our records for posterity.
always drawn back to you.

magnetised we are not, but
still we gravitate towards one
another as if we were.
these records won't keep themselves.

time for a new ledger.