Art by Liam Mather (@sha.mang)

A flower, a bird, a story.

I did not have friends as the years passed. A lonely soul, trapped in a population utterly controlled material, violence. I found connections, relationships with the only parts of the world that would bring me in to their home, the only parts of the world, that welcomed.

Things that one can give, without possession.

Growth, love, creation.

I had a flower, that grew.
For years, this rose sat in the sunlight that reflected around my room.
It was a vibration, a message, of something beautiful,
that will always be there, if nothing else is.
The rose sprouted by the day,
watered by the rain of knowledge,
bathed by the light of meditation,
absorbed by the soil of passion.

But on a late night, I came home.
The rose, had deceased.

I had a bird, I loved.
It's immense color expanded daily.
It's wings flapped in the air of spirit,
it latched itself, upon my shoulders,
that became immune to weight.
I fed this bird, all the beauty I knew to express.
Food of art, nutrition of effort,
water of importance,
treats, of material.
I cherished the bird,
a spark of hope,
the epitome of all things gorgeous,
and all mine.

Yet the bird, had passed.

I wrote a story, I created.
A story of adventure,
discovery.
Inked by tragedy, 
written by the pen of the mind's complexity.
Rage, fallen heroes, angelic voices,
singing to my paper.
Characters of striking images,
elements of something, 
more than science.

I came home, to a home burned.
My story, had disintegrated.

My soul, is all that I have left to give,
all that I have left to control,
and I do not know if I can even do that.

If this pain is a civilization,
time has caused addition and renovation.
At this point, I can fall asleep in the trenches of war,
If God is in control, I do not want to go to heaven no more.

The higher power, pushes me to the edge.
Please don't kill me.
I am my last love, no longer another to share this bed.
Please don't kill me.
All of my Friends R Dead.

Art by Liam Mather (@sha.mang)
​I find it odd, endlessly confusing,
that the happiest days,
the brightest skies,
the serenity struck nights,
always decease the quickest.

Perhaps reality, is at war with our spirits.
After all, God loves destruction, murder,
he does it every day.

The power does not want you to be free,
and perhaps, it is not our friend.
We may be the unwanted children,
the misfits of the magic this world possesses.

This life may be a challenge,
a push off of the ledge,
a gun to our head,
to be the candle in the deepest depths of these shadows.

Embrace it.
The world has hurt you, so punish it.
Punish it with your ferocious passion.
Evolve beyond it through elevation and exploration.

The power, reality,
does not want to see you prosper in peace,
smile in serenity, 
break free from this cage.

So, do it.

Don't let life make you it's bitch,
push your foot in to the power's throat.
This is your revenge.

Be strong enough,
to raise your middle finger to the sky,
 live beyond,
and smile.

Art by: Liam Mather 
​
​This world we call home, is benevolent,
so I am homeless, at ease,
because being lost is where I find eloquence,
roses and bees.
I could never be lonely, there is no such thing as nothing.
This pain is percussion, my mind is in plummet.
I feel prosperity, so I refuse destruction.

I am in battle, invested in evolution.
There is revenge, music.
Every minute, is revolution.

Conflict, is conquest.
In silence, I find knowledge.
I am lost in my galaxy, searching the stars.
This life is a painting, 
swirling, expanding, burning in heart.
This is my canvas, my damage.
This world is our home,
But my soul has it’s own planet.

This world has a lot to offer, if you listen.
It is more, than an incision.
In the holocron of pain, you will find a vision.
The spirit of mind, has the power of extinction.
 
How could I ever be lonely?
I have my own universe to destroy.
How could I ever be lonely?
Where there is nothing, I find the most noise.
I drown in thought, emotion, but it is not death
Prosperity in passion, love in sex,
Poetry from pain, beginnings in end.
 
How could I ever be lonely?
I pass the herb to my other hand,
How could I ever be lonely?
My aurora is it’s own planet, it’s own motherland.
 
This is an intrinsic dream, and you are a dream becoming true.
Every moment is an image, and something new.

​How could I ever be lonely?