A crowd of people

Shouted something

Without sense

And we all drifted

Into the underground

Where silence reigned

And we remained there

Until our minds were rested.

Climbing back above ground

The rain it poured

Cleansing us from nonsense

And freeing us from chaos

And a hateful world

Where the loudest rules

And the abhorrent laziness

Of the venomous trolls

Unthinking and unblinking

Tear into our tears

And prey on our fears.

Clinging onto a sanity

That only we know

Or think we know.

We try to continue to exist

With a strength of mind

And our understanding

Of this confusing world.

Any other day

It started as any other day

A sunrise with no surprise

Crept out of my bed

And ran the radiant rays

Through my hair

A warmth seeped into

My still sleeping soul

Breathing life back

Into my fatigued mind

Hope returned with the sun

A soothing feeling

Running down my spine

Dreaming of swaying fields

and a fine wine

Relaxing in waves

of unending joy.

Countless stars

“There really are too many stars to count,”

lamented fox after spending

what seemed like an eternity

with his head held back

staring up to the heavens.

“Don’t worry,” replied owl

“We do not need to know to exactness.

Only to realise that the number

is immense and unending.”

Fox sighed and then, hung is head

at what he felt to be defeat

at his unfulfilled task.

“Do not fret, fox” said owl

trying to comfort his old friend.

“Come now. Let us break our fast together.

The sun is rising, and the stars

will disappear from our sight

until the evening stands tall again,

and the infinite universe

is revealed to us once more.”

Going under

It’s a psychology of going under

Of flat backs and long hats

Screaming sirens

And broken irons

A series of spies, high on drugs

Listening in on conversations

Of fleeing flies and leaping lions

Holding onto ideas of deformation

Reformation, and deviation

Never letting go, clinging onto

A silent thunder of brainwaves

A cantankerous companion

This psychology of going under.