Why Hold Onto The Future?

In 100 year’s time all you’ll be is a photo,

You’re only remains a picture on a wall;

And children will look at you

And say you look like Mum

And say they look like you

Like you do right now.

And your children will tell stories

About when they were young

And they’ll talk about the things you told them

You did when you were young.

And you won’t be forgotten

Because they will remember.

But how about when they’re gone?

How about when no one cares?

Will you have to wait for an inquisitive descendant

To research her family tree

To be recalled to the present?

But really, does it matter?

Why hold on?

I want to, humans need to,

But why hold on?

If I was a dreamer like everyone else

If I was a dreamer like everyone else, would the sun glitter as brightly? or would I be more attracted to the moon?

Do you think I'd say as much as other dreamers tend to do;
or would I keep my mouth shut tight, only smiling to kiss you,
to tell you that I loved you and that the night was black,
or that the stars were headlights and each planet a component of tarmac?

Do dreamers tell their worlds apart,
or is every dream the same,
identical in end and start
and common to the name?
Am I a dreamer like everyone else,
or is my world an apple tree -
one that grows and lives and dies in simple unity?
with what exactly I don't know,
to be sure, neither do you,
but apple trees grow rather well
when you let them do as they will do.
If I was a dreamer like everyone else,
I don't know who I'd be.
But I'm quite content if we exist
with you as you
and me as me.

Identical Smiles in my land

The winds of change are moving over the land

And the moon never rises on a similar scene,

Yet the eyes of the present are blind to the past

And the changes blur to a gentle acceleration

Where only separation can force the division

Between then and now,

And why and how.

Only gnarled ghosts remain of the colonialist hand

And the ancient tribes have been machined to dust

Which settles on people and on the land

Blanketing out all the sense and reason that supposedly comes hand in hand with time.

Instead a quiet has descended on rocks and mountains -

They shrink under the burden

Of a forgotten memory.

The braces of time have weighted down the corners of the smiles,

And forced them into a foreign alignment

That has sunk the quirks and gaps in the front,

Creating fragments of faces that dissolve in the sterile sand of the sea:

Never gone, but so far lost that they will never be found.

Only grimaces are left,

In the parting of the lips and in the eyes.

They depart from the clinical appointment, blank,

Colourless sheets blown by the changing wind:

They are all exactly the same, but in whose eyes?

Ignoring the wisdom of the past, they resist by shielding themselves

In the very armour that ghostly hand designed.

Safety in numbers, hiding from reality:

All identical faces.

Understand?

I understand.

I stand under the stars, 
watch aliens in a cartoon that are stars,
see cells in a brain that are brains -
and I understand.

But then, I stand under those same stars 
and see aliens
watch a baby grow, 
and see life
walk on the sand, 
(and realise that commas are not yet comatose)
and realise that where I stand is neither
where I stood a second ago, nor 
where I'll ever stand again.

Standing there;
a planet in a universe,
a universe of planets,
I sometimes think I understand.

But then I stand up,
or did I just stand down?
Put my hand up,
drop my hand down.
Reach for the stars,
or are they just straws?
(maybe they're imaginary alien's jaws)

I took a step, 
I took a stand,
But funny, somehow, I don't understand.

Do you understand?

The Stars

And in my dreams I visited

A vintage land of the finest art:

An empty space made majesty

By that introspect eye within mine heart.

As the fiery mural muted itself

To a haze of omniscient red,

Old Man Moon shook out his master plan

And laid it on his bed.

Black with lack of light it shone,

Brighter than day had e’er seen,

Enrobing all that stood alive

With speckles of that mystic sheen.

Blinking down, the twinkling lights

Were stars in the dark, it seemed to me.

But that night sky was deeper still,

Intricate more than e’er I’ll be.