Fridays

Aren’t you there,

Hidden your mind,

Captured and solaced,

Each day this time,

Happens when sadness,

Overtakes each night,

And when the day lightens,

Don’t let it give you that fright.

I’m stuck in this warping,

My twisting and churning,

Yet Tuesdays a Monday,

Each day that I’m learning,

My follow be light,

My heavy be fright,

My midnight a morning,

Each day and each night.

And though it gets centred,

Sometimes it doesn’t,

Sometimes I gave in,

(Sometimes truly I cave in),

Sometimes I see,

We can all be singers,

A talking I know,

And rhyming still lingers.

Is that prayer or a scream,

A dream waiting to happen,

Or something I’m buying,

Just to not let it happen?

And when I am through,

Writing in both directions,

You’ll remember my gift,

Was a name till it happens.

And this is the extra,

The prayer for you too,

To see that it’s possible,

Still to pull through.

And I’m asking for hope,

A drink and a line,

To save me one moment,

For that perfect rhyme.

And twenty minutes passed,

And I shared some laughter,

The cues went all black,

But there was hereafter,

And then I rewoke,

In this split minded place,

Realizing that,

It wasn’t a race.

And she knows it best,

I would never go back,

I’d been there more times,

Than I can remember to pack,

And don’t we all know,

It’s more than uneven,

To say I am a god-fearing man,

That gets sick of weavin’,

But today I’ve now seen,

That I am not cursed,

Just a little broken in spirit,

But I remember that verse,

Where god says to pray,

And meditate too,

On anything holy,

And that the spirits will lift,

Because of their voice,

The gift we had taken,

Was to have a choice.

And though I made more mistakes,

And wrote much of it down,

The world is spoken,

And we are all here.

Below is a mystery,

Written for us,

And though I try to deny it,

I know God is that just,

To see we’re all human,

And that we succeed,

Until we try to do that,

One thing we need.

We can’t figure it out,

We all know that we’ve tried,

But there’s nothing worth keeping,

It’s all deep inside.

And share if you will,

My story and song,

This battle was won,

Before we proved it,

In delusions and tricks,

In curses and verses.

There’s more to this life,

Than bitches and sticks.

I give you my blessing,

And offer you this,

Time wasn’t a weapon,

Just a mysterious gift.

And when I come out,

Of the place I reside,

I’ll know every good place,

To run and to hide.

Because as I’ve just said,

There’s forward and back,

Not much that we need,

And rarely we lack,

We open our door,

We may pass your good conscious,

But freaking only happens,

When you are still nauseous,

And then it was me,

Here sitting alone,

To see how much I matured,

And how much I’ve grown.

Turn the mirror around,

And rip off the silver,

If you want to survive,

You have to deliver.

The grace is that pattern,

Of eternally forward,

Until the day we rewind it,

If you can afford it.

So there’s one of the last,

Things that I’ll ponder,

Because glass is just thick sand,

And time can still wander.

Now as I write,

Here is this room,

Know Matthew’s the name,

And

I’m a Vlasblom.