Hands.

Look at your hands that hold your world…

With every page we turn
from one day to our next
they’re there to guide us through

to button our shirts on that big day
to show us love in a simple way
they create the bonds we cherish
and come together so we can hope for better

And with every blessing we receive
with every sip of water we need
it’s our hands that give us the power
to go through life’s every hour

The craft, they create, they mend and mold
they take the time to help us unfold
our opportunities, our celebrations
and all the important things we need to hold

They give us the power to work wonders
they hold our guiding light
And with a little time and care
Let’s give them the power to fight.

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*Wrote this for a cause that I've come to be familiar in the last week.

We lose one child in the world every 20 seconds 
due to digestive and respiratory tract infections. 

Simply washing hands with soap can help save over 
500,000 children under the age of 5 every year.

I had to write this, and I had to share it with you.

Please pass it on.*

Wires in your Pocket.

Thanks for this beauty Tanvi Madkaiker
See the original image here.

You can't run
Your fingers through my hair,
You can't see the tiny tears
We leave upon the bed.

Still I stay like the sun,
Black and gold stained sheets,
Still in the quicksand,
A tragedy entwined,
Like the threads on your sleeve.

We are like
The wires in your pocket,
We are like the ends of my hair,
The more we are together,
The more we wind around each other.
Because we're like
the wires in your pocket,
Like old shoe laces left,
The closer we are together,
The more tangled we get.

Still I stay like the sun,
Black and gold stained sheets,
Still I stay like the sun
Spinning still slowly,
Dusk after dusk,
Dawn after dawn.

"Racing on a fault line."

Such a cliché

When they begin to say

That the littlest tears can create an entire sea.

Four days unfound,

And four months beyond

Control over any semblance of sleep and sanity.

This is not what I had planned

for me.

My shoes are torn,

Clothes, over-worn,

Soaked like the sea in wet, wet salt.

This is how it ends

When you make amends;

Is this how it screeches my bones to a halt?

Is it all, like you say, 

all my fucking fault?

Then tell me now,

Where are my shooting stars?

Those pretty lights descending on you all

Promises and wishes that are due to fall?

Are they coming here at all?

So tell me now,

Where are my pieces of gold?

That big red button to end it all,

With only my skin to stop my fall.

It was never mine at all.

I refuse to believe,

I deny every word,

So you watch me waste away,

These swollen words unheard.

I'm running too fast.

I'm not fast enough.

Look, look closer,

Look at the ground open up.

I said look, look closer, to the ground opening up.

*Title taken from lyrics of MUTEMATH song, Stall Out. 

Thank you for the inspiring music.*

Carousel of Nothing.

Trust -

Made of glass, not stone.
Withered and worn.
Tattered and torn.
Dragged along the floor
And thrown in some corner
Along with feeling, empathy and common sense.

Who's next?
Who's next to sit on this carousel of nothing?
That's all there is now
To find and take
To bend and break
To match your fake
Complimenting all the empty words you clutch in your pockets.

Seats
All laid out just for you.
To enjoy the final show.
To happily misconstrue.
Dance to teach them how it's done,
How to trickle in to fill the costumes
Cut out of transparency
That hugs the soul and defies nature when they wear it.

Thought
Escapes all those who enter now.
Filling an abyss with apathy.
Somewhere there are questions
Like lost sounds.
Floating to surround.
Wrapping their tails round.
But somehow missing a neck.

If this carnival has been fun
Return when you're done
We'll throw stones at each other again.
Or next time we'll have guns
For faster, better, bigger wounds
Because anyway, there's no more blood left to spill.