Month: June 2010

nothing lasts

/ andyveilleux / 5 Comments

 

I was in love with Finland,
her beautiful blonde hair,
and the bluest of eyes,
but especially,
the tender way she spoke to me,
held onto me as if it was forever.
 
I was in love with Ireland,
her fire burned my heart to a crisp,
and I stuck around to watch it, 
and see what it would do to my soul;
what a lovely fury,
what an intense love.
 
Everyone other country of my past,
is woven into a tapestry,
as are the countries I currently visit,
and it's so beautiful,
but how long does beauty last?
 
All that glitters…
nothing lasts…

I don't believe my memories

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

 

Sober moments of reflection,
I've come to doubt,
with all of my heart.
 
I don't believe my memories,
they don't feel real enough,
and it was too long ago to recall,
with any accuracy.
 
Where's the authentication?
You're not crying on my chest,
or ripping at my heart,
any longer,
so did you ever?
How would I know?
 
I wouldn't.
 
My compass is broken,
I'm lost a sea,
with mirages all around me,
and where do I go from here,
when every direction is North?
 
I'll just drift along now,
and you should run along now,
there's nothing left of me,
that you'll recall fondly,
so don't recall me at all,
it'll hurt both of us,
too much.
 
you should run along now,
even though,
it'll hurt both of us,
too much.

a sucker for staring

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

 
Your eyes won't leave my mind,
They're stuck there,
suspended in time,
and in my life.
 
How is that for broken,
I can't break your stare,
and you left awhile ago,
you were never there.
 
But I'm a sucker for staring,
into too many beautiful eyes,
and it always catches up to me,
and I wouldn't have it another way.
 
You've caught me,
a squirrel in your bear trap,
too weak for these game,
I'm wasting away and it's not a wrap,
not yet at least,
beggin my ghosts to leave,
and my demons joined the party,
I just can't win,
I need to get settled,
figure out what's happening,
and how my world's been turned over,
despite my protests and four-lear clover.
 
And that's life, 
my lovely,
that's life.
 
Would you have it any other way?
 
I wouldn't.
 
Life for excitement,
or die of boredom.

you asked and i delivered

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

 

You asked me for a poem,
and I'm here to deliver,
but what will it mean,
if it's forced,
or broken?
 
Can I write for you,
as though I was a painter,
painting portraits on commission,
Maybe I'm an abstract artist and,
your nose isn't even on your face,
and your beautiful eyes are nowhere.
 
Am I hiding the best parts of you,
because I'm scared to lose you,
to somebody else?
 
Maybe I should stop,
with my selfishness,
and share you openly.
 
No.
 
You are my lovely secret,
and maybe my secret love.
 
There's an end coming,
a great wave of nothing,
but there's no saviour,
no upcoming heroic behaviour,
 
 
What becomes of us,
are we to be,
hollowed out,
left for dead?
 
Broken hearts from the future,
already sensing the end is near,
and who could blame them?
 
The reality breaks through,
and destroys the dream we've built,
and who are we to fight against it?
 
Nobody,
but it's time,
to be somebodies.

Frankenstein living

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

run away,
because everyone else has,
and everyone else will,
that's the law of the land.
 
 
People shouldn't stick around,
spending time with corpses,
if you've got more life,
get the hell out now!
 
But if you're dead too,
we may as well stay together,
share in one another's misery,
try and harvest the dying grains,
or all the memories we made together,
when we cared.
 
Maybe we have no memories,
the lesion method of living,
or maybe we've overloaded our minds,
dying for something important to come along,
and hold on for dear life,
a reminder that we may live again.
 
Frankenstein living;
pieces of broken hearts,
strung together backwards,
a patchwork of broken souls;
eveyrthing we've ever known,
was faked or never existed.

It was better than nothing

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

 

 
That's where you're meant to be,
Not stuck with some old soul like me.
 
It really meant something,
back then in the dead months,
even if our life only existed,
between the sheets or in anger.
 
It was better than nothing,
and better than anything we had,
before each other,
wasn't it?
 
I'm not afraid that I'll hurt you again,
because we both know I would,
and you would hurt me,
the pain is too easy,
not as difficult as love.
 
Love's the part we never got right,
we were so good at the pain and despair, 
we lived for it.
 
Self-destructive doesn't describe it,
it's a petty, importent word,
meant for petty and impotent people,
and we're not guilty of that,
most of the time.
 
An air of immaturity choked us,
from time to time,
but that's life.

Entertain me

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

Will you entertain me?
You want my company,
my photos,
my poems,
my stories,
my conversation,
my musings,
my comments,
my wall posts,
but where are you?
 
Where is my entertainment?
 
When I'm up wondering,
how to smash the emptiness,
where is your entertainment?
 
Nowhere, 
sadly,
and it's back where we started,
with all of it.

Love and science

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Love faces the same problem science does;

a lack of evidence.

 

Love breaks down when you ask for proof;

"How much do you love me?"

"a lot"

"how much?"

"with all my heart.."

useless words.

 

How can you describe the feeling?

You can't.

Your language fails you.

 

It doesn't matter hos intricate your description,

how extensive your vocabulary,

humans have demeaned the word 'love,'

and it's nowhere near representative,

of the series of feelings it represents.

 

It's not your fault you can't explain it,

language is broken,

it's out-of-sync with life,

language is a series of symbols we use,

so we can sort of understand one another,

occasionally.

 

It's as exact a science, and as productive,

as fishing with dynamite,

if fish were the staple of your diet.

 

To use the cliché,

love is still the best game in town,

so we deal with it because,

the alternatives are undesirable.

the walking dead

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Living isn't difficult,

Life is though.

 

It's not the day-to-day activities that wear you down;

the eating,

and sleeping,

walking,

signing,

dancing,

writing,

reading,

drinking.

 

It's the big things;

purpose,

meaning,

love,

hate,

passion,

failure,

success,

misery,

fulfillment.

 

Rolling out of bed in the morning isn't the problem.

Pulling your soul out of the gutter,

after repeated failures and heartbreaks,

when your heart is drowning in misery,

and you can't remember your last lucky bounce,

that's the struggle.

 

Some people do it better than others,

and some are the walking dead.

Is that poem about me?

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

I get it all the time;

who is that poem about?

 

Is it about ME,

is it about HER?

 

It better not be about HER,

that would be so wrong,

and inconsiderate, maybe.

 

Yes,

the poem is about HER,

and it is about YOU,

and it about EVERYONE.

 

You can't segment each poem,

because life is not built that way,

it's a giant collective experience,

that makes up everything you are,

and therefore,

everything you write is a reflection of everybody,

who ever had an influence on your life.

 

Why did I write about that NOW,

why didn't I write about this, or that,

or the death of small animals,

the miserable life of a pop star,

the struggles of the oppressed,

the racism that plagues our society?

 

I didn't feel like it,

and I don't feel like it now.

 

Life is about finding your passion,

and when you WANT to do something,

everything about life makes sense.

 

When your passion leaves you,

find it again,

or there's no point to any of this.