poems

Sleep begs my surrender

/ andyveilleux / 4 Comments

You occupy my dreams;

is that a good omen,

or a warning sign?

 

Sleep begs my surrender,

but the words come first,

the words are always first.

 

Could tomorrow be important,

or will it be another day on the calendar,

where nothing of consequence happens?

 

I feel the warm, fuzzy happiness,

or not truly caring either way,

as I drift off in between these lines.

Sleep begs my surrender

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

You occupy my dreams;

is that a good omen,

or a warning sign?

 

Sleep begs my surrender,

but the words come first,

the words are always first.

 

Could tomorrow be important,

or will it be another day on the calendar,

where nothing of consequence happens?

 

I feel the warm, fuzzy happiness,

or not truly caring either way,

as I drift off in between these lines.

So much baggage

/ andyveilleux / 7 Comments

So much baggage:

Why do you still talk to HER?

Who are you sleeping with?

Why did you write on HER wall?

Who have you been dating?

Do you still talk to your exes?

Who is the last person you slept with?

Why did you friend your ex again?

Are you just going for coffee?

Which friend are you hanging out with?

What are you going to DO?

 

So many questions,

such a waste of breath,

stop worrying about things,

that don't really matter;

live happier.

new beginnings and new endings

/ andyveilleux / 13 Comments

 

It isn't my time yet,
the phoenix syndrome again,
burning out my frozen life,
filled with stagnant ideas,
confused thoughts and feelings,
from biting through wires,
trying to understand you.
 
I need a ressurection,
the second coming,
or maybe it's in the thousands,
but who's counting?
 
I wouldn't climb that mountain,
it's peaks are too high and icy,
I won't pay the reaper to go back,
that's far too pricey,
and in the end,
the cycle starts again.
 
I won't pull out a guitar and sing,
that's for the con-artists and kids,
trying to bed you under their favourite star,
or any of them, because he doesn't know the difference,
or how much you've already given away with your mouth,
and all the inappropriate things we said,
as far as he's concerned a lay is a lay,
and if he's got you naked it's been a good day.
 
I remember when life was that easy,
actually I don't, because I'm not like that,
it takes more than a random night to keep me smiling,
and even though sometimes I'm unhappy,
no one ever called me out for a lack of trying.
 
Democracies tend to favour civil liberties, 
but Mill knows what you'd give for me,
to be your overwhelming fascist,
like I used to be on our mattress,
and are those too strong of words?
 
No, because it's important to strike chords,
that'll make people listen,
break out of the soul-battering system,
love and passion aren't dead,
listen to the voices in your head,
Loneliness is a reaction to a need not being met,
and the only way to fill it is to get your life set,
and stop looking back,
that's all in the past,
and it can't help you now,
it'll only drag you down.
 
New beginnings,
new endings,
are we at the end or the beginning,
and what does it matter anyways?
 
I see new wings sprouting from my back,
or they're old wings I couldn't remember I had,
refurbished wings,
carrying me skyward,
and I know you'll come in the night like a thief,
a solo act of wisdom bearing three gifts of grief,
waiting to give away all your worst parts,
packaged with your body, passion, and smarts,
a one-way ticket to take away a piece of your heart,
and who would take you up on the offer of a second-hand start?

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.

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.