House Of Cards

Based on a painting by Jean Bupiste Simeon Chardin


This hazy light doesn't help
hunched over his kings and queens,
he can smell the balance approaching the royal court...
He swears just one more layer of cold faces, then he'll rest.
Insomnia creeps closer
and the countless hours reserved for sleep have been
forgotten.
If only it could stay like this ; studying his progress
he builds;
higher;
more elaborate than before.
One wrong move, though,
it's over:
his vertical dream gone horizontal.
A little stability?
He looks to his hands
as if they hold the answers.
The sound of nothing
answers his question.
They're mocking him now, and he knows.
For a man,
this redundant fixation is not
healthy.
So
kill
the lights.
Lock them up
into the cardboard prison in which they call home
But he knows that
that is impossible.
The queen of his heart will be coaxing him for freedon
for just a little while longer.
He tries his best to ignore
their taunting demenor.
Jack and his friends grow impatient.
He stares at cardboard.
They're just paper....an obsession.
He taps on the table,
trying to block the urge.
He can't take the pressure,
he knows it's wrong.
A drop of sweat leaves his forehead
along with his
sanity.
He hears the king's order.
Let his people out and
no one
will get hurt.
No one.
Surrender.

Sheep

Blank pages whisper to my shy thoughts
as they float around like wandering kites.

40 minutes hijacked by
restless thoughts
followed by eraser marks,
regrettedly placed on the lonely paper.

It is in that moment
my word flow comes to me like drying concrete.

Pesonality is a rotating fading new thing,
and people are just something new to view like
movies, books and music.

Is there a fine line between respectful and cool
and ridiculous or silly?
A finer line between pain and pleasure and
a virtually invisble one between left and right.
One could never rest on the line, not even after death.