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Sitting, looking, taking in the view
of the young and the old, the timeless and the new-
I look up and out to a bustling city
constantly changing and revitalizing itself every minute,
as I sit alone staring at faces, windows, beauty, art, life,
from my spot at Millennium Place,
as sunlight bursts through the clouds and blesses where I am
so that everything is beautifully lit.
The city in which I am sitting was once described as a “ghost town”,
however I think that perception hasn’t been ascribed for a long time-
this city has a history, it is has a story;
this city reminds me of myself, and the people of this city
are like the infinite sides and colours of me;
I think that this city and I are by no means in decline-
I believe that we are in our prime.
Sitting on the circumference of this circular centre of congregation,
with a museum dedicated to the best inventions
of some of mankind’s best mechanical minds behind me,
I think about what the world has gone through, what I have been though,
the things that still stand on land,
and everything that lies, lives, and endures everyday in the sea.
There are creatures who live their entire lives in the dark,
deep, wonderland, water-expanses of the ocean floor-
completely oblivious to sunlight-
who have the ability to actively emit, change, and show their own colours,
whose bodies are as translucent as glass-
they shine in their own way,
some still to be seen by human eyes for the first time,
playing out a mystery unbeknownst to them, blissfully un-harassed.
As I grow older in heart, mind, and body,
I go to places, and I step inside the footprints of other people
who I imagine once followed the path that I am now on,
and my mind no longer feels foggy.
When you are a child you play in the fog-
the fact that you don’t know everything
doesn’t even become a fully-formed thought in your mind;
but you do want to do everything, you want to see everything,
and you have no idea that you should remember for later
the things that you leave behind.
I am enthralled by the future;
I adore every day, for many different reasons,
and as I get older I try to chronicle as best that I can
the days that have gone by-
because I have lost so much, and will continue to lose so much,
and because I have slowly began to give up the obsession of my youth
by stop asking the question: why?
Mask lifted, shroud cast aside,
secrets revealed for all the world to see;
private life made public, your secret identity- the real you-
has been uncovered and set-free.
People work with you, they live with you,
and they think that they know everything about you-
from your hair colour to your shoe size;
people may see you and talk to you every day,
but they will never know you, nor would even recognise your true voice,
until you reveal it to them-
and the reaction to such a revelation can be one of unbelievable surprise.
Friends, co-workers, and family members,
don’t believe what they are hearing at first-
when the secret life that you have been living is announced to the heavens
it is always in a way that, if you had the choice,
you would have hoped to have rehearsed.
People don’t always intend to lead a second life-
most of the time the real you gets pushed to the shadows,
for the sake of conformity-
you act and talk in a way that you are expected to-
while in your private thoughts and moments
you live as best that you can
all the things that make you happy
and you become the person that you always wanted to be.
There is always a reason for a secret-
sometimes it is for protection,
sometimes it can be to keep a mystery alive;
sometimes a secret desperately needs to be told,
sometimes the depths that following a secret will take you to,
of something or someone, rival the discoveries of a deep-sea dive.
Even when you ask a magician how they did their magic trick-
even though you want to know- you never want to know,
for fear of the knowledge that it is something that you could do yourself.
People ask what the meaning of life is,
but secretly they would be content to never know
and keep the answer buried for all eternity below an ice-shelf.
Keep a secret for as long as you can, and if it is a secret about you
then think long and hard about what you are keeping a secret and why,
and ask yourself whether it is a secret
that you can always keep ahead of and out-run;
think about what other people could be keeping a secret from you and why,
and repeat in your mind and to everyone that you meet
that you really don’t know someone.
The voice came out of nowhere,
and with it one word: “hello”.
We all sat staring at each-other,
perplexed by what we had just heard-
seemingly the voice of a ghost in the answer machine-
and then we all burst into laughter: my Dad, my Mum, my Sister, and Me.
Where the voice had come from and why, neither of us knew;
but the fact that we were all present at that exact moment
that the voice spoke out, we all knew was significant.
I half expected the voice to say “goodbye”
when my sister left the living room,
however it did not. Not that I was surprised.
I was intrigued, though. I still am.
It was a familiar voice-
a voice I have heard a hundred times by now;
however what, or who, it was that said “hello” to us
remains a mystery.
The mystery box of my life
would contain everything of magic on Earth that means something to me;
even if it were only a memento,
I feel confident that even the smallest of hints as to why I love them,
and why they inspire and mean so much to me,
would tell you everything about them, and me-
while still preserving a sense of mystery.
The first thing in my mystery box,
and the most important thing in my life, is my family:
my Mum, my Dad, my little sister Clare;
because they are why I am, who I am-
the structure and the foundation of me and my identity.
If I had a mystery box,
the next thing that I would place within would be my poetry,
my inspiration, my muse, every poem that I have ever written,
and every poem I will ever write:
a picture of my muse, smiling the most beautiful smile in all of creation,
with eyes as amazing as diamonds sparkling infinitely
a flash of unbelievable light.
Inside my mystery box
I would put in something that reminds me,
and the thing above all else that I cherish
more than anything about my friends:
their songs, their journey’s, their friendship, their stories-
everything that makes me smile whenever I think of them,
and the times we had together that felt like they would
never come to an end.
If I could put only one more thing in my mystery box,
no matter the size, what would it be?
The only thing in my life that is ever-present,
but always remains unseen;
a secret that no one on Earth, nor I, know about me;
an answer to a question, posed long ago;
the most simple, and yet the most complicated question ever spoken:
why?
Why was I born? Why did I live?
Why did I do what I did? Why do I have to die?
And the answer to be found within the mystery box would be:
that is why.
Everyone has their own mystery box;
everyone holds onto and holds dear
things about them that define their place in the world,
that ground their feet firmly to our planet of simplicity,
complexity, and infinite possibility-
everyone is a box of impossible to define dimensions of memory,
space, and time-
everyone is a mystery.
Life
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 