Jack Shimmin Biography

Feel a softer surrender, crash upon your own shores; not the districts of the vendor, creator and sender, not the doors to under-scorers and saboteurs.
Further back the fighting conscience, a rebellious core; glowing red in the face of the free absence, again missing the one vital score.
Where is my mind? Faces of such glory, hidden tyranny in its veins; masking an ability for the telling of stories, my story, instead lingering pains; mocking the very ground we tread.
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There is no need to observe your implications, no need to watch and survey your sensations; no need, but to live, breathe and do as you wish, move to your sound as your sound moves with you; take that which you give and you shall bear no blemish, follow not another's clue; but create your own sweeter surrender.
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I fear I am alone in this light, chosen to be salvaged from a somewhat functioning machine; it seems this perception will only ever see blight, a warped vision of a gleaming scene.

The dark gives rise to the glow, without its equal it would be hollow; but we never want to stay always wanting to go, ignoring the blue and taking the red to swallow.
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I am there again, stated in such magnificent silence, only once I told myself; to keep the balance, allowing another's serenity.

By my hand, by my benevolence; I slip into their outline, crafting pathways through their voice; if only all were as quiet as these.
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Too far from where I want to be, behind scattered trees; amongst these, I cannot hear I cannot see; it was never meant for me, this enlightening visibility.
One, four, three; my beat is disrupted; thrown out to sea, vision corrupted, of my survival there is no guarantee.

I have to push to live to push, to escape, I am no escapee; still the skies blue is lush, still pain from the scrape, I am not yet deaths nominee.
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