Poetry |
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is there anything more like liberty than nudity? to feel yourself is to love yourself to free yourself is to be yourself with all your rolling hills and rolled up bills and grassy knolls and knobby coals and ashy plains I go insane for perfect beings That I'm seeing kiss their scars and tune their flesh like bass guitars brush against canvas strokes that decide where beauty resides imperfect souls who embrace their pain I feel so sane around content sighs and smiles do align with a crooked line of heavenly bodies 
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Monday, October 9, 2017 (original post date) At the end of all that exists, At the end of time as we know it, At the end of reason, logic, and sense, There is a place, a void, of endless calm. When you wake up to find the world Burning in the fires of man's destruction, Fueled by greed, jealousy, and pride, You can find me in the void. Someday, if you find yourself all alone, Abandoned by family you thought you loved, Betrayed by friends you thought would be with you for life, Left without a single shred of proof that love is real, Come seek out love in the void with me. If you cast your eyes up in search of answers, Only to see the sky has turned red, That oceans have been drained, And the world has stopped spinning, You'll find release with me in the void. Should you lose all hopes for the bright future we were promised, Should your faith in human's capacity for good cease to exist, Should you taste the bitter dust of your your crushed dreams in your sleep, Accept the embrace of the void. Until then, fight on, beautiful soul. Fight because no one else will fight for you. Fight fiercely when you have nothing left to lose. Fight because doing nothing never works. The void will welcome you as it will, someday, welcome all. And when it does, when you finally lay down your proverbial sword And let all breath leave your body, I will find you, hug you, and you will smile like you haven't in years.  Tuesday, September 27, 2016 (original post date)
We could have been great, With the world at our fingertips And the keys to the pearly gates, Just a swipe of the screen away, Activism and outrage simple behind the anonymous screen That stares at us from our open palms, Open like the beggars on the street, Everyday reciting psalms that they think will save them, To whom surviving alone is an amazing feat, While the rest of us forget for whom we used to get our feet wet, Leaving those drowning far behind us, Barely a stray thought to spare, This time with fists closed, Ready to replay our angry song of of righteousness In desperate need of repair and with hardly a prayer left. We could have been great, Mold the world in our image, Like a potter with wet clay, Making something from nothing, Doing away with the fake, Fake, like the smile on your face When you tell me you love me, And yet you fail to make sure that I'm fed, Because maybe you shouldn't have been a parent in the first place, It's such a disgrace That you can still show your face at my door, That door that I slam and you're left wondering why since, In your mind, you're the reason I have a door left to deface As you choose to grace me with your presence. We could have been great, Down with corruption, down with the previous generation's mistakes, Shame on you for turning your backs on us, Shame on you for the letting us inherit your mess ups, Like Jokanaan's head on a silver plate, Like the selfishness of Judas, Like the vengeance of the God you so desperately cling to, Still asking yourself what would Jesus do, But if your lord and savior could see you now, And yet you fail to see, Because blindness is an inherit trait in your kind, You couldn't see us if you tried, No, you'd only see us when we died, but then, don't you think, would be too late. We could have been great, But we choose mediocrity and ignorance over humility and compassion, Because we think it's cool to hate, The egotistical muddy lens through which we view the world Trumps all kindness in our hearts and Cause a regression to the dark ages of violence and self preservation, A time of emotional and intellectual repression, Forcing us to build walls held together by shame, The shame our parents felt for us from the start, A shame they won't admit, because like cowards, they're afraid of their own reflections, Not knowing that children are detectives of lies and the nonsense, Wanting us to be the same as them while at the same time Seeking fame in eyes of the children they've let down, A generation of children left with nothing but frowns And memories of pain. We could have been great... But enough of coulds and shoulds; The imaginary tales we tell ourselves Of a better future yet to come, For what it is, Is an R-rated show that has just begun, So sit back and relax, For you have paid the price of admission, Which has been approved for all audiences, And so, with your permission, The show must go on But this is my curtain call, So don't talk to me about fate, Because I know for a fact That we should have been great. With a crescent moon shining high above, My mind begins to wander aimlessly. I think back on old, long forgotten love, Back when my heart was broken mercilessly. The stars wink down like shiny, ancient tears, Just like the ones that once rolled down my cheeks, When he, without any shame, guilt or fear, With three words made my world backwards and bleak. My soul turned to the inky black of night, My cries howled like the wind that shakes the trees, And just when all seemed lost, with great delight You walked through my door like an easy breeze. O dear songbird, I know not if you'll stay. But I ask you: turn my nights into day.  Below the silver crest upon the sky, When sleep becomes a distant light of hope, Despite how ponderous become my eyes, Helpless am I to find some means to cope. Made of stardust and comets, my mind is Rife with sundry thoughts and active delight. Sun and stars, equal parts of time bought, ‘tis Locked in fierce battle for endless love rites The ceaseless ticking of hands do beguile; The past is present and the present past. My future self is working all the while, And at night, the morrow comes far too fast. Night gives way to clear skies that eulogize And so I lay my head at the sunrise.  |
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