Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Random Poem
Happiness is one of those fractured things.
It lends itself to making us believe the best,
The best of all things. But we are not bought
Into its false appeals of what may be.
We are broken. We are trying to solidify ourselves.
Happiness is problematic. It makes us believe in
Things that cannot be. We are not buyers of a fractured
Fairytale that makes us believe a prince will come save us,
When we too are princes and should save ourselves.
We are destined for something else.
We cannot fall prey to the overt ideology of salvation that comes
Into our purview, bringing us into rainbow ideation.
We are not destined for the true light that the world brings.
We are made to be denizens of the shadows, shirking in the light
Afforded. Will we ever see the beautiful autumn air?
Does it matter when the world doesn’t trust?
Does it matter when we are not the equals of you?
Night Terrors
Found this poem from a while back and thought that I would share.
“Night Terrors”
The music of this place pulsates
To the rhythms of heartbeats.
The lights shame me into feeling
That none of this is real, but your hand
On mine makes my heart lose count.
Elegies written in the corners of crinkled
Eye and smile lines. A hollow beat beckons
Me to stay true; however, I know how this night ends,
With me clutching pillows, waking
From a nightmare vision in my own bed.
I scream into the dark, but only silence
Answers my tirade. I hear my heartbeat again
Running away in time with my thoughts and dream
Spectacles again, taking me out of sync. Yet a breath
And a few uncried tears lull me back to my
Blissful torment. An unending dirge.
Finite
I spin into the light.
A top twirled by some impressive overlord.
I am one with the synchronicity he has for me,
But can I truly withstand the force of his hand?
My spindle chips a little,
And my gait changes as I continue to twirl.
My spindle tip breaks, and I wobble
Incomprehensibly until I fall,
Yet the others never cease their spinning…
Reflectivity
A standard mirror hangs on a
Barren wall. It reflects an empty room
Where we used to dwell.
Many memories have once been
Contained within a lacquered golden
Frame.
Now they are contained in a different
Space of time and place
Within a covetous mind.
Eternally frozen yet moving
Forever.
To break a mirror may bring
Seven years of torment and shame,
But this destruction steals
Away my thoughts to shards and
Immutable fragments of
Before.
Spectres
Westward I go!
Across an ocean filled with the
Bloated corpses of my past.
I cannot escape their glazed over
Eyes that stare up at me and make me remember.
I push them down with each oar stroke,
Moving further from them toward the
Deep. Still, I can hear them scrape against the
Bottom, not allowing me to forget.
At the Crossroads
My heart’s desire is not
Accessible by mortal means or
Schemes of the mind. So
I bury my visage to
Summon some ethereal force to
Bargain. But no one comes. Maybe,
I am too pure for the Pitt’s
Hounds to want to embrace the
Warmth of my flesh. Or maybe they
Sense my worth as nothing more than a
Pound of flesh sacrificed to and unknown
God. Still, the blues plays on in the
Background, and I am thankful for the
Ambiance.
Analytic Repose
Can a soul bleed?
Can a part of ourselves
Fall into the oblivious nature of
Our inner desires. Are we anything but
Corrupt? Can we feel? Can we adjust our
Contemplating to make allowance for the
Temperate equality that cuts through the
Darkness of our own understanding?
We are nothing…. we cannot be unless the interplay
Allows…
