Acclimation

•May 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Little by little
The anthill became a shrine
And all the work stopped

Echo

•May 13, 2014 • Leave a Comment

In the worst parts of ourselves,
where even our own name dares not tread -
in the final chamber of our hearts,
and in the deepest recesses of our soul,
still,

a voice – the nymph – Echo
calls out to all the beauty it sees -
ashamed in spite of itself,
but too full of wonder and desire
to ignore the urge to try
just one more time,
and ask,
“Who are you?”

The Pen!

•February 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

‘Tis mightier than the sword, indeed -
but t’would be in err to presume it superlative -
for as the hubris of Kings,
though noble and true they may be,
doth attract far more undesired audiences
than originally intended,
so it is so in the meta-realm of this medium.

-verily, allow the veil to lift-

By my mind’s eye, dost thou
pursue such discourse sans mastery of the same?

-these scars of sheet, pray, do not cause them wantonly-

For true as I sheath this pen,
my mind causes it to be so.

Falling Leaves of Autumn

•October 31, 2013 • 2 Comments

What can we do to save the falling leaves of Autumn?

Do we mourn? Do we honor their memory by doing such? Are we healing, or are we festering, in our painful excision of their memory?

Is there a memory to remove, or purify? Is it a memory, or is it part of ourselves? Is that part of us old and stale, or has it simply yet to realize its potential?

What can we do to save the falling leaves of Autumn?

If we are tested in this reflection, is there a solution to identify, or is there a perspective to resolve? Must we discard such troubling, seemingly impossible questions for their lack of guaranteed conclusion, or is the pursuit itself where our heart should exert all of its strength?

And what of passion? What of the faith in ourselves that must be tested when that passion, our soul’s fuel, must sleep outside in the cold so that we may hold vacancy for the needs of our loved ones?

Does this selflessness change us, or does it define us? Is the answer even relevant past our own desire? Are we ever, truly, anyone other than who we want to be?

Who are we to save the falling leaves of Autumn?

generation why

•September 20, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Call me a linguist -
the seamless dream seamstress -
retro-fitting archetypal hype with a fresh key press -
and needless to say this rhetoric’s a little cheap, yes -
but your word flirts between greed and worthless -
so make some change out of your dollars for sense -
endure your ego’s pain, take a breath and refresh -
there are still mountains to move, and man, I need a rest -

you’ll never be graded,
just judged on this test -
and if you do study up,
you’ll set the curve for the rest,

and be the master of studies!
the one grand commander!
take your humility fully,
ignore the lies and the slander,

and then one day you’ll teach
(though you’ll miss it at first),
you’ll save all those souls
who’d have faired so much worse…

but nevermind that
it’s a moot point you see;
for you’ll unlock those cages,
you’ll set their souls free.

that’s not to say that it’s simple,
so echo this in your heart:
we may have yet to begin,
but we know just where to start.

My friends and weary writers, my fellow wonder-fucked outsiders:

while we’ve been waiting for the chorus when the whole world will ignore us (JUST LET US SLEEP we scream to snores as they fight back with holy wars) two steps back for each step forwards

their progress has faded the process is tainted this rain check for hate’s left our leadership jaded

Each verse bores holes in transparent souls – we see clean through you to the other side and bide, and bide, and bide until dialogue excludes the ‘me’ and prevents this pointless calumny – sharpened tongues now serrated mercilessly berated our attempts to contribute with contempt (stupid youth) – but by accessing this power we’ll make a kingdom out of cowards whose towers sour every hour they’re denied their own power.

Our strength lies in your reaction – purport your insecurities, we’ll show you which the fact’s in.

Narcissus Rising

•May 23, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I struggle daily
            to think in terms of bitterness
and to discount others
            as simply being too stupid to understand
            why the happiest I’ve ever been
            is today, was yesterday, will be tomorrow –
Grappling with the instinct to judge
those who see this celebration of life as self-righteous –

            . . .

And when short-sighted ignorants
sling mud blindly on the faces of those I love,
it’s all I can do
            not to make them wish they were born deaf, and
            to inflict vows of moral silence –
all I have of what some call strength, others, weakness,
dedicates itself to eviscerating the weapon, never
            destroying the soldier. 

It is difficult to be normal –
            but the mere existence of temptation
            has never justified falling prey to it –

Otherwise, what do future generations
of ourselves have to look back on
            and be proud of?

Singing to Empty Seats

•April 26, 2013 • 1 Comment

Maybe I’ve too little of myself left to give
but how boring, how sloth –
to wander sans wonder,
carrying only the understanding of what is
required of you. Truly, even that belief
is flawed.

Think of seven year-old you on Halloween –
how firmly you knew – you knew – that you
would be fine stuffing your innocent little face
with every last morsel of sugary goodness and
how those people – those bullies, those tyrants
that called themselves your parents made you stop.

BUT I EARNED THIS
BUT I WON’T GET SICK
BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND

(is that sunrise piercing through yet?)

Think of sixteen year-old you in High School
(and really, that should be enough), but think:
whether you played Football or Chess,
Track, Debate, Soccer, Tennis;
whether you partied or fucked early and often,
whether you took up drugs or cigarettes;
How well did you understand the world?
How well did you understand yourself?

(are you still dreaming?)

And think of you here – now –
and everything you’ve managed to become –
what makes you laugh so hard your lungs gasp for air and your eyes leak tears?
what makes you worry your entire day away, and
what worries other people that you just don’t understand?
what makes you feel important, and what makes you feel invisible?
what motivates you?
what inspires you?

Do you honestly think your answers will be the same in ten years? Twenty? Forty?

So I will keep singing to these empty seats, to my beautiful audience,
held captive only by their desire for growth,
while others drown in dreams of self-fulfillment –
sleeping away their entire lives.

 
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