Hey there. I am again to writing...sorry if it seems like I have simply been rapid firing things at a wanton rate. I have four months left in 2012 and it seems to be my most productive year for writing. My only regret is that I feel inadequate with my stuff as of right now. I am planning to do a string of structured poetry again in order to give me a bit more discipline on my respective original works. I dunno...but if any wayfarer happens upon my stuff, please feel free to give me pointers or advice on furthering my advancement. Thanks!
It's kinda like my own free verse/ structure
it has 20 lines, 4 stanzas with a rhyme scheme of:
A,B,A,B
I
C,D,C,D
I
E,F,E,F
I
G,H,G,H
I
We the Dreamers
Signs of a better world,
mustered by an overwhelming fortitude.
The rays of Sun allowed the petals to be unfurled.
And we blossomed from the chains of servitude.
A blank slate.
The waif that wandered into the bitter cold,
mustered the courage to find its way home.
By a hearth and crackling fire to grow old,
the hardships faded into the unknown.
The gift that was late.
The lovers cradled each other,
against all odds their love would endure.
Never would they waver for another,
forever drawn into romance's allure.
They danced a steady gait.
Defeat something unwilling to accept,
their victory shown in gilded streamers.
All promises are intended to be kept.
For we are the dreamers,
those that live to defy fate.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Swan Song
I like to dabble in the thoughts of final acts. Could you hope to create something beautiful out of your last living moment? And even so, would your life be able to speak of the beauty of your time on Earth?
Swan Song
Muted voices hid our acts,
tenuous bridges o'er our hearts.
We are the children,
the ones that dare to dream impossibility.
We oft cling to tentative likeness.
Immortality is naught but fabrication.
When first we begin to walk,
we learn to step backwards with indolence.
From the base clamor of the newborn child,
we learn to seal our true voice within -
a husk that masks identity.
We are the swans without voice,
grasping for ourselves in a conformist sea.
Castles that formed in sand,
were as the schemes of mice and men.
All things must one day end,
but must they be stifled by an unwillingness to go?
Graciously accepting mortality,
they refuse to believe in the bonds of fragility.
Their voices are hoarse,
from crying muted exclamations of delight.
From the fallacy of those believed impervious,
we learn our mistakes are not made alone -
shared within each identity.
We are the swans without a voice,
straining to form the words too late to speak.
The amused sky line,
allowed the stars to shine their brightest.
Heaven hung over,
listening patiently for the call of the returned.
A stone that told that anchored an invigorated heart,
fueled it with the will to continue.
Flames refused to be extinguished,
burning with a determination to rejoice in glorified song.
From the grandeur of enlightened selflessness,
we raised heads in vigorous chorus -
sharing the boundary of heart and soul.
We are the swans without a voice,
hoping our song will echo beautifully through the clouds.
Swan Song
Muted voices hid our acts,
tenuous bridges o'er our hearts.
We are the children,
the ones that dare to dream impossibility.
We oft cling to tentative likeness.
Immortality is naught but fabrication.
When first we begin to walk,
we learn to step backwards with indolence.
From the base clamor of the newborn child,
we learn to seal our true voice within -
a husk that masks identity.
We are the swans without voice,
grasping for ourselves in a conformist sea.
Castles that formed in sand,
were as the schemes of mice and men.
All things must one day end,
but must they be stifled by an unwillingness to go?
Graciously accepting mortality,
they refuse to believe in the bonds of fragility.
Their voices are hoarse,
from crying muted exclamations of delight.
From the fallacy of those believed impervious,
we learn our mistakes are not made alone -
shared within each identity.
We are the swans without a voice,
straining to form the words too late to speak.
The amused sky line,
allowed the stars to shine their brightest.
Heaven hung over,
listening patiently for the call of the returned.
A stone that told that anchored an invigorated heart,
fueled it with the will to continue.
Flames refused to be extinguished,
burning with a determination to rejoice in glorified song.
From the grandeur of enlightened selflessness,
we raised heads in vigorous chorus -
sharing the boundary of heart and soul.
We are the swans without a voice,
hoping our song will echo beautifully through the clouds.
Born to Die
Before you all pass this over before thinking people die. I suppose I write about people dying a lot. Too bad, I suppose. Anyway, I have quite a few new things to post as of late. I wish to move to a better site, but I haven't got a clue where to go...so someone do help me find a new, more trafficked site?
Born to Die
Before we say farewell,
allow last rights scribbled in hope.
Eyes don't have to grow dark,
among a life that refuses to fizzle.
The holes of conundrum cratered faith,
looking to the heavens in inquiry.
Cries echoed into the firmament,
"If is the longest word."
Dancing within a masquerade of conformity,
they swap masks with one another.
Never once can you truly know
those that claim to pull the strings.
Speaking verses that confound the senses,
is this the way we shroud periphery?
The shadows don't merely have to be blindly fumbled through.
Is this waltz spinning chaotically through labyrinths?
Mazes exist to test your limits.
Underneath the rubble a soul can shine brightly,
fighting passed the encroaching end.
A story doesn't have to end meaninglessly.
Foundations crumble with a refusal to bend.
To break is to give in to fate.
Speak insolence through the iron willed,
"Today is not the day we go."
Now we can see the path stretched in obscurity.
Phantoms dance in the concealed notions,
the jesters that play upon your journey.
For every step foreword, infinity pushes you back.
When the night shows the curtain's fall,
questions riddle necessity with the otiose.
There eyes look for answers within that which cannot live nor perish,
never knowing answers lie with the ones born to die.
Born to Die
Before we say farewell,
allow last rights scribbled in hope.
Eyes don't have to grow dark,
among a life that refuses to fizzle.
The holes of conundrum cratered faith,
looking to the heavens in inquiry.
Cries echoed into the firmament,
"If is the longest word."
Dancing within a masquerade of conformity,
they swap masks with one another.
Never once can you truly know
those that claim to pull the strings.
Speaking verses that confound the senses,
is this the way we shroud periphery?
The shadows don't merely have to be blindly fumbled through.
Is this waltz spinning chaotically through labyrinths?
Mazes exist to test your limits.
Underneath the rubble a soul can shine brightly,
fighting passed the encroaching end.
A story doesn't have to end meaninglessly.
Foundations crumble with a refusal to bend.
To break is to give in to fate.
Speak insolence through the iron willed,
"Today is not the day we go."
Now we can see the path stretched in obscurity.
Phantoms dance in the concealed notions,
the jesters that play upon your journey.
For every step foreword, infinity pushes you back.
When the night shows the curtain's fall,
questions riddle necessity with the otiose.
There eyes look for answers within that which cannot live nor perish,
never knowing answers lie with the ones born to die.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Pale Flower
A love poem.
Pale Flower
The moon could shine,
and fail when reflecting your skin.
The petals of a rose,
could look dilapidated against you.
If I touched your face,
will it's fragility shatter under my touch.
Would I be left holding air,
wishing your form lay within my arms.
Your delighted laughter,
has enthralled my senses.
But when I whispered your name,
would it fade into the wind?
I long to feel your heart's beat,
to hear it fade into mine,
and melt into placid warmth.
A utopia in comforting embrace.
My fingers could thumb passed your chin.
Laying in quiet prayer,
in hopes you wouldn't crumble
beneath my entropic caress.
The moon stares in contemptible envy,
its reflection upon the water.
Casting hateful eyes,
it weeps in jealous rage.
If rain fell against your visage,
could I wipe the tears away.
Might I shield you from the moon,
keeping your mirage to myself.
Your pale reflection spoke,
that the bodies on the horizon cried,
craving for you to return to them.
But your voice spoke no.
The glint in your eyes,
put stars to shame.
Stolen away in my arms,
we can disappear into the night.
But as I felt your warmth,
your features faded with their decadence.
Please, don't away from me,
just let the skies wait a minute longer.
Pale Flower
The moon could shine,
and fail when reflecting your skin.
The petals of a rose,
could look dilapidated against you.
If I touched your face,
will it's fragility shatter under my touch.
Would I be left holding air,
wishing your form lay within my arms.
Your delighted laughter,
has enthralled my senses.
But when I whispered your name,
would it fade into the wind?
I long to feel your heart's beat,
to hear it fade into mine,
and melt into placid warmth.
A utopia in comforting embrace.
My fingers could thumb passed your chin.
Laying in quiet prayer,
in hopes you wouldn't crumble
beneath my entropic caress.
The moon stares in contemptible envy,
its reflection upon the water.
Casting hateful eyes,
it weeps in jealous rage.
If rain fell against your visage,
could I wipe the tears away.
Might I shield you from the moon,
keeping your mirage to myself.
Your pale reflection spoke,
that the bodies on the horizon cried,
craving for you to return to them.
But your voice spoke no.
The glint in your eyes,
put stars to shame.
Stolen away in my arms,
we can disappear into the night.
But as I felt your warmth,
your features faded with their decadence.
Please, don't away from me,
just let the skies wait a minute longer.
What is Human
I wrote this to highlight the struggle with changing ones social role...among other things. It is a view on being a human, and how life is fleeting, and too fleeting to be wasted on climbing ladders.
What is Human
Born in the flesh we die in,
we can't change ourselves like suits.
But surely we change our minds,
as frequently as we change shoes.
When lacing all laces,
strapping all straps,
please realize, life isn't a two faced
nor a sickly trap.
From diapers to canes,
finger paint to forgetting our own names...
we lay searching for a reason,
from the cradle to the grave.
E plurubus unum,
is a confusing lie
that leaves us with a fleeting sense,
we belong with eac hother until the day we die
Regardless of past deeds,
we will always bit the hand,
that reaches down, gifts, and feeds...
only to anger when we have naught.
To the dark we all gather alone,
searching finitely for meaning.
But meaning is the same, despite what we believe,
we are merely searching for life's sweet reprieve.
What is Human
Born in the flesh we die in,
we can't change ourselves like suits.
But surely we change our minds,
as frequently as we change shoes.
When lacing all laces,
strapping all straps,
please realize, life isn't a two faced
nor a sickly trap.
From diapers to canes,
finger paint to forgetting our own names...
we lay searching for a reason,
from the cradle to the grave.
E plurubus unum,
is a confusing lie
that leaves us with a fleeting sense,
we belong with eac hother until the day we die
Regardless of past deeds,
we will always bit the hand,
that reaches down, gifts, and feeds...
only to anger when we have naught.
To the dark we all gather alone,
searching finitely for meaning.
But meaning is the same, despite what we believe,
we are merely searching for life's sweet reprieve.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Sands Mask Democracy
I asked a question to people, "What is Freedom?" They gave me answers that only reflected in the fact that they do not know what freedom really is, nor understand what it's like to be stripped of it. TRUE, I do not know personally, but I will not take my limited freedom for granted. "THEY" represents...well..a lot of things.
Sands Mask Democracy
What is freedom?
Can we believe the callous lies,
that taper the wistful dreams?
Children grow into hypnotized zombies.
They sit behind desks claiming peace,
yet flags still lay in smoldering remains.
The ashes were danced upon to the songs of hate.
Detracted wills, spread ignorance.
Soldiers occupied a foreign land.
Their remains boxed and package,
like the mass producing machine.
Boxed and shipped out, their return broken.
Orphans asking for food,
go ignored beneath your skyscrapers.
Money can buy weapons and flashy comfort.
Glass and metal built on tears of famine.
Did you forget the look in their eyes?
The ones you trampled upon,
reached up with agonized looks.
They were kicked down by your militias.
Body armor dispersed instead of bread.
The value of full bellies less than bullets.
Shell casings lay riddled in the earth,
starving babies crying for food piercing beyond gunshots.
Oil shipped in barrels,
drained from the earth in a wake of bodies.
The lifeblood of war sought more victims,
as the rich grew richer, lives became less plentiful.
If they refused to take from the needy,
they were branded as traitors.
A collective clouded greed in democracy.
Intentions are only as good as what you can take.
Overthrowing tyrants masked new dictators,
hoping to grub in black gold.
They toppled regimes with expedited promises,
yet sons return in caskets.
We all know the mission is completed,
people fearful to live are truly at peace.
Uncle Sam's guiding hand has ensured freedom's march,
as he lined his pockets black.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Daybreak
I have kinda gone back to my doomsday style writing... mah b. I have been working on some hopeful nice things, but the words haven't come together just yet.
Daybreak
The night rises against a stark back drop.
Spare them the excuses and justification.
When the bombs fell,
there was no such courtesy.
Children cried at their mother's breast,
begging for the scraps of nourishment,
and being fed by resignation.
Their bellies are bloated, hunger for truth.
We are enslaved,
by the repetitious cycles.
Vicious fervor they all cried,
"Torment, Torment."
Feet wore blisters as protection,
from the ground of mines
that brought embers to their pilgrimage.
A journey without peace.
Shelter was the comfort,
that was found within the lining of a coffin.
Powerlessness lay at the wife's feet,
tyranny as a widow maker.
Equality put heads to a stake,
their mouths screaming for atonement.
It's always so fair to everyone,
save some, more fair than you.
Crumbled schoolhouses,
where children no longer played
were left to corrode in the sand.
A new era of ignorance on the horizon.
When the sun finally rose,
shown only the smoldering remains of hope.
A silence that rolled hush through deserts
once alive with temperance and faith.
Tears were all that was left to shimmer,
in the burning sunlight.
Scathed by the brightness of luster -
innocents disappeared into the glare.
Daybreak
The night rises against a stark back drop.
Spare them the excuses and justification.
When the bombs fell,
there was no such courtesy.
Children cried at their mother's breast,
begging for the scraps of nourishment,
and being fed by resignation.
Their bellies are bloated, hunger for truth.
We are enslaved,
by the repetitious cycles.
Vicious fervor they all cried,
"Torment, Torment."
Feet wore blisters as protection,
from the ground of mines
that brought embers to their pilgrimage.
A journey without peace.
Shelter was the comfort,
that was found within the lining of a coffin.
Powerlessness lay at the wife's feet,
tyranny as a widow maker.
Equality put heads to a stake,
their mouths screaming for atonement.
It's always so fair to everyone,
save some, more fair than you.
Crumbled schoolhouses,
where children no longer played
were left to corrode in the sand.
A new era of ignorance on the horizon.
When the sun finally rose,
shown only the smoldering remains of hope.
A silence that rolled hush through deserts
once alive with temperance and faith.
Tears were all that was left to shimmer,
in the burning sunlight.
Scathed by the brightness of luster -
innocents disappeared into the glare.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Pariah
Yes, I wrote a new thingy ma jig. I hope someone enjoys it or not, who knows~
The Pariah
Spare me your partisanism.
Your sectarian egocentricities,
are insignificant cries of martyrdom.
Understanding is a truth you hope to hide,
kissing self worth with blind faith.
Like red ribbons,
your tears are shreds of duplicity.
Your path is crossed with scapegoats,
the lambs you lead to slaughter.
Is faith the satire you hope to masquerade?
Awash in the glow of sacrifice,
a self preservation shielded by shrouds
forged in the blood of pilgrims.
Where are the chains that were meant to bind you?
They are shackled by victims of trust.
Asking for forgiveness is the final betrayal.
Do you believe God will forgive holocaust?
All of the tears fall to the salted seas,
the final resting places of conviction.
Is redemption truly a lie?
You decried your creed,
stepping upon the bones of certitude
as the fade into irony.
All of the glimmering stars,
fell like the ones you lead into sunset.
You may abhor adjudication,
but is it fearing the same judgment you passed
upon those bowed in prayer to difference?
Lies are merely hidden truths,
and even the blind will one day see.
Idealism is the cover story,
utopia is easy to believe in
when death is the release to paradise.
How many machinations must you scheme,
before you pass your own sentence?
The Pariah
Spare me your partisanism.
Your sectarian egocentricities,
are insignificant cries of martyrdom.
Understanding is a truth you hope to hide,
kissing self worth with blind faith.
Like red ribbons,
your tears are shreds of duplicity.
Your path is crossed with scapegoats,
the lambs you lead to slaughter.
Is faith the satire you hope to masquerade?
Awash in the glow of sacrifice,
a self preservation shielded by shrouds
forged in the blood of pilgrims.
Where are the chains that were meant to bind you?
They are shackled by victims of trust.
Asking for forgiveness is the final betrayal.
Do you believe God will forgive holocaust?
All of the tears fall to the salted seas,
the final resting places of conviction.
Is redemption truly a lie?
You decried your creed,
stepping upon the bones of certitude
as the fade into irony.
All of the glimmering stars,
fell like the ones you lead into sunset.
You may abhor adjudication,
but is it fearing the same judgment you passed
upon those bowed in prayer to difference?
Lies are merely hidden truths,
and even the blind will one day see.
Idealism is the cover story,
utopia is easy to believe in
when death is the release to paradise.
How many machinations must you scheme,
before you pass your own sentence?
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Breaking the Mold
I read through some of my older posts and someone thought it'd be interesting to see the "what happens after" story behind the poem "And so the world burns." My ideal, was to say...what happens is what you want to happen, a throwback to the old Terminator line, "No fate but what we make." However, I tinkered and tried. Enjoy...maybe? Haha. I tried to keep it, largely simple...so ya know.
And so Light shown
And so the light shown,
hands had joined in unison.
The cinders and ash that fell,
no longer suffocated their hearts.
The permeation of greed,
filtered unnoticed between fingers
laced within others,
equally desperate for hope.
And so apologies were spared,
we all knew it was undeserved...
like a wrath that hanged heaven
upon splintered gallows.
The smoke was only so thick,
and it blew away with voices joined.
A song that rang in the skies,
mended the lives torn asunder.
And so flames licked at the wisps in the sky,
growing higher as guns were tossed to fire.
But for once history showed,
songs rang higher than scathing heat.
The craving for blood died with their fathers,
and follies no longer beget folly.
The pursuit of knowledge was a means to save themselves,
a beacon of the possibility of a future.
And so light began to shine,
the past was merely a blurred scar,
Their eyes stared brightly at the skies -
with faith, history doesn't repeat.
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
This is based off the same narrator from A Lament for the Slums, and Rats. Pretty much, this story focuses more on his thoughts on his surroundings and how he view them both ethically and philosophically. First story, detailed an outward progression of events. The second, explored coping mechanisms...this one, I hope to show his feelings. I mean to make it a bit more conversational...even if it is with himself.
**NOTE: This is not based on a real place...it's just the city of nightmares. For instance, you'll notice thunderstorms in the cold and such.
Again, I tried to simplify it...I don't want to alienate people
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
Jesus Christ. You'd think that the sirens would quit yapping in the dead of night. Or maybe, the 5.0 would finally tire of writing body lines in chalk upon the concrete. To be honest, I can't remember a day where the sounds of gunfire echoed the streets and the decrepit denizens didn't duck for cover. Personally, I didn't give a shit. If a stray bullet had my name on it, if my number was up... I'd be no more than another cadaver that lined the streets. Personally, if the pigs stepped up their game, there'd be far less bullshit to deal with around here. The riff-raff that littered the corners and alleyways were always looking for trouble; I'm sure the pigs would love that. Who wouldn't pass up the chance to see some young gang banger or crackhead's brain matter all over the masonry. I sure would.
My own internal thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumbling that signified a coming thunderstorm.. It was raining again.. I guess in a city of tears, all God can do is cry. But I never really cared for any of that philosophical shit. My hands fumbled about in my pockets, as they do desperately everyday. I thumbed over a cold metal casing and made the check that indeed, it was my lighter. "Great.." With my right hand, I found a coveted cigarette butt, and pulled it from the lint infused pocket lining, to my lips. A rather visible crease ran through the paper casing, and it twisted a bit; the entire damn thing seemed to ben bent nearly in half. But, if it smokes, it smokes. My finger flicked on the lighter... a spark. Again, my thumb flicked the gear to no more than a exhausted click. Just my luck..
With an angry flourish, that most likely marked me with as an infantile lunatic to passers by, I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it. "Fuckin' piece of..." You sure learn to count your blessings in a place like this. Most of the time, you can be thankful for not catching a bullet to the chest...or being beaten to death in a back alley for twenty bucks. This was my blessing. One last cigarette, and God didn't even have the shred of decency to grant me a single spark to light it. So now, as my foot moved from the remains of the cigarette, shreds of tobacco clung to the soles of my tattered boot. It kinda reminded me of the bums, so strung out that they begged the pigs to arrest them just for a hot meal... that's to say they weren't too busy fucking each other to beg. But who am I to judge, everyone has to have some pleasure in the monotony of life.
My shoulders were stiff, and the rain had begun to cascade from sorrowful clouds with such an superfluity, it made my clothing more cumbersome. "Agh, just quit yer bitchin' already.." Of course, my odd curse at the heavens threatened to drown me. Giving up, I shrouded myself with a stained hood and ran down the side winding streets, even more drab among the orange hue of street lamps. At least the derelicts rarely drifted outward in the storms. It seemed to have a purifying effect on the slums...a kind of holy water against hookers, pimps, an dope fiends.
Click! One lock, then the padlock...and then a creak as the doorway opened before the tenement I called home opened. I thumbed about in the darkness, illuminated temporarily by a streak of lightning that danced about the window panes, to find the light switch. It wasn't much help. The light was a dim vomit color that flickered and buzzed, as if a thousand moths had crawled into the crevices to writhe in coffins before they died. Probably did, too. I can feel sorry for them, they'd be about as stuck as me. The water that dripped from the coat pattered against the floor in a slow hum drum before the incessant irritation caused me to simply drop the cloak to the linoleum floor with a damp thud. Admittedly, the burnished wet mass hid the cracks and stains on the tiling quite well.
Even as I dropped the last of the encumbrance from my body, the effects of the dampness still bore into my bones. The cold made everything stiff...almost as if rigor had set in. A roach scattered helplessly beneath the cabinets as the kitchen lighting flickered to life. I couldn't bring myself to stomp the life out of the poor thing...all it wants is a chance too. But like me, so long as it was here, it had a better chance against a can of Raid. Am I a cockroach, only fit to scrape by until inevitably being crushed underfoot?
The refrigerator was stained in the color of yellowing teeth and smelled much like rotten cheese. It had been here since before I got here, and it'd probably sit and continue to rot when I was gone. Looking into the icebox, was like staring into the void of space itself. If it weren't for a scrap of mold clinging to the plastic, it truly would be vacant. The frigid air and acrid smell had become almost unbearable, so I allowed the door to drop from my hands.
Sleep didn't find me tonight. Normally, the gentle rumble of thunder and the gently rolling thrumming against the windows lulled me to slumber. Odd. "All God can do is cry..." I wonder if he looked down upon his creations with pity or scorn. But, if we were made in its image, I am sure God is most likely in a corner somewhere, flat lining with a rusted needle stuck between his toes. A spring caught me between the ribs as I tossed to watch the water drip down the pains. Even the inane white noise produced by the monsoon outside failed to silence my thoughts and lull me to reprieve. Lying awake was a hell in of itself...but I can't help but be thankful, for whatever the fuck in was worth. In this world, one learns to count their blessings. Next time I get a chance, I'll count the rain as one of them. But to be realistic, I'd trade that damned water for a long drag from a cigarette anyway, at least that way I may be able to sleep a little better.
**NOTE: This is not based on a real place...it's just the city of nightmares. For instance, you'll notice thunderstorms in the cold and such.
Again, I tried to simplify it...I don't want to alienate people
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
Jesus Christ. You'd think that the sirens would quit yapping in the dead of night. Or maybe, the 5.0 would finally tire of writing body lines in chalk upon the concrete. To be honest, I can't remember a day where the sounds of gunfire echoed the streets and the decrepit denizens didn't duck for cover. Personally, I didn't give a shit. If a stray bullet had my name on it, if my number was up... I'd be no more than another cadaver that lined the streets. Personally, if the pigs stepped up their game, there'd be far less bullshit to deal with around here. The riff-raff that littered the corners and alleyways were always looking for trouble; I'm sure the pigs would love that. Who wouldn't pass up the chance to see some young gang banger or crackhead's brain matter all over the masonry. I sure would.
My own internal thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumbling that signified a coming thunderstorm.. It was raining again.. I guess in a city of tears, all God can do is cry. But I never really cared for any of that philosophical shit. My hands fumbled about in my pockets, as they do desperately everyday. I thumbed over a cold metal casing and made the check that indeed, it was my lighter. "Great.." With my right hand, I found a coveted cigarette butt, and pulled it from the lint infused pocket lining, to my lips. A rather visible crease ran through the paper casing, and it twisted a bit; the entire damn thing seemed to ben bent nearly in half. But, if it smokes, it smokes. My finger flicked on the lighter... a spark. Again, my thumb flicked the gear to no more than a exhausted click. Just my luck..
With an angry flourish, that most likely marked me with as an infantile lunatic to passers by, I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it. "Fuckin' piece of..." You sure learn to count your blessings in a place like this. Most of the time, you can be thankful for not catching a bullet to the chest...or being beaten to death in a back alley for twenty bucks. This was my blessing. One last cigarette, and God didn't even have the shred of decency to grant me a single spark to light it. So now, as my foot moved from the remains of the cigarette, shreds of tobacco clung to the soles of my tattered boot. It kinda reminded me of the bums, so strung out that they begged the pigs to arrest them just for a hot meal... that's to say they weren't too busy fucking each other to beg. But who am I to judge, everyone has to have some pleasure in the monotony of life.
My shoulders were stiff, and the rain had begun to cascade from sorrowful clouds with such an superfluity, it made my clothing more cumbersome. "Agh, just quit yer bitchin' already.." Of course, my odd curse at the heavens threatened to drown me. Giving up, I shrouded myself with a stained hood and ran down the side winding streets, even more drab among the orange hue of street lamps. At least the derelicts rarely drifted outward in the storms. It seemed to have a purifying effect on the slums...a kind of holy water against hookers, pimps, an dope fiends.
Click! One lock, then the padlock...and then a creak as the doorway opened before the tenement I called home opened. I thumbed about in the darkness, illuminated temporarily by a streak of lightning that danced about the window panes, to find the light switch. It wasn't much help. The light was a dim vomit color that flickered and buzzed, as if a thousand moths had crawled into the crevices to writhe in coffins before they died. Probably did, too. I can feel sorry for them, they'd be about as stuck as me. The water that dripped from the coat pattered against the floor in a slow hum drum before the incessant irritation caused me to simply drop the cloak to the linoleum floor with a damp thud. Admittedly, the burnished wet mass hid the cracks and stains on the tiling quite well.
Even as I dropped the last of the encumbrance from my body, the effects of the dampness still bore into my bones. The cold made everything stiff...almost as if rigor had set in. A roach scattered helplessly beneath the cabinets as the kitchen lighting flickered to life. I couldn't bring myself to stomp the life out of the poor thing...all it wants is a chance too. But like me, so long as it was here, it had a better chance against a can of Raid. Am I a cockroach, only fit to scrape by until inevitably being crushed underfoot?
The refrigerator was stained in the color of yellowing teeth and smelled much like rotten cheese. It had been here since before I got here, and it'd probably sit and continue to rot when I was gone. Looking into the icebox, was like staring into the void of space itself. If it weren't for a scrap of mold clinging to the plastic, it truly would be vacant. The frigid air and acrid smell had become almost unbearable, so I allowed the door to drop from my hands.
Sleep didn't find me tonight. Normally, the gentle rumble of thunder and the gently rolling thrumming against the windows lulled me to slumber. Odd. "All God can do is cry..." I wonder if he looked down upon his creations with pity or scorn. But, if we were made in its image, I am sure God is most likely in a corner somewhere, flat lining with a rusted needle stuck between his toes. A spring caught me between the ribs as I tossed to watch the water drip down the pains. Even the inane white noise produced by the monsoon outside failed to silence my thoughts and lull me to reprieve. Lying awake was a hell in of itself...but I can't help but be thankful, for whatever the fuck in was worth. In this world, one learns to count their blessings. Next time I get a chance, I'll count the rain as one of them. But to be realistic, I'd trade that damned water for a long drag from a cigarette anyway, at least that way I may be able to sleep a little better.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Flowers by a Bedside
I know it's a little...simple. But it popped into my head and I had to write it down.
Flowers by a Bedside
There's flowers by the table side.
the petals had long wilted,
their lingering aroma dissipating in stagnant air,
leaving only tough skeletons.
Now only the waning Sun,
cast the embers of life back on the blooms.
So slowly they drifted from the table,
to lay upon the cold linoleum.
And as the clouds rolled on the horizon,
the world still spun on axis.
The blooms had hidden from sight,
to shroud themselves.
They were once a single entity,
now they lay scattered,
too old to find one another
too brittle to revere hope.
The light flickered away,
and they silently slumber
in the coffin of fragility.
Never seen, but abandoned forever.
But morning went and came again.
They were gathered and left neatly in a bowl,
to watch the machinations of the world around.
Hoping for eyes to open, that never will.
Flowers by a Bedside
There's flowers by the table side.
the petals had long wilted,
their lingering aroma dissipating in stagnant air,
leaving only tough skeletons.
Now only the waning Sun,
cast the embers of life back on the blooms.
So slowly they drifted from the table,
to lay upon the cold linoleum.
And as the clouds rolled on the horizon,
the world still spun on axis.
The blooms had hidden from sight,
to shroud themselves.
They were once a single entity,
now they lay scattered,
too old to find one another
too brittle to revere hope.
The light flickered away,
and they silently slumber
in the coffin of fragility.
Never seen, but abandoned forever.
But morning went and came again.
They were gathered and left neatly in a bowl,
to watch the machinations of the world around.
Hoping for eyes to open, that never will.
Monday, May 21, 2012
...of Troy
This should simply be obvious..
It's another storypoemthing.
...of Troy
The air is of a sweltering stink.
Everything you've done is for naught.
Heedless voices called to arms stubbornly
sullying something that was beautiful.
Will you beg for it to fade away?
The shouts of dying hearts echo through your ears,
uninhibited by your desperate pleas.
Worlds tear from their axes at the mention of you name,
and onlookers stare in contemptuous envy.
Rest your weary eyes in dreamless sleep,
and hope the sea will drown your tears in salt.
At evenfall, time sits still in memoriam.
Yours is the face that launched one million ships,
far off in the distance,
can you see their banners raised?
Or is the haze of obsession,
binding blinded eyes with impossible dreams of utopia?
Don't you see the faces of the dead?
Or are their screams muffled by the indulgences of fancy?
For years they could storm,
hoping to see your walls as ashes upon the ground,
can't you see they fight to take you?
Drunk on glamour,
would you believe even gifts can be dressed lies,
and sharpened by vengeance,
for the greatest of treacheries,
is the one gifted in the form of peace.
It's another storypoemthing.
...of Troy
The air is of a sweltering stink.
Everything you've done is for naught.
Heedless voices called to arms stubbornly
sullying something that was beautiful.
Will you beg for it to fade away?
The shouts of dying hearts echo through your ears,
uninhibited by your desperate pleas.
Worlds tear from their axes at the mention of you name,
and onlookers stare in contemptuous envy.
Rest your weary eyes in dreamless sleep,
and hope the sea will drown your tears in salt.
At evenfall, time sits still in memoriam.
Yours is the face that launched one million ships,
far off in the distance,
can you see their banners raised?
Or is the haze of obsession,
binding blinded eyes with impossible dreams of utopia?
Don't you see the faces of the dead?
Or are their screams muffled by the indulgences of fancy?
For years they could storm,
hoping to see your walls as ashes upon the ground,
can't you see they fight to take you?
Drunk on glamour,
would you believe even gifts can be dressed lies,
and sharpened by vengeance,
for the greatest of treacheries,
is the one gifted in the form of peace.
Nos es totus par
Yooo....postedy post..
Nos es Totus par
In death we lie equal,
separated only by cracking head stones,
but coiled together,
in the light of our twisted souls.
Crushed by enclosing walls,
of life's crumbling palace-
left outside its lofty stones,
to feel oblivion's embrace.
The spectral digits,
fondle a fractured soul,
that holds desperately to titles,
hoping gold can buy just one more second.
But the casket is closing,
and gems can't barter freedom,
from the commitment of mortality...
all remains is what never will again.
Darkness falls,
laying an indiscriminate veil
over they eyes of the poor
and kings alike.
The shadows embed
their claws in pasty skin,
dragging away meager possessions,
casting them into the roil.
The curtain calls to rise,
that all will kneel,
relieved from encumbered servitude,
set free.
Two entities once separated,
can be defined together,
by ashes to ashes,
dust into dust.
Nos es Totus par
In death we lie equal,
separated only by cracking head stones,
but coiled together,
in the light of our twisted souls.
Crushed by enclosing walls,
of life's crumbling palace-
left outside its lofty stones,
to feel oblivion's embrace.
The spectral digits,
fondle a fractured soul,
that holds desperately to titles,
hoping gold can buy just one more second.
But the casket is closing,
and gems can't barter freedom,
from the commitment of mortality...
all remains is what never will again.
Darkness falls,
laying an indiscriminate veil
over they eyes of the poor
and kings alike.
The shadows embed
their claws in pasty skin,
dragging away meager possessions,
casting them into the roil.
The curtain calls to rise,
that all will kneel,
relieved from encumbered servitude,
set free.
Two entities once separated,
can be defined together,
by ashes to ashes,
dust into dust.
From the Earthen Embrace
I thought and thought some more on this guy...
AN ADDENDUM. IF YOU SEE RANDOM TYPOS LIKE HERE, WHEN IT IS CLEARLY HEAR...IT IS INTENTIONAL. SOME THINGS ARE THERE ON PURPOSE. WHEN IT COMES TOO STORIES, I'M PROBABLY TOO LAZY TO CORRECT THEM.
From the Earthen Embrace
From the Earthen embrace,
their spirits now soar,
far above the shackling surface
of pain, suffering, and bleak possibility.
The cruelest angels ripped away,
suckling babes from mothers' arms,
even when their love refused to bow-
against the void of death.
Silence can breed darkness and cold,
feeding on the misconceptions of fear.
Who would dare hide warm tales of yore,
with the last promises of Sunlight.
Do you wish for others to suffer?
Why is it you scream their names?
DO you wish to call them back to pain,
or will you simply forget them if you didn't.
Blaming oneself,
is the mark of desperation,
hoping to find answers in pale wanting,
was it truly too soon?
From the Earthen embrace,
they now roam free -
night is no longer haunting
and despair can no longer intoxicate.
Never could promises slake,
the thirst and reverence of their names...
you can swear to hear a wistful voice
on the empty breeze.
From the Earthen embrace,
life was cut from the loam,
and the pain of loss,
won't let a spirit garner peace.
But no matter the scorn and cries,
or the screams that echoed the skies-
nothing can bring them back,
even if the Earth could reach to Heaven.
AN ADDENDUM. IF YOU SEE RANDOM TYPOS LIKE HERE, WHEN IT IS CLEARLY HEAR...IT IS INTENTIONAL. SOME THINGS ARE THERE ON PURPOSE. WHEN IT COMES TOO STORIES, I'M PROBABLY TOO LAZY TO CORRECT THEM.
From the Earthen Embrace
From the Earthen embrace,
their spirits now soar,
far above the shackling surface
of pain, suffering, and bleak possibility.
The cruelest angels ripped away,
suckling babes from mothers' arms,
even when their love refused to bow-
against the void of death.
Silence can breed darkness and cold,
feeding on the misconceptions of fear.
Who would dare hide warm tales of yore,
with the last promises of Sunlight.
Do you wish for others to suffer?
Why is it you scream their names?
DO you wish to call them back to pain,
or will you simply forget them if you didn't.
Blaming oneself,
is the mark of desperation,
hoping to find answers in pale wanting,
was it truly too soon?
From the Earthen embrace,
they now roam free -
night is no longer haunting
and despair can no longer intoxicate.
Never could promises slake,
the thirst and reverence of their names...
you can swear to hear a wistful voice
on the empty breeze.
From the Earthen embrace,
life was cut from the loam,
and the pain of loss,
won't let a spirit garner peace.
But no matter the scorn and cries,
or the screams that echoed the skies-
nothing can bring them back,
even if the Earth could reach to Heaven.
Grains of Sand
I love this poem...don't ask why. HAH.
Grains of Sand
Pray all the sanctity
of the abode remain hollowed
as you lay into darkened slumber.
The shadows that lurk among the tapestry,
are dancing and snickering,
silent jests at your horrible delusion.
Damn and forsake!
Words that creep into your thoughts,
ironic confessions of the macabre,
If you abhorred your intentions,
would phantasms feel that insecurity?
Grains of sand,
spin mockingly in an hourglass,
unscathed by time's skeletal caress.
Sleep well in your obsessions,
thine eyes need not see the truth
Fleeing from nothing,
the shades drink in the light,
and you breathe out abysmal silence,
internal shivers of an old man.
Fear slithering up your spine,
is the death throes of the old.
You're sealed within a dark cist,
and laid to rest in ashen robes.
Cries for mercy fall on deaf ears,
as slumber hushes the warmth from your breath.
Grains of Sand,
dusted on the eyes of the weary,
ushering a mind onward to peaceful rest-
enthralled and encompassed by desperate ravings,
that all things can be eternal.
Grains of Sand
Pray all the sanctity
of the abode remain hollowed
as you lay into darkened slumber.
The shadows that lurk among the tapestry,
are dancing and snickering,
silent jests at your horrible delusion.
Damn and forsake!
Words that creep into your thoughts,
ironic confessions of the macabre,
If you abhorred your intentions,
would phantasms feel that insecurity?
Grains of sand,
spin mockingly in an hourglass,
unscathed by time's skeletal caress.
Sleep well in your obsessions,
thine eyes need not see the truth
Fleeing from nothing,
the shades drink in the light,
and you breathe out abysmal silence,
internal shivers of an old man.
Fear slithering up your spine,
is the death throes of the old.
You're sealed within a dark cist,
and laid to rest in ashen robes.
Cries for mercy fall on deaf ears,
as slumber hushes the warmth from your breath.
Grains of Sand,
dusted on the eyes of the weary,
ushering a mind onward to peaceful rest-
enthralled and encompassed by desperate ravings,
that all things can be eternal.
Condescending Eden
This would be an old poem I have decided to edit a bit... for the most part, it is the same. I had a lot of influence from religion, clearly.
Condescending Eden
We are the rekoners,
the heralds of misinformation;
leading your souls astray,
an exodus of souls.
We can stumble from golden gates into the pit.
Entranced within the eyes of a serpent,
we're condescending Eden,
expending the knowledge once coveted,
hoping ignorance can wash away memory.
Your father's forsaken,
are smitten by the snake's bite-
drawn into that virulence,
like wounds swollen with poison.
The patriarch witnesses,
our subtle betrayals.
Your lusts and avarice,
follow you from the shades of light.
Condescending Eden
We are the rekoners,
the heralds of misinformation;
leading your souls astray,
an exodus of souls.
We can stumble from golden gates into the pit.
Entranced within the eyes of a serpent,
we're condescending Eden,
expending the knowledge once coveted,
hoping ignorance can wash away memory.
Your father's forsaken,
are smitten by the snake's bite-
drawn into that virulence,
like wounds swollen with poison.
The patriarch witnesses,
our subtle betrayals.
Your lusts and avarice,
follow you from the shades of light.
Friday, May 18, 2012
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
Oh yeah, back to me and back to posting thingamajigs. This poem definitely has all kinds of meanings without actually dictating them out. Have fun figuring it out. ^^
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
The cloudless hue,
was but the enveloping
mist that surrounded us.
Are we the ones judged to be taken?
Bright lights,
hide intentions too sinister,
motions and thoughts that we can't understand-
voices in our minds we cannot decipher.
It's cold,
too cold for the tears
that well into my eyes,
blinded by the fear of that radiant halo.
With the great wheel of fire,
we went as they,
subjects all,
to the implacable wills.
We aren't mere pawns,
tools to your dark transfiguration.
Or puppets to be twisted
to your inquisitive abominations.
Left,
hollow and forgotten-
as madmen with tales of lunacy and perverse fantasy,
But we speak truths you won't here!
Why can't we remember!?
All that remains is a scratching paranoia,
a dark scream echoing in our minds;
nightmares bathed in blinding lights.
Dreams of pale faces in eyeless sockets,
creep inward to silence lost memories,
cryptic tendrils
saw anamnesis never spoken aloud.
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
The cloudless hue,
was but the enveloping
mist that surrounded us.
Are we the ones judged to be taken?
Bright lights,
hide intentions too sinister,
motions and thoughts that we can't understand-
voices in our minds we cannot decipher.
It's cold,
too cold for the tears
that well into my eyes,
blinded by the fear of that radiant halo.
With the great wheel of fire,
we went as they,
subjects all,
to the implacable wills.
We aren't mere pawns,
tools to your dark transfiguration.
Or puppets to be twisted
to your inquisitive abominations.
Left,
hollow and forgotten-
as madmen with tales of lunacy and perverse fantasy,
But we speak truths you won't here!
Why can't we remember!?
All that remains is a scratching paranoia,
a dark scream echoing in our minds;
nightmares bathed in blinding lights.
Dreams of pale faces in eyeless sockets,
creep inward to silence lost memories,
cryptic tendrils
saw anamnesis never spoken aloud.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Guilt
------> Blah <------
Guilt
Opening your chest with a ruined vice,
mirror the pain in my eyes,
show that wounds of flesh cut more shallow,
than words dipped in poison.
I stepped on your throat,
to quell the pleading echoes,
that expounded my faults,
as I ripped my last shreds of dignity apart.
Watching resolve melt away,
was hearing an inner voice speak, "you were wrong."
Like a whispering demon,
it perched on your back with weight unbearable.
If only the words had come,
but they stuck in the back of the throat,
all I wish is to plead, "forgive me."
but the words die back to their rest.
Guilt is the rainy cloud,
that walks your footsteps quietly,
the chip on your shoulder that bleakly
never allows your mind to rest.
Opening your chest with a ruined vice,
mirror the pain in my eyes,
show that wounds of flesh cut more shallow,
than words dipped in poison.
I stepped on your throat,
to quell the pleading echoes,
that expounded my faults,
as I ripped my last shreds of dignity apart.
Watching resolve melt away,
was hearing an inner voice speak, "you were wrong."
Like a whispering demon,
it perched on your back with weight unbearable.
If only the words had come,
but they stuck in the back of the throat,
all I wish is to plead, "forgive me."
but the words die back to their rest.
Guilt is the rainy cloud,
that walks your footsteps quietly,
the chip on your shoulder that bleakly
never allows your mind to rest.
Cradle a Grey Rainbow
I want to convey a sense of blah... here's hoping?
Cradle a Grey Rainbow
If I gave you a crayon to color the skies,
would you still stare blankly at me?
Or could you smile just this once,
and save me from despair and helplessness?
Outstretch your arms and wipe colorless
streaks throughout a cloudy horizon.
Show me the error of my ways,
and color in a grey rainbow where only tears fall.
Openly embrace a failing heart,
a rip it out to see your grey emotion
drip like paint from a brush,
you used to fill the firmament.
Cradle within your arms,
like a crying baby,
your under developed insight,
and show me the truth under your straight face.
Stab at the dark with drab hues,
are you trying to paint over the heartless void,
that beats a withered drum within your chest-
and put on the facade of a broken smile?
Spin about to blur away hues,
and the lights can fade into the darkness.
Resonate with the voices of numbness
and cry an unfeeling symphony.
Cradle a grey rainbow,
and hope for the colors to return to your world.
Pray for the drab to fade away,
while you frolic in the monotony of slate.
Cradle a Grey Rainbow
If I gave you a crayon to color the skies,
would you still stare blankly at me?
Or could you smile just this once,
and save me from despair and helplessness?
Outstretch your arms and wipe colorless
streaks throughout a cloudy horizon.
Show me the error of my ways,
and color in a grey rainbow where only tears fall.
Openly embrace a failing heart,
a rip it out to see your grey emotion
drip like paint from a brush,
you used to fill the firmament.
Cradle within your arms,
like a crying baby,
your under developed insight,
and show me the truth under your straight face.
Stab at the dark with drab hues,
are you trying to paint over the heartless void,
that beats a withered drum within your chest-
and put on the facade of a broken smile?
Spin about to blur away hues,
and the lights can fade into the darkness.
Resonate with the voices of numbness
and cry an unfeeling symphony.
Cradle a grey rainbow,
and hope for the colors to return to your world.
Pray for the drab to fade away,
while you frolic in the monotony of slate.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Embers Cast by Torchlight.
I like imagery..
Embers Cast by Torchlight
I own the night,
the veil of black over your eyes,
the grain of sand in your tears...
a dream of horror.
In the fields of twilight,
you are stalked
by feelings contemptible,
overflowed by prejudice and sin.
Like the stars that fall from the sky,
you disperse into ambiguity,
a wish cast upon faltered hope-
that was to never be born true.
Under a bloodied moon,
you shred your faith,
in a tortured sanctimony
of blasphemous sacrilege.
And with the encroaching dust,
antiquity blows your ashes away-
whispers of yester-years on the wind.
And no rain falls for your fate.l
Embers Cast by Torchlight
I own the night,
the veil of black over your eyes,
the grain of sand in your tears...
a dream of horror.
In the fields of twilight,
you are stalked
by feelings contemptible,
overflowed by prejudice and sin.
Like the stars that fall from the sky,
you disperse into ambiguity,
a wish cast upon faltered hope-
that was to never be born true.
Under a bloodied moon,
you shred your faith,
in a tortured sanctimony
of blasphemous sacrilege.
And with the encroaching dust,
antiquity blows your ashes away-
whispers of yester-years on the wind.
And no rain falls for your fate.l
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