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Showing posts from May, 2018

A Courageous Purpose

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A Courageous Purpose 
He was only nineteen, much like those around him; he was lost in what life was and where he should go. High school was over and the doors of life were open. He was overwhelmed at the thought of opportunities; but something in him drove him from the average path.

The choice to get a job or to go to college were dreadful thoughts. The idea of being placed once more in a room with a teacher. Listening to what mostly likely would have no interest in his heart nor mind; was agonizing to him. The mere thought of sitting at a small table stacked with books drew a nauseating urge from his gut.
Boredom followed beside this nauseous feel. Though he felt no desire for either a job or school, he had to make a choice. His fathered gave him three , go to school, get a job, or move out. All three of those were dreadful angles of thought.
Each tied a knot inside his heart, constricting his conscious will to create. But though he be a man of a creative mind. He saw no skill to be…

Do We Know Happiness

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Do We Know Happiness 
The deeper I dig into this conscience, the darker the world becomes. Prickling with dismal allegories, and I can't help but feel as if there is no true happiness. That this word, "happiness," is but a false manipulation of the mind in the masses to carry out malicious intent. 

To feed the society a spoonful of an abstract meaning, which I find to be unattainable. Even if one finds themselves in the embrace of "happiness," foolish acts are made. Arbitrary decisions drag out an in almost sadistic undertaking by the ego in an almost manic state.

Rising one up only to drop them further, to press them into crises when anything fails. "Happiness;" what truly is it when we give it a name, a name to something that cannot be explained in words? No matter how many words we use to explain it, we often respond with,

"I can't explain it, I just feel it."

By no means am I saying one cannot be happy, that they shouldn't, rath…

A Boy and A War

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A Boy and A War 
The train had just left the station, his thoughts creep with nostalgia as he watches is home fade into the horizon. His chest holds a nervous wreck, only seventeen and knows nothing beyond his home. He wears an old green t-shirt with red lettering that reads, The Red Menace is real. 

His hair short, cut in the manner of a well respected boy. His eyes glitter with sadness as he has to leave everything behind. He knew this day would come but he wasn't ready, he had just graduated high school and was ready for adventure.

But now, he is well pressed into the chaos of the world. About to be armed in the fighting against a world enemy. For months he had heard the stories and updates of the war on the nightly radio. But it was all too surreal that he will now be part of such stories.

He can still hear the radio announcer speaking of the enemy bombarding the world as if to rid it of cancer. As the train moves further from his home he can still feel the tears of his mother…

A Psychosis Love

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A Psychosis Love 
A psychosis of the heart, feeling what is not there. Seeing what is more but illusions of ghostly figures. A past that has been torn from the chapters like poison in the flesh. Blending the abstract to feel of reality.

Though beautiful in thought, art is but the savvy of the heart; and the mind enriches such abstractions. Mixing with the intent to stay in the familiar, though pain may follow.

A gorgeous crescendo only to bleed out unto the soul and flood it with no hope of breath. Not even an ark can save one from such a destructible pair. Leading one to be sheep, in their own acceptance of their naive choice.

Hurdles of misery are so simple, as one knows the outcome for each. So they race to each only to fall; never taking up practice to leap. For fear of what lies to the other side is more frightful than the repetition of a mangled heart.

So they become but a heart of the catatonic; rigid in suffering.

They stare idle into what they know they should turn from.

 &qu…

A Distant Heart

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A Distant Heart
I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things.

Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing.

Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve.

For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for.

Why? This I c…

Tragedy Holds A Key

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Tragedy Holds A Key 
Tragedy- a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster.

Tragedy, an unfortunate circumstance that is never punctual in its arrival. Always arriving when it suits its desire. Never in the perfect moment, where stability meets horror. It appeals to its own derivative of existence. Bearing no idealistic compassion for its unsightly contributions to those it harms.

But, beneath its unorthodox approach to its instruction of its self. It bears something no other event can bring. Though it brings much grief, misery, and entrails of suffering; there is a seed. A tiny seed, which can neither be touched nor seen, only felt.

A seed that brings opportunity, character, resistance and, wisdom. But these gifts are not without tribulation. Many may think tragedy is but a selfish creature; maybe so. But if greeted by heart and not of the mind, one can receive great abundance of spirit; life.

For what is lost, is never truly lost. It must go somewhere, like e…

Our Self-Loathing

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Our Self-Loathing 
Why do we do what we know will harm us?

What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony?

We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber.

Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company.

We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of our reflection.

On…

The Flavor of War

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The Flavor of War

A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware.

Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame.

Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time.

But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from force, and…

Babylon Thought

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Babylon Thought 
Build, build, let us touch the heavens where god seeks to hold us. Let us structure each brick to compose the steps to the heavens. Bear no mind to the agony at which it costs, life is part of the sacrifice.

Let us climb to the clouds and past the stars; where we shall see the eyes of it all. Do not be weary in the work, for this is our destiny. Our true reasoning of our manifestation, were are not of these soils. Nor do we wish to dwell upon them anymore more.

The beauty here has become tedious and shallow. Nothing new sprouts from these false accolades of nature. The trees bear no new fruits, the sky brings no new heights and the earth springs with no new mountains.

We are not meant to live in this haze of existence. Fending through meager flesh to keep our souls pulsating. We have grown bored of the frail design of our thoughts, we have ceased expansion in creation an idea.

This be our only hope, we must climb. Burden your body with stone so that it may be lifted t…

A Curiosity of Tragedy

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A Curiosity of Tragedy 
Young, and tragedy was is his bitter friend. Hand in hand they walk as they looked to the streets for vigor thoughts of death. Inspiration at the hands of the grotesque and the undesirable compositions of life. He found it strange no one desired to look deeper into what evoked fear and disgust.

But strangely he was, much like a doctor is drawn to the speculation of sickness. Even at a young he would find deceased insects and animals and examine them. He would strike poems from their monstrous poise. Those in the surrounding streets found him odd, many would cross the street if they saw him approaching.

But he paid them no mind for his thoughts were else where; dancing in the smog of sewers as he looked for new things of death. Scouring trees for rot or rats that had been feasted upon by their own kind. He found these things spectacular, they were something to be marveled.

For what brings such an outcome of the living?

Why must all come to an end?

What creates t…

The Flesh of A City

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The Flesh of A City 
The sun gleams against the busy horizon of the city heights. Thousands bustle between the individual goal of now. Gathering thoughts of conversation to the sinking whims of the mind. Flowing with the concrete streams and broken seams.

So many, yet so distant; a world pressed tightly in a plexus of man. Creating a pliant mind as flesh is the desire. Looking for that nepenthe escape; dull the sense of agony. Placing hearts on material and material on spirit.

A wafting stench of empty souls walk with jaws hung open. Exhaling with vaped response of its temple. Longing for the existential of more than late night smiles and tasteful drinks. But competition of the vain; grips with an ingenious web in the city lights and crowded streets.

Perplexing the eyes with the mesmerizing style of wealth. Capturing the young in the excitement of halogen strands of reds and pinks. Caressing the naive skin of youth in temptation of lust.

All things of man flood with irreverent need to…

Math Ain't So Bad; Maybe it's God?

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Math Ain't So Bad; Maybe it's God?
Where does time flow?
Beneath our feet, in the depth of our lungs? oh, I know, in the creation of math!
Damn you math, your intricacies of design. To turn theory into reality and something that does not exist into something we all obey.

How I dread the application of your existence. You never allow open answers, only direct. An honest approach you could say; never hiding a lie nor truth.

Allowing things to be exact, calling out mistakes of theories. Even those that had once stood the test of time. Oh, how irritable that must be; to have slayed away to create an idea of science so grand, it seemed impossible to disprove.

Only to have math coming walking by in its top hat and call out your flaw. Disapproval is painful, but at least math won't leave you heart broken. Holding lies and sticking by your side only to find out it has been cheating on you with music.

Oh wait, there is math in that too, damn. Is there anything you do not do? Is the…

The Dusted Years

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The Dusted Years 
The fields went bare, the oceans calm and the air thick with dust. Crops were buried in the depth of earths cough. It appeared as if death had showered its breath upon the once marvelous existence of man.

Hunger struck the every belly that walked the lonely paths. Hands that sewed the fields now cry out into the dusted air. Faces ragged of despair and fear, depression sulked the very heart of everything. Men struggled to provide, women lost touch in the nurturing.

The world flipped upside. As if the gods were in the mood to shake the earth in the curiosity of experiment. Laughter was little, frowns were in heavy supply and pain was given for free.

Children clung to the neck of each breath; as any form of sustenance was only convenient to those in the embrace of bureaucracy. Or those that salvaged their future before it ever arrived.

The teething need to survive sprung a leak in the bowels of crime. Many came crawling to its rising stench. Seeing the easy and ignoring…

Anxiety Attack

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Anxiety Attack
I see the door, the open entrance of it all. But too much anxiety holds me, it grasps my throat. I fall back, scurry to the corners of my darkness. Making friends with shadows, though they only lacerate my hope.

Bleeding me till I have nothing left but contempt for myself. My heart, racing to a rhythm I cannot keep. My breath as shallow as a receded tied. My hands clasp to my head as I try to filter through the animosity. The clouding misery that impedes my path.

I cower to my fears, helpless; fidgeting for an excuse to let it all go. Time becomes my wrathful enemy. Its eyes narrowing as it constricts my mind. Pressing me further and further to the darkness. Seconds become minutes, hours become days and I cry with no intent to reach for compassion; neither for myself nor time.

I feel no resolution for forgiveness. I stall, like prey to predator. Stunned in the recollection of my fears, never prepping myself in advancement. Sweat pours from my brow, my flesh becomes a pa…

The Splitting of Earth

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The Splitting of Earth
The horn of the heavens rang out with a mighty bellow. The earth began to shake, every mouth of fire spewed with rage. The gods stared with bereavement of what must be done. Horror stood with a frothing mouth of carnage. The earth began to split into two, screams of suffering clouded the air.

Mountain tops crumbled at the sight of the heavens. Devouring everything in their path; no creature nor village was left in safe passage. The ground began to boil, flesh became victims of shrilling heat. Mothers watched as daughters became ravaged by flames; as deafening screams of torment resounded in the ears of the mothers. Fathers observed with grieving souls as sons were crushed by falling stone.
No soul was safe; the heavens rumbled with mighty roars. The sky opened with a blinding light, Angels came rushing from the stars. Gods came charging like eagles as clouds of white stormed the horizon; and as they rushed down to the splitting earth, up came the snarling black …

A Poetic Thought

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A Poetic Thought
A dime a dozen, a smile. The attraction of the unexpected, the never sought out. Wandering the pastures of an open heart. Leading with no concrete expectation. Breathing in the salted air as waves gently crash. Passing the fading past as if it is but only a foot print to be drowned.

Listening with calm ears, following with eyes of magnificent curiosity as the seagull passes above. Calling out to the sea in search of others. Spreading wings to guide even in the coldest of days. Storms bolster with arrogance. Wavering a tantrum of rage, eventually calming in the wake of empty praise.

Scars of the rash, but a remedy can be; plucked from the burdens of the chest. Shared in the commons of suffering. Letting no ill memory be the waking of thought. Standing steady even in the rush of agony.

Allow no avalanche of tragedy to condense the purpose of life. Bleed from only the mistakes, the failures. Burrowing hills, reaching the peaks of mountains. Creating an abundance of light…

Not Fair

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Not fair?
You know what's not fair, that eight year old boy who who was diagnosed with cancer on his eighth birthday. The mom that has to watch her child slowly die as she prays he will survive; only to watch him take his last breath.

After all those sleepless nights of pain staking chemo. All those days of watching their child go from a bundle of energy, to a pale boy of sickness.
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Life's not fair?

You know what's no fair, going to work to find out you are being fired because someone holds a minority that you don't. Fired, because your skin complexion is not the right color and they need more of the other. Being fired, because the company needs more of a certain set of sex organs to help out "equality."
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Your life's not fair?

You know what's not fair, those 200,000+ men who went to help eradicate the evils of Hitler. Only to die less than hundred feet onto the shore. All those sons taken from their families, all those father and mothers getting a…

Two Steps Back, One Step Forward

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Two Steps Back, One Step Forward
Forward, only to step back. To fall once again into a prism of frustration. Feeling your skin tighten as if it is not yours. Everything becoming an obstacle, even those you love. Beginning to detest the very grounds you walk upon.

The world feels as if you are standing against titans. Waging an endless war just to keep your chest beating. Hoping that tomorrow will be just a little less of hell. That the coals that burn beneath your feet will cool; if only for a moment.

At times you feel a frozen tundra would be more welcoming than this blazing horizon. Putting out one fire only to see another rise. Watching as the home you built become charcoal for the devil to brew its feast.

Falling back from the two steps forward. So close, arms reach; but as your fingers tips caress the lips of your dreams, everything shatters. Walls come crumbling down, you breathe with inane sense to let it all collapse.

To allow the flames to leave no ruins of your heart. To let…

A Morning

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A Morning 
A small boat upon the open waves. Settling clouds atop the mountain crest, a thin fog hugs the earth. Brisk winds hold the shores. Foot prints taken by receding seas. A breath of fresh air fills the lungs of lonely souls. Caffeinated steps proceed the waking morning. Melodic tunes play softly in busy halls.

Trees waver to the cool wind. Swaying with no agency to be. Quiet tears fall from broken hearts, sheets hold the lonesome. An empty glass stained in lips of red. Sour aroma lingers from the mouth. 
Rain tumbles with urgency to flood what begs to hold. Washing away dusted cheeks; hesitation to step out grasps the flesh. Eyes interpret the morning view. Hazed in a daze of last nights time. Lethargic tones whisper among the head.
Clouds cover the blue, rejecting the season to be new. Gloom disperses the sun, leaving minds numb in hope with empty rhythm. The carrying of pollen leaving septum's to run. Insects victim to the spectrum of predator tongue.
Asylum lost in the …

A Scarecrow Soul

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A Scarecrow Soul

I know not what is left, nor where I'm trying to go. Everything has become dull, no longer do I glow. I am a dying star that fades between the moon and the sun. Afraid to shine for I feel I have nothing left to grow.

A field of empty souls is all I seem to know. I am but a broken vase tossed from the comfort of my shelves. I am shattered, battered by the hands of my own ghetto. Dancing in the dim limbo of dead crows, ergo, I am a feast for death.

But thought is still brought, though I wish to breathe nothing. I clamber to be a maestro of the infernal, for there, I feel I have something to follow; an end. My ego sits hung from the hollow halls of my rotted chateau. Plastered like a Fresno I crumble with no caring of my colors.

Stretched out, my mind weak, I tread upon a plateau. Flat, empty, stranded in an abyss as I stand in the middle. A scarecrow, a symbol to advert the whispers of light. Drained myself dry of marrow; given to the damned.

My soul, no longer has …

A Murdered Love of War

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A Murdered Love of War

Three hundred and sixty-five days since she held him in her arms. Her whole body swept up in anxious fright and joy. She thinks to herself, "Will he remember me? Will he still love me?"

She throws on her best dress and lipstick; looks herself in the mirror and says, " I am gonna go the hair salon and strike myself the hair of an angel!"

Still looking herself in the mirror she twirls around with a large smile,

"Oh my, I can feel my heart beating against my chest."

She smiles and lets out a small giggle. She stops twirling and slides her hands down her sides, over her hips to make sure the dress forms perfectly to her body. She then places a hat upon her head to hide her wild hair before it is touched by her stylist Mary.

She quickly steps over to her closet, picks up her red heels and she rushes out her room and down the stairs. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and places on her heels. While struggling to keep her balance to plac…

Why Does This Heart Beat?

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Why Does This Heart Beat? 
How does this work, my heart?

Why does it hold its rhythm though I do not dance? Does it not see the agony that hangs from it? Does it no see the shrill of misery that flows from the spit of my tongue?

Its lush beats keep these ragged bones shivering. Though they shiver in fear they find reason to build. To stay attached to the fibers that hold it together. I walk with these bones and I hear them murmur in the cracks of my joints.

I hear them, the creaking, the screaming, the bitter exhaustion of wanting rest. But still I move, as does my heart. But why drag this withering body through the fields of the ripe? I tend poorly to my own flesh, my own soul.

Why does this heart bleed so, breathing in, exhaling the platelets of my body? Does it know what I do not? Is there a song I have yet to compose, a poem I have yet to spill, or a heart I have yet to break?

This strange thing beneath this rugged chest. It beats, it holds rhythm and song; all the while I dispute…