Here I am found behind locked door
To a life I swore to be no more
But, what has been gained, is lost
It is to moments of life, the cost
Hidden by the shadow of what was
For no reason, just because
Movement of time has given to dictate
What will be, not given, but to take
Forlorn is the cause de jour
Not to be exposed, but demurred
Reason for last chance to find remedy
To a life borne to hardship and calamity
It’s been a while since motivated to put random thoughts to reality’s gain; but, so goes this day:
Nights Spent:
Like roaches that feed in the void of light; hiding their machinations from morality’s sight; to garner the lust of debauchery’s delight; filled with feelings contrite; displacing rancor with blithe; to find refuge in other’s fright, so go the hours spent by night.
Field of Dreams:
Blazoned upon open fields of trails; foot passages that hide deviant tales; trodden by exploits where wanton lust prevails; greed for pleasure hard to curtail; a place, ethical prohibitions are destined to fail.
Bathhouse:
Through dim-lite corridors, naked men parade; each lost to their own charade; to orgasm of pleasure, they’ve become the slave; for it, their moral soul to trade; open doors, engorged lust wantonly displayed; stale sweat, spent cum pervade; pheromonal triggers waff and cascade; driven to frenzy, driven to engage.
Creative Block:
Cloistered in a humble room of mindless imagination; spawned from germ of discontent; survived by the fruit of constant failure; striving toward ill-conceived ambitions; thwarted by the causation of reason; hopeless to gains of promise; foments realization to threat of survival.
Book:
Brandishing tool of eloquence; striving to be creative and communicative of mind, thought toward their realization of meaning; embodied in time, the measured vehicle of distributed reason; unencumbered by resistance of ridicule; saved for perpetual salvation of archival history.
Comments Are Much Appreciate: (consider them a author’s reward)
Requiem of Spirit
Insignificant are these words that fill this page fore they render nothing more than a stain. Stain markings as feelings, thoughts, ideas of less importance, impact upon the direction, course evolution takes toward an end. Contrivance of communication subject to seeing by blind eyes, being heard through deaf ears, never to be spoken. The encumbrance of thought compiled line by line, expelled to satisfy each moment toward their meaningless, meaning or purpose. Collected, bound, volumes comprehensively fomenting artificiality of presence recognized, though invisible, amidst the masses of trite representation to the same. Succumbing to be buried, lost to chance to be forgotten, dormant upon the ageless shelf of lessor importance. Energy expended without reward of return, fading to darkness: The End.
This Requiem of Spirit: Creative Mind, lost of its meaning to gain furtherance to expression brought to the Conscious that grave for its experience be brought, by reading minds’ imagination. Allowing for the Ether, Heart of Soul, be brought tangibly to Life, through the senses expunging, from each taste, stain of Word: What it is to BE!
When?
The beauty of Moon’s brilliant light reflecting on the still water of the harbor cove betrays the anguish felt deep inside as I sit gazing upward at the dark night sky filled to abundance with the flickering light of constellation’s stars.
Absorbed by the wonderment of nature’s paint I seek to find answers to questions’ manifest, reasons for humanity’s self-inflicted pain, dispensed with the hypocrisy of remorse.
The defilement of life’s abundant values given without price; expended as though worthless: life, taking life.
What virus of evil did mutate into the genetic of humanity to give rise to its indiscriminate ability to espouse hatred by voice and physical action? An evil so dark as to seemingly expunge the full essence of Love from the spirit soul given to all with birth into a world of unquestioning beauty and abundance to be had. What wayward action was it that led it to traverse our planet without impediment or impunity to find permanence of residence in all, yet diverse, cultures?
Were an alien intelligence to look upon the dualistic actions of this earth’s inhabitants it would assuredly too, be left to wonder the root cause(s) for this profane condition. Like a child spoiled to indifference to the riches unquestioningly given it without want for reciprocation but to appreciate the inherent value of its worth and, to cherish the opportunity for its giving.
How long can this insidious profanity be allowed to continue without an ultimate price to be paid, to render a final solution that will fully purge the disease sickness that holds to the genetic roots of humanity and its progeny of generations to come? To allow the full goodness of the Soul’s spirit of love that freely resides in all at birth, to flourish and expand in the course of life’s given journey before entering the next realm of energy’s domain.
The following poem I wrote back in 2012 to acknowledge on this day November 11th, the fallen; those who gave of themselves in service to the freedoms we enjoy to this day, however, as much as it is said in tribute, it is meant to reflect the brutal waste of lives given to the folly of those to whom we choose to lead us; those often, whom avoid the true hardships they wittingly impose on the Peoples of their Nation.
Remembrance?
We hail courageous heroes of war; but for whom is the true enemy at bastion door; for each nation’s fallen soldier is a heart made sore; and to whom do the real gains amass, while the bereaved tally the deathly score?
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To be of common purpose in mind; is not to be to true reasons blind; for the failings within humankind; for the atrocities inflicted upon its own kind; appeased by pageant and ceremony to remind; but in truth’s end, to repetition, it is endlessly inclined.
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Spilling mental guts upon the literary floor; thousands pass but simply ignore, for their lack of interest to what may touch their shore; yet find the time to whisper ridicule and messenger to deplore; yielding incessant ignorance to reason, to endure.
Catastrophic Finality?
Tags: administration, commentary, Internet, life, media, movies, News, truth
There was a time one could write of the failing world condition,
Speak clearly to the issues that give rise to fear and division,
To recognize the societal elements eroding into submission,
But, alas, time now seems beyond words to make corrective revision.
The reality is; political ineptitude is given undeniable power,
Pervasive media is filled with murder and hate to make one cower,
Filth of selfish greed reigns down like a golden-piss shower,
Nationalistic tribalism, once constrained, now let to flower.
This new millennium, since the days of its early start,
Tainted by the powder-keg lit by a terrorist spark,
Submerging all into a history growing increasingly dark,
Now two-decades in, convinced, it’s not to be a passing lark.
Not surprising, Hollywood films seem reflective precursors to a reality;
Conveying plausible reason not to ignore their story’s seeming banality
As often, the protagonist, confronted by a choice of a brutal-end totality,
In the end, misguidedly lures away from a truth of impending, catastrophic finality.
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