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.
A thunderous boom echoed from a cloudless sky
Summoning the shrill of an unknown baby’s cry
Sending a shiver of fear hard to deny
With wonderment of question: `Why?’
Soon the streets filled with curious minds
Looking upward and outward for telling signs
But none were visible or made blind
Leaving an answer to the question hard to find.
Those of pious belief fell in prayer to their knees,
Atheists and the agnostic took to cowering under trees
Finding no reason to solution, source of fear to relieve;
Taking this sign as an ominous warning, one to be believed.
Next, the sunlight of day became hauntingly dark,
The blackness of night full, consuming, stark;
Artificial light failed to counter its sudden, complete embark,
Confirming to all, this strangeness is not to be deemed a lark.
Ancient prophecy has long spoken of such a coming event
Taken by most to be of an old zealot’s religious invent;
Poised as reason for all sinners toward a godly entity, to repent,
To gain a promise of such calamity, to wishfully prevent.
Intellectual voices of science took strides to explain
The Earth is passing through its Galaxy’s cosmic plane;
A natural, phenomenal cycle that occurs time and again
Ensuring reason toward humanity’s ails is not the source to blame.
Three days, three nights the darkness full did cause
Thousands to wait in fear, confused by whose `laws’
To believe to be this earthly calamity’s true cause
But, what is certain; Humanity is given good reason to pause.
On the fourth day sunlight once again made for a blue sky,
The cry of relief echoing loud, fervently far and wide;
From this, it became evidently clear and impossible to deny,
Earth, a cosmic vessel, is given for all humanity, on which to fly.
No longer encumbered by divisive, omnipresent rules of religious fear,
Humankind realizes they are the true Captains to this earthly ship to steer
Through the voidness of cosmic space knowing the path to be made clear
Is through intellect of mind and, love for each other, to hold most dear.
The tentacles of endeavor that connote my purpose for being are withering and dying from interest receding.
Nourishment from intellect’s gains becoming less abundant
rendering this creative life increasingly redundant.
What magic can be channeled to alter this downward course
before totally atrophying this unseen energy, mental force?
External, electronic medium source set to induce neuron’s firing
lack any essence of wisdom to stimulate words of worth or inspiring.
Consumed and lacking any mental creativeness to spend
into oblivion, I feel consigned and obliged to descend.
So take this reward, this last motif of expression, though be it lame, no longer am I able, toward any literary fame, strive to ascend.
(To view, Click on image and once there, scroll down to view each successive page)
Encountering one of my earliest published works online gave pause to what I wrote and subsequently self-published under the title: HOMAGE TO A WORLD LOST . Contained within this book, debut 2010, are poems reflective of the tumultuous first decade of this 21st Century.
The reading of many of the poems clearly echoes, in a prophetic way, what is being experienced around the globe presently namely; the seeming collapse of effective governance and the politics it embodies; the run-away state of sectarian and religious terrorism throughout the globe; and, the extremes of climate change driven by global warming to name but a few of the subjects addressed.
Here is your chance to freely read some or all of the 133 pages contained therein and, for yourself, to draw your own conclusions about the state of a WORLD LOST!
Link: HOMAGE TO A WORLD LOST (once there, scroll down to view each successive page)
Thank you.
High-level criminality persists through to this modern day
The power of greed-money maintains its stay
Politicians of every stripe becoming too willing to play
Opposition to such influence, by death, is easily put away
Universal changes for the good are easily contrived
Yet common sense solutions are forcefully denied
Mainstream Media propaganda reinforcing the lies
So what is right versus what is done are destined to collide
Pressure is building and becoming harder to contain
Extremist to the right and the left making louder their claim
That oligarchic power can no longer be tolerated, be sustained
Use of destructive, deadly force no longer a viable refrain.
The warnings for decades have been visible, evidently clear
The 21st century Peoples common voice increasingly sincere:
They covet what has been promised, values held dear
And willing to fight for their Rights, to death, without hesitation or fear.
Taken with pain from the face of the Earth
Consumed, distraught by compassion’s dearth,
Witness to humanity increasingly divided by ethnicity’s worth,
Knowing monetary inequality lies at the root of this growing curse.
Infusing slavery by way of shackle’s contemporary definition:
`Grow a consumer class’ in service to the elite’s global mission,
To parley sovereign rule to stave off national wealth’s extradition,
By in-Corporation trade agreements that usurp electoral decision.
Deepening, darkening has become this downward spiral,
Fewer are left, the human values of goodness to defile,
As one by one, discarded, thrown into a dead and decaying pile,
Tended to by greedy Money-Changers wearing scornful, sneering smiles.
naykdpoet 
Thoughts De jour
Tags: art, books, commentary, computer, content, fun, Internet, life, relationships
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.
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