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!
Doing, as one does during these digital times, surfing through You-Tube video in attempt to find something of intrigue or mind-expanding amongst the throngs of endless self-aggrandizing or sophomoric in content video channels; I happened upon a Channel explaining a version of Mathematics, simply put, defines `Everything’.
VIDEO:
Assuming the video is watched to elaborate on the concept/technology, the significance of the Number `9’ to our very existence is made apparent. The irony lies in the matter; I wrote a poem titled: `NINE’, back in 2011, August to be exact, that speaks to the heart of this discovered technology.
NINE
Primordial mist, laws to ether’s gravity combine
Giving form to the formless by mysterious zodiac design
To shape this earthly body that is mine
Vessel to spiritual energy of cosmic intellectual mind
Locked from conscious awareness by amnesia’s blind
Consigned this dimensional dwelling a finite time
To acknowledge a greater wisdom’s ascendant climb
Toward the One of All that beckons – NINE
This poem, originally written back in 2012 in response to social and geopolitical issues occurring at that tumultuous time, upon review, seems more appropriate to the current state of world affairs with the inauguration of the 45th President Donald J. Trump.
Unlike the fears garnered when the poem was first written; what seems poised on the horizon to erupt, due to increased nationalism not only in the United States but across Western Europe, should instill a true sense foreboding reminiscent of the pre-World War II era.
Unfortunately, humanity once again appears to fall victim to the machinations of the pathological designs of true power:
Falling deeper into the abyss of our making
This life on Earth seems forsaken
Though remedy of solution viably in-hand
But ignored, for reasons becoming clearer to understand
Global power held by the unseen elite
Are determined to manifest humanity’s defeat
They will not rest until their destructive plan is complete
Instigated with common people fighting each other in the street
Economic collapse is their efficient tool to instigate
Knowing empty belles’ are much easier to infuriate
Whilst poised in their ivory towers left to masturbate
While goon-squad militarized police, the uprisings, mitigate
It would take a fool’s mind not to see what is happening
The civilized structure of the last hundred years is set for collapsing
Then by their design a New Order for civilization is ready for hatching
To render a commoner’s life to impoverishment by servitude, ever-lasting
These are not words to echo the cry of humanity’s impending defeat
It is a call to recognize what is about to come and its receipt
Demanding if it is to happen – common people take their stand on the street
Poised ready to fight until the last Human standing on their feet
If this poem resonates with you please explore others written in the same vain as well, several poems of a more entertaining and humorous note. Thank you.
Please feel free, too, to let me know what you think by dropping me your comments to:
naykdpoet@outlook.com
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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