Month: March 2020

Devoid of fear with no need of courage
a unique place that so many call ourselves
sits buried under flesh and thinking ground
in burial always recognized but rarely ever felt.

Alabaster purity of single purpose
where we dream that everything makes sense?
Maybe where gods themselves are found
and souls evolve, arise, and are incensed.

The questions remain all asked,
though the starting point remains unclear,
if all the ends justified the means
then why are we still here?

Are we built for greater things,
or is there nothing left to fuel.
Does god remain high above,
or does human energy amount to a sacred pool?

When the pain of asking is all through,
and every wall is broken,
do we sit in furious love and take the beating,
our wicked recognition the wounding token?

If not now, then when and why will the light sound like a shout?
We all search for it in absent things,
that once we cared about.

Filigreed fucks with papers all Johnny-on-high,
diagnose another cluck with illness
so long adrift it must be because they don’t try.
Embrace that soft noise
make it part of your heart,
believe you’re insane though it tears you apart.
Now wrap up all tight into desperation and love,
never feel certain and it fits like a glove.
It’s not that it’s wrong,
hell it’s probably right,
but we dance to our own tunes,
even into the shadows,
coming out of the night.

Snowflakes kept outside the box
where glass can’t soothe the heat,
internal networks are diamond cast
shed no light to speak.

In microcosmic glory
where the radars are turned up high,
we smelt our fears to brightly shining things
bid nothing but hell goodbye.

Until the final moments
when awareness creeps cross your spine,
it’s been nothing but elder days
dropping messages to sink in seas of time.

No more glistening rainbows
with colors meaningless and pure
it’s all come down to nothing now
when love lost, and found,
was only the last cure.

There’s a miasma rising up in the fields of defeat

where stands wisdom and knowledge of hope as it crashed

broken and sour but flavored to taste so wonderfully sweet.

Where the rivers of flair have all run themselves dry,

moments of passion sit in ominous fashion,

Reflecting one last question I dread to ask—why?

Does it all matter or is it all derived from a ghost,

walking down the halls of memory,

playing shadowed film run through with smoke.

If nothing is true and life itself is the lie,

I’d beg for forgiveness,

say I’m sorry for every goodbye.

In those glimpses of purity

that forever I doubted,

lay drinkable water,

though it were horribly clouded.