It's not our fault that we don't make good choices
It's not our fault that we hate each other
It's not our that we get angry for no reason
It's not our fault that we are never happy
It's not our fault that we say things we weren't supposed to say
It's not our fault that we make many mistakes
It's just human nature
What if I told you I found the sweet spot, the perfect combination of want, desire and satisfaction, the perfect balance of risk and thrill, the best adrenaline rush.
I'll share it with you.
Are you ready?
Can you enjoy the dark and lovely, that beautiful spinning moment, the freedom?
It's mine, it can be yours too, breathe it in, suck it down, devour every taste and color, savor it, it won't last forever. Revel in it, drown in it, wicked laughter and twisted minds, wannabe gangsters and the real thing. A sea of crazy and delight
Who are you?
What are you?
I'll show you the art of spinning out of control. Time to unwind and unravel.
This is my dream, my wild unbound satisfaction.
The writing on your face.
Its all mine, and I soak it up relentlessly.
Cocky yet humble,
Yelling at a mumble.
just another contradiction,
Self destructive predilection.
Smart enough to know better,
Yet too dumb to care whether,
I'm dead inside and rotting out,
Or simply just living with doubt.
So the story goes,
Only heaven knows
Why I do the things I do.
I just wish I knew.
Tall, small build,
Not strong willed.
yet willing to finish the mission.
Watch my plans reach their fruition.
Stuff four friends in a white panel van,
Keep them on the road as long as I can.
So we can fit our piece in the puzzle plan.
Cause I'm nothing, simply nothing without any fans.
So my hair, it grows,
And the wind it blows,
Hopefully in the right direction.
To the next intersection.
Evil, yet good,
Idle hands, busy mind
Produce horrific crimes.
Play with emotions to sway
People's affections swing my way.
Yet never carry out the dirty deed at hand.
I'll call it a conscience, say never again, but I'm just a man.
My eyes wander,
Will's getting stronger.
But it's just too hard not to see
Or adequately appreciate beauty.
Calm and enthusiastic,
Dull but charismatic,
Maybe a dash of eccentricity.
Throw in Some single minded duplicity,
Add in a heaping helping of guilt to top it off.
Let cool for twenty years and let the odor waft,
Then you get a blue eyed, brown haired douche bag.
Who wants nothing more than his childhood back.
So much for growing up.
So much for no regrets.
I wouldn't mind staying young,
But time just won't relent.
You whom I could not save
Listen to me.
Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.
I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.
I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.
What strengthened me, for you was lethal.
You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,
Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty;
Blind force with accomplished shape.
Here is a valley of shallow Polish rivers. And an immense bridge
Going into white fog. Here is a broken city;
And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your grave
When I am talking with you.
What is poetry which does not save
Nations or people?
A connivance with official lies,
A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,
Readings for sophomore girls.
That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,
That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,
In this and only this I find salvation.
They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds
To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.
I put this book here for you, who once lived
So that you should visit us no more.
- by Czeslaw Milosz
st, 13 dec 13
Copyright © 1988 by Czeslaw Milosz Royalties, Inc.
Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Source: The Collected Poems: 1931-1987 (The Ecco Press, 1988)
Forgotten in the pages
Of the that book
Oh what was it called
That book is sitting
In my father's bookshelf
A history of the civil war
And an encyclopedia from 1949
It is lost in the depths
Of my mother's bookshelf
There the book with the pressed flowers
Covered in dust and memories
Waits for me to recapture the lost moments
Collecting and absorbing the words
And ideas trapped within the binding
Lost flowers, pressed in time
Lost in the pages of my childhood
We have been apart now longer than we were together. Strange as the time flies like a bird in the hardest wind, my heart still beats the rhythm of your name and my soul is but a broken vase without your hand held in mine. I swear to you that I have tried in honest to lose the longing that plagues my bones but my love for you persists even now. Like a river it flows onward and though its depth may change by the season, its nature is unending. I still keep your picture in my wallet not because it does some service or I bring my eyes about it often but rather that the deepest part of me will not permit its absence. My love is hard and true and nothing seems to persuade it from its purpose, not even me. I sleep more then I should now because my love remains only in my dreams and my world is made of what moves me, whether it be what all can see or just me.
I think of you often,
Please do it,
I am literally going insane
I need desperate assistance
I am very serious about this
My dreams are becoming reality
I don't know where that is going
But, Very seriously
I am being troubled
I am asking you
to tether me down
so reality doesn't escape me
Please do me a favor
So i can live..