If we could consume the world,
we would all gorge ourselves in an instant.
To sacrifice eternity, humanity, all we know,
for a brief moment of pleasure.
This is our nature, one of greed,
of self-serving at any cost.
It is our driving force, our only motivation.
To take all we can, and keep others from having.
We would rather stuff our faces
until we become sick,
than share the smallest morsel
with those who have less.
Any goodness, any charity,
must be motivated by hidden interests.
By the desire to take a greater share
of the love and respect rationed to each person.
To trade the lives of all in exchange for our own
is not even a thought.
No matter the name you give it
selfishness is who we are.

A soldier cowered in a muddy hole,
The crack of weapon-fire tore the dark sky above,
and he felt hopeless because of the fight raging around him.
He cried to himself, feeling all was lost.
The barrel of his rifle, he put into his mouth,
ready to end the terror of this life.

Then an angel appeared and slapped the gun away,
"What are you doing my child?
Don't you know this battle is not lost?
And after, there are still more battles to fight.
The war will not go away because you do.
Do not let fear consume you,
for there are many depending on you,
and you must fight not only for them,
but for yourself as well."

The soldier turned to face the angel,
through his tear drenched eyes,
but the angel was gone.
Yet the battle was not,
so he picked up his rifle,  brushed off the mud,
and stood on shaky legs.
The fear was still inside, and it was all around,
but undeterred he clambered from his hole,
and rose to fight again.

Because the fear was strong,
but he was stronger still.

Something is out there,
Waiting in a whisper,
Dreaming within the silence,
A voice drowned,
By the dull roar of the crowd,
Listen closely,
Crying out in the void,
Quietly, but with such force,
An ocean’s tide cannot erode
Hell’s flames cannot devour,
The emptiness of space cannot stifle,
A frenzied vibration of indiscernible lines,
Drawing together,
All things separated by time & place,
Unbreachable barriers,
Crumble before the power,
Of that which now lies ahead,
The entire future in this moment,
Open the ears within and hear it,
The fury of the storm
is the splash of a single dewdrop.
All things as one.

Here, this is for you I want you to have it.
It’s my heart, see how strong it beats in your hand?
What’s that, you can’t take it, you want to give it back?
Well, okay I guess that’s up to you.
Oh no! You’ve dropped it.
Look at my heart lying in the dirt.
It’s alright, I can fix this, I’ll pick it up and put it back.
Look, it’s broken, how many pieces it’s become.
No worries, I’ll save it, watch me put it back together.
It may be ***** and bruised but I’m sure it will still work.
This part fits with this one, soon it will be whole.
Hmmm, something’s missing, it seems we lost a piece.
It doesn’t look good, it’s not beating anymore.
Do something, don’t just stand there, I have to make it right.
Maybe if I press upon it and shove it back into my chest.
Then it will work, yes I’m sure that’s all it needs.
Brush the dirt off, I’ll put it back now.
There, that’s better, I think it’s back to normal.
Thanks for helping, I can take it from here.
Don’t feel bad it’s not your fault, these things happen.
I’ll be fine, you can go now.
Keep your chin up, it doesn’t matter.
Don’t you worry about me.
Goodbye.

It’s still not beating, but I can’t show it.
I have to be strong.
But without a beating heart, how can I?
My aching heart, why did I put you through this?
I’m sorry, please stay with me.
I can’t do this on my own.
I need you heart, to beat for me.
So I can live.
No answer, my heart is silent.
My chest hurts, it’s getting hard to breathe.
My poor heart has died inside me.
If it is dead, am I dead too?
That’s it, I can’t be alive when my heart has died.
I’m fading.
Goodbye.

My only power is my greatest weakness
Although I hide my pain inside this fragile fortress
I give myself completely to anyone and everyone
Who come strolling down the path into my heart.
Past the blindness of the gargoyles that I built
To watch over all that makes me vulnerable.
Through the walls of clay that I have erected
To protect myself from hurting.
Walls that crumble in the
Face of the simplest kindness
whether or not it is real or perceived.
If my face was made of stone and my insides
Were as Cold as I tell myself that other peoples’ are not
I would be protected from all
Of the earthshattering heartbreak that
Is always one step away from removing the ground
From beneath my feet and plunging me
Down into the chasm of despair.
That bleak abyss where my only comfort
Is the story that I tell myself every day,
The lie I must choose to believe in order to survive.
That those who I have given the fragments of myself to
Will hold them and cherish them,
And use them to rebuild me at the top of the cliff
Instead of raining them down
onto my bowed head and broken spirit.
As if I were a martyr and they my executioners.
I love too much and I love to easily
I am never afraid to take a leap of faith
Until it is too late and I reach the other side
Of this chasm to find that there is nothing there
No friendship, no gratitude,
No understanding,
No help
No place to rest my head or
Friend to help me shoulder my burden
When this boulder I carry
Begins to crush me between the weight
Of loneliness and the hardness of my hopeless thoughts.
Again and again I cry out for comfort,
But the echo of my pleas, returning to my ears as a mockery
Is the only comfort that I find.
So I continue pretending that the voice I hear
Is not my own and the things I tell myself
To keep me going are words ringing
Out from a stranger in a distant land
Where friendship has meaning and hope is alive
And there is someone there who is willing
To share, their heartache with me
In return for becoming
A tree I can lean on.
A place to shelter myself in the time of storm

Born of blood
and raised on violence,
the life of a rider
it was all that he knew.

He was an outlaw of course.
The rabid son
of Harley Davidson,
living life faster than the law allowed.

Death had begot him
and he begets ****** in turn.
A temper hot as the sun,
a mind cool as the breeze.

Forearms like timbers.
Crisscrossed with train tracks
in and out of tunnels
drilled through tattooed flesh.

Cigarette smoke mingles
with the fumes of exhaust.
He drinks this aroma,
exhaling gun-smoke.

The law comes for him,
but he shakes them from his jacket like dust.
He is a wisp of vapor
escaping their clutch.


His days are unfocused.
And endless and brutal cycle.
Shots of tequila blur the faces
of the women of the night.

When he looks at his life,
the beginning is unclear.
When he looks at the future,
it is as certain as the tide.

Born of blood
and raised on violence.
To ride into the sunset,
was not in his stars.

His life was to be
no more than a pothole,
A nameless bump in the road.
Barely felt, then forgotten in time.

If I should never return
Let your mind turn from grief
And your eyes be dry of tears.
Although it may be hard to understand
Why I am no longer part of your life
I hope you never think.........................

https://aspirationwriting.wordpress.com/2017/03/05/leaving/

Many a weary mile I've come along this road from yonder.
The longer I walk the older I get the more I sit and ponder.
These toils and traps and memories that collected upon my lap,
and all the things that fell between my sifting fingers clasp.
Still reside inside I feel them within the atmosphere.
be it sweet and clear like breathing in the freshest mountain air,
or polluted by the cars sloshing slush upon my kicks.
I march to my own beat, the footsteps time the script.
My heart's pulse booms through never-ending bloodlines,
from me to eons passed and millennia undefined.
Stomping through this life on a muddy ball of rock,
where the bones of our grandfathers have not had time to rot.
Someday I will be a memory in someone's else's hand,
to fall right through their fingers, like finely drifting sand.

I left money on the table
It was more than I was worth
Scrawled a note
Crawled into bed
And fell into a dream so dark
I couldn't remember
Above my empty body I rose
Floated through the walls of my room
Towards the blackness of a sky polluted by city lights
The rain fell gently through me as I traveled
Across places I had never seen
And faces I had never been
Conversation’s fragments raked across my feet
But I was afraid to look down
Even when I heard my name
I was still afraid
For it was not love with which it was spoken
The name was a curse
Spat from the lips
Like venom from the ill
On I drifted
Towards a sun that would never shine
Searching for a moon I’d never find
Warmth seeped from my ears
From the gaping hole in my chest
From beneath my fingernails
Life’s blood, or was it tears
Somewhere in the stillness of the night
I heard myself still crying
And knew I had not died
My eyes opened with a searing flash of pain
Rays of light pouring through my windows
Stabbing into the recesses of my skull
Into my tainted soul
I am awake
But for this life of me I cannot understand why

Wrap your arms about me,
as we ride across this desolate land.
Pull me close and never let me go.
Place your gentle hands in the chinks of my armor,
to stifle the torrent of pain,
flowing from the wounds I bear inside.
Feel the quake of life against your palms
as your precious heart trembles against my back.
Restlessly I roamed in search of you,
thinking to rescue you from perils I imagined all around.
I sought to prove myself by being your salvation.
As if I would slay the ferocious dragon that was holding you captive,
and sweep you off of your feet, to gallop into the falling sun.
What I found instead, as I rode beneath the barren sky,
with naught but the bloodless moon for company,
was the dragon coiled within my cage of ribs,
burning a hole through my chest,
melting my core,
consuming me with a flaming tongue that I was too numb to feel.
Although the adversity I carried, was the only real foe,
frailty would not allow me,
to  fell this loathsome beat within.
Swaddled in my illusions,
just a wretched fool, not worthy even of pity,
jousting at windmills in my dreams.
Somewhere along my demented journey,
you glimpsed this madman,
fighting through his world of fantasy,
swinging his sword at the demons of his own creation.
To laugh at such a jester, would have been your due,
but instead of derision you bestowed compassion,
and mercy in the place of mirth.
Reaching through the shroud of lunacy,
segregating me from truth,
you plucked the devil from my breast,
and replaced it with the soul I did not know I lacked.
Now I understand that it was not you in need of succor,
for I was the one who was lost.
Unable to perceive you through the fog of my mind.
But you were always out there, waiting patiently,
for me to let you find me,
and deliver me from myself.

Humanity tries to sculpt the mind of every man
like an artisan chipping away at a marble block,
to mold and shape the thoughts of each
as if your mind was a formless lump of clay.
But the being of each human
is constituted by the uniqueness of their thoughts.
Knowledge is not a construct of man,
it is there for all to ascertain.
To turn away from truth is denial of yourself
And the humanity you embody.
But to impose your rational
On the life of another is blasphemous,
and a concealment of the truth.
We have been given the ability of reason,
the power of rational thought.
Do not let this power be stripped away
by the bearers of lies
And the carriers of deceit.
The weak minded practice their craft,
which is to convince the righteous
that their thoughts are of little worth,
being based upon a foundation riddled with defects.
The mind of the righteous
is rife with self-doubt,
questions of their own validity,
and a lack of faith in their value.
This is the result of the mind control
practiced by those who would have you agree.
Those that would place themselves above you
even at the expense of every mortal soul.
Do not be afraid to look at your convictions,
and if they have merit then treat them as such.
When the vultures swoop down to convince you of death,
shake your fist and send them on their way.
No other creature has the right the shape your mind
or ridicule your thoughts or the worth of your being,
for each and every person is marooned on this rock together,
straining and striving to find the righteous path.
All that exists, are the tools of the sculptor,
not tools that were wrought by people like we,
but implements that lay buried, and are revealed by diligent reflection,
which are used to craft the shape of your wisdom.
It is up to each of us, to reach through the dust that obscures
And seize hold of the ability to find truth for ourselves.
The truth in ourselves, the truth apart from us,
the truth that is reached, through rejection of falsehood,
And the willingness to challenge oneself,
In order to be refined and become truly whole.

Check out this dopeness

https://aspirationwriting.wordpress.com/2017/02/09/thehatefulclock/

Looking ever forward towards what?
The hope of a peaceful death?
An end to the madness that defies
your journey towards knowledge, towards self?
Needing more, you reach for it
groping in the dark, a blind man in the sun.
You put the universe in ordered terms
yet it remains beyond your ability to understand.
An illusion of order, of control.
The universe you create through discovery,
nonexistent before you reveal and destroy it.
Envelope yourself in it, feel it, eat it, drink it,
until you realize you are being smothered by reality.
Devoured by something the scope of which you cannot comprehend.
You choke on it, and it on you.
Then you are vomited back into the stars
to resume your quest for a something by which to measure your being.
Something that will let you say: "I am here, and I always will be."

These stones were once a castle
Now a jumbled mass of rock,
All that is left to remind the world,
Of what it was that once stood here,
As the sun crests the horizon,
Its rays are broken by this waste,
Creating a shady spot amongst the debris,
In which a man sleeps.
This man was once a builder,
With his hands a fortress wrought,
Every day he added on and raised it towards the sky.
Until one day a sickness came,
And struck him down from where he stood on his ramparts.
It laid him low and made him weak.
But weaker still did he become, when he saw the first cracks form,
On the face of that which he had crafted with such tender care.
The mighty castle crumbled, over many days and nights
The wind and rain and fire and pain, brought it down brick by brick
And the man sat at the bottom of the courtyard, and watched it fall around him
And said, “Why should I build when it must fall in the end?”
This ******* was once a man, who was blinded by his fears,
unable to raise a hand to protect what he once loved.
His back he kept turned against the light of the sun.
But then one day he fell asleep, and in his sleep he dreamed,
And in his dream he saw himself, but he was not broken,
In fact he saw a king.
When he awoke, the suns first light, it graced the lashes of his eyes,
And though he pained and feared the future, inside he finally smiled,
He picked himself up, and brushed off the dust that he had been wallowing in,
And he picked up a stone, and placed it atop another.
This castle was once a stone,
a jumbled mass of rock,
but what was once a pile of rubble
now stands impregnable in the glow of the setting sun.
This king was once a *******.

The soul is the fire of the body,
burning through its small supply of fuel
in search of the unattainable.
Hunting, roving above the dark waters
and rolling fields of its mother.
Faster and brighter the flame glows.
From time to time it mingles with the light of others
until the shadows begin to grow colder
and reach out to ensconce
that which was once so full of life.
Now drained into a colorless husk.
Ash to be blown in the wind.

It is hard not to be overwhelmed by this foul world,
In the end, we must succumb to the fate in store for us.
So build your mansions, your glittering palaces, your endless highways.
Set skyscrapers in the air so you can blemish the bountiful clouds.
Consume the forest, torch the plains
Burn oil, burn witches, burn yourself with your desires
Run through your life carefree, or take the burden of responsibility.
Fly, run, dance, swim;
Eat drink and laugh.
A short piece of time is all that we are gifted on this earth,
before the strength that makes us  dwindles,
and fades from our body, and we are left,
cold and alone, to perform the final act
as the stage light dims, and the curtain begins to fall.

Red brick castles belch murderous crows into the sky,
Raining deadly ash on bowed heads and hunched shoulders,
Smoke-hued birds of prey swooping towards cobbled streets
Where pale-faced and haunted creatures scurry
And scrabble in the mud of their toils

The click-clack of wheels and hooves a hammering drone
Drown the cries of infants starving in gutters filled with detritus

Oh great city, that ****** hands have wrought.
This monument to sewage and filth.
A bustling metropolis with a heart of ruin,
The lives of your denizens hide the face of your tomb.

Countless weary feet traverse your wicked alleys
And cold chambers, treading over the rotting corpses
Of those lost souls sacrificed to construct you.

Woe is man, who has built this dark god,
To slave away his days in ******* of,
Only to be consumed by this monster
When the burden of his labor has broken him,
And he finally falls below.

Insecurity is a parasite that devours our best intentions.
If I could only truly give myself to you...
But I cannot, the pain in my heart is so much
that to be honest with myself hurts me more than I can bare.
As if the entire world is bent over my back,
and if I let up for a single moment then I've let you down.
Why do I feel such pressure,
the only one that cares?
Perhaps I was not meant to be?
But even life brought forth from a mistake
deserves a chance to sprout and stretch its wings…
yet my wings remain broken and refuse to unfold,
so I'm falling, with my eyes closed
waiting for an end to the shame that defines who I am.

When you walked away
you left with not just a part of me,
You took my soul in its entirety.
Without your eyes to gaze through
my universe is shaded gray.
The motion of my being continues
but it is a shallow imitation of the life I once had,
during those precious few moments
when I found myself, lost in you.

For the very first time,
I cried tears of joy..
Though I have wept many times,
my life a melancholy struggle
against the demons that bind me to it,
never have my tears sprung from such ecstasy
These eyes glistened as I gazed down
upon your ethereal countenance.
Twin mirrors reflecting your own happy tears ad infintum.
as you looked up at me
cradled in arms that were crafted to hold
only your exquisite frame.
When that song began I found myself unable to breath.
It did not matter, for you are all the life I need.
All I will ever need.
Silent words subtlety mouthed by the candle's flickering light
and each one resonating within the universe of my soul.
A universe that revolves around the angel
who rests her head on my pillow.
And sings to me with the beauty of her thoughts.
What is love? Now I know the meaning.
You are my all, and I am always yours.
I love you now, and when the sun crashes down upon this world,
when the trappings of this life have released our spirits into the essence.
I will love you still.