They say my eyes are repairable
Like the monitors of a screen,
And I've waited a good while
To live that dream.
They say these plaques laced within my brain can be fixed
So long as they buy a new one
But I know it can't be me
If the photos and memories of my mind are none.
They say my missing limbs can be replaced
Just as the keys that rest upon your keyboard,
Yet I still cannot feel the tingle nor sensations,
Of its response to stimuli, forever ignored.
But why can't I just be me?
My mind, my eyes, my limbs,
They are rebranded - nothing like myself,
So why do people keep hoping they'll find
What they've replaced?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Scampering through the wilderness in the ashen lands of which were smog,
I stumbled and had startled till day's glistening embers burned out the fog,
With little practicality for a promised tomorrow,
Its fiery scars to shed nothing but sorrow -
And due to all of this unkempt malice,
It had embellished a flurry of flames from within its chalice.
And at once the world was a dark, cold place,
With nothing but a hollowed sun to meet face.
And within the facade of a formerly safe path,
Followed a new fume of earth's merciless wrath.
So, upon a mountain I came to stop,
Watching the scanty sun fade to a blue teardrop,
Before, at last, it had gone,
Retired from earth nearest the split of dawn.
And thus blue clouds had crusted the sky,
Winds chanting rain with agitated sigh -
Until alas offence was taken, and henceforth came their cry,
Lashing outwards onto human skin,
Frustration to ooze and bubble with sin.
Fog had began to smolder the air,
As my breaths drew short and started to flare,
Yet nothing could be done to reverse this end,
Not anyone left could ever seek to mend,
For the revelation, at once, had begun,
To challenge this world without the sun;
My eyes to glower above the horizon,
A-gasp the thick brown fog that had arisen,
And on forth I had started to flee,
As the tremors of thunder roused up their spree,
To end the beauty in which was betrayed,
With whiplashes of lightning, its purple serenade -
That, upon the slightest touch, human skin had flayed,
And buried them behind in the ashen memory,
Now expressed by remnants of fermented emery,
That baked the earth in a dusty brown,
For now this land was but a ghost town;
Forsaken a peace now left with bland,
To rot with dust and turn to sand,
No pleasure or mercy to reprimand.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
Mind a-breach a fickle thought,
Imaginative sensations with which we are taught,
Some stubborn - others keenly amended,
In which they sit with silence offended,
And those of satire that drift a-shore,
With some to laugh and others to bore,
Our mindful speckle of whim to shun with a tone so blue,
The righteous others that speak anew -
Thoughts to ponder with wicked eye,
Which crawl with shudders and tempted sigh;
To confide in the horrors that are to bequeath,
Afraid to seek what lay beneath -
With bones of many underneath this mind,
Memoric reminiscing of what more to find?
And might it be of happiest resonance,
Or a renaissance of benign dissonance?
Perhaps a slip of hapless covet,
With shame to embrace as mind had wove it -
Sturdy with thoughts to embarrass the moment,
And eyes to protest that very component.
Yet nonetheless the shame, the applaud, the grief or the sorrow,
Nothing says it better than "I'll see it again tomorrow,"
And only today are we to deny,
The thoughts, we think, are a dead-found lie.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
Aloft a bay and swift to wonder,
With thoughts to swirl a mind in which refute its sunder;
As sentiments of contemplation adjoin their trail,
Sanctions of mind with no clear avail -
In which taunt a certain truth,
Ample with results ensured by fail;
For truth-value was not of concern,
As living these dreams were impossible to discern -
With a relative validity they sat behind,
Distorted of image and left undefined.
Truth is, one might ever know,
Perhaps it is attachment or a wilting care;
Perhaps it is an unrequited or envisioned affair;
Perhaps the past person in which offer solace;
Or perhaps a valueless teem of needless embolus -
To convey to mind that it is but nothing,
Nothing alas, no more than something.
And yet i sit, dreaming dreams of the past.
Dreaming of you, standing here steadfast.
These thoughts to ponder as they float along,
Conjure themselves together and play an endless song;
Which teethe and breathe with heartfelt rhythm.
It gripes at my mind, and yet i still go with 'em.
In eerie desire of a defined remedy;
That goes without saying an undefined extremity.
So last I speak,
From thought to thought,
As this sheltered mind is to leak.
Hereby night's gleaning ember -
Heart beating with thoughts as far as I remember,
Our peak in history at status of friend,
Mutuality clear, no ties to amend.
Nothing more and nothing less.
So why is it I dream of you?
I must profess.
Yes it is true, yes indeed I do.
Explicit visions of something more -
Something that we've never even considered to open a door.
And here at it I confess,
That of attraction in an altered fictitious state of mind;
Yet here I am,
Continuing to look behind,
Here in this reality, with my eyes distinctly open,
Reliving these dreams dreamt in the past,
With deeper connections -
Connections that realistically never sought chance to last.
They never even existed with such say,
So why in my sleep
I
See
You
This
Way?
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
Distant wonders outstretch beyond,
And with time it flows on,
A steady heartbeat,
That rings with ripples across a shaded pond,
Till the noises fade and thus begin to deplete,
As one last remnant introduces its feat,
With a rhythm newfound, once left in the street,
Now outlined with precision,
Suspect to derange,
And for once all thoughts,
So notably strange,
Sifted into such brittle trance,
That spattered dalliance and genuine romance,
And thus it left eyes to uncoil confusion,
With brows scampered wide into reflective delusion,
Tears to flurry the sky shown wide,
With meek endings in the twinkles of their tide,
A rush and dapple of such staggered lines,
To prove the quietus of their signs.
Yet it all shown to be ignored,
As images sunken and moving toward -
A glimmer of fire that sat,
Burning faintly,
Matching her strain of movement,
Both quiet and quaintly.
And soonest of alluded notice,
Came a tampered facade of blue,
That pranced among the ***** of lotus,
With emboldened seams of hue,
To confuse the complexity of mind,
Which rarely,
If ever,
This world could come close to find.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
Distant rhythm of a fretful glare,
That twirled with cadence into incandescent air.
A spark of interest to brightly entwine,
Upon a meeting gaze that humbled divine.
Into the epitome of such noteworthy face,
Came a shudder of flare that sparked a heart race.
With eyes highlighted to a subtle phase,
Temporary looks conjoined to a gaze.
Yet it not of conscience to see it that way,
When such stare caused the link to autonomously flay;
Embellished with a softened tint of red,
That lay to rest at the end of all said.
Even with regulatory conversation,
Followed a flash of hapless elation.
Till time of confidence came rushing past,
Distant thoughts stood still, steadfast -
Before recognition of such silly thought,
Toiled with mind and thus it had fought -
With selfish recognition of the abrasive reality,
That taunted an ego with reckless sentimentality.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
A teary eye grudged into face,
That lingered with sadness and began to race,
As solid droplets skewered down his skin,
To shame his faith and brew with sin.
For it not of fitting character to him,
When his status fell short with such aching limb,
Forced upon midnight's distant lullaby,
That shook with fear and thought to mollify,
An apology that voiced its trial,
Swept with the gloom of alleged denial -
So that he turn't to the face of a well known God
In memoric outcry of the vast esplanade,
To which he'd revisited the softest of memory,
That faded with time, and to her, now shimmery.
So, he'd faced upon a distant life,
That pitted his stomach and sickened with strife,
Before the glisten of his dawning tear,
Stapled forth with its reigning leer,
Admittance of vows that traced with guilt,
The foundation of which his mind was built,
A mock of betrayal to that of dignity,
Of a loss so steep that it shed malignity,
And forced a plea of archaic misdeed,
That bred a demand of desperate accede,
For one more moment, the last of chance,
To partake upon a memory of beloved dance,
So that maybe he steal upon her heart once more,
Or toil to delirium as static of love fleet out his door.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Leaves, swift in the dreary of fall,
We watch as they sway and formerly stand tall,
Before the daylight anew crackles, now faint,
As the presence of October-cool seizes to taint,
And here in vigilance the leaves prey,
Fallen to the ground in an endless wind sway,
Their earthly romance once sweet and benevolent,
Now tarnished with rust and on the verge of malevolent;
And here alas, no more to depart,
They revel together in golden dreams, hopes nudged together on a new start -
Victim to the ground beneath which babbled in a restless wind spew,
Before their whispers edged silent, mumbles from few,
As all vocals diminished beneath the fret of night,
Unaligned thoughts that reviled with spite;
And here now the leaves have shriveled in hue,
For their green liveliness was once emboldened in the fescue -
Now hidden hereunder the mask of shrouded dirt,
Not but a word from the leaves former spurt.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
The sea below
thee,
Turtles askew vibrant
waves,
With fish
underneath -
A spark of
colors,
To imbibe upon the
sea,
Birds of age,
above,
Soaring the sky,
high,
To evoke nature's
tiffin,
In morning's blue
sky.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
From the slightest flare that is to peak,
Follows fortuitous desires, so to speak,
That churn with an eerie tune,
Puffed with a fine wind of perfume -
A Bellow of excitement from above the heart,
Floating a-mist this bubbling dart -
Feelings of wit and humble desire,
That speak, speak, speak inside this fire,
In hopes that a spark confine this attraction,
Which fiddles in time with utmost distraction,
Strong urges a-mist a serene confession,
That lengthen and lengthen with each dear session -
Before the tomb put forth such senseless transgression,
In pity and shame, the law's digression.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC