An invisible column
Of faceless soldiers.
Marching silently,
As if a great spell has been cast upon them.
Stopping only to fire the occasional shot,
Strike down a man who has lived his life
Beholden to their pace,
Their rules,
Their demands.
Moving in perfect,
Endless,
Cold synchronization.
Each step a deafening tick,
At perfect intervals.
Men will try to flee the column,
They always have.
But there is no escape,
It finds us all,
Wipes us from this earth.
It can’t be harnessed,
It won’t be controlled,
It answers no master.
Faceless,
But with a million faces.
What a beautiful thing time is.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
Your pulpit is not a soapbox
Your word is not God’s
And these people are not lost.
No, you aren’t saving these poor sods.
A man is more than his soul,
He’s a mind that fluctuates.
You cannot banish him to some fiery hole,
Because of some trait that you hate.
As we grow we learn,
That our minds define us,
The way they twist and turn.
We are more than you say,
Flawed by the garden.
We won’t have hell to pay
You cannot force our hearts to harden.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
I can't help but view life through a window,
a portal of glass that distorts my view.
It magnifies heat and light,
bringing them to a heart-crushing intensity.
It keeps me blind,
unable to see beyond its perfect edges
and perfect lattice.
So straight and simple,
but encasing a million tiny imperfections.
Bubbles barely discernible to my heavy eyes.
I am trapped forever and always,
looking out at a world without me.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
I stand in it's shadow,
the great dark rock.
It looms and towers,
indescribably imposing.
Yet I know I must ascend it,
conquer it for mine own sake.
I begin, first believing it was hopeless.
Tumbling and slipping as I wade through shale
a stone black as soot.
This entire entity stands darker than night,
challenging me.
I will conquer it,
I know that I must.
Eventually I reach a ledge,
I am nearly there.
It seems like decades since I began,
and it very well may have been.
I look back,
become entranced.
What a sight,
so ominous and stark,
I could not look away.
Towards the summit I continued,
unable to turn my head.
It was close though,
I knew it was.
Somehow,
I was awash with foreboding,
wholly unexpectant of what was before me.
I succeeded however,
but the victory is not real,
not by any means.
In only a few days,
a minutia of time,
it will challenge me again.
A never ending ritual,
wrought by nature.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
She writes,
“You are only as beautiful as the art you can inspire”
But what about the ones who have no artist?
The ones who are muse to no one.
Do they just sit there empty?
Devoid of all beauty,
No one to lift their spirits higher.
No, that’s not it at all.
There can still be beauty there,
Just as there is still beauty in the inky darkness.
Beauty is more than what can be recorded on some page destined to disintegrate.
Beauty is an idea,
A construct that we each devise within our own minds.
So is she lying to herself?
Is she deceiving herself in stating that her only beauty is in what is tangible?
You can’t quite reach out and grip darkness,
Or throw it on a canvas,
And shove it in someone’s face and say,
“This is what is beautiful.”
But it is beautiful.
We can only swear to it.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
It's been about a year now,
maybe a little more,
since I decided to stick my neck out and let it go.
Since I decided to share what I had
with a society of strangers,
a group of anonymous friends.
It's been about a year now,
since I found acceptance in a place as one.
This community helped save me,
helped me heal,
and taught me to look towards a brighter dawn.
It's been about a year now,
since I started checking that little gray eye.
It slowly lifted my spirits,
And I believe with complete and utter honesty
that this communal acceptance saved my life.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
A slightly bent knee
defines the position
of a curled hand.
Far from disfigured,
the glazed white eyes stare on.
They have seen centuries,
watched life evolve,
without ever viewing.
Fake,
he is all fake.
Wrought by hand.
Born at a time so long lost,
yet never ageing a day,
save for a few wind worn wrinkles.
Grooving the juvenile face.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
How would life journey on
If life is the child,
unable to answer
to some beautifully layered page.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
I stood there amongst the dead stalks,
my deadened and darkened mind
devoid of even the least comprehensible thought.
I was looking neither forward nor behind.
It was at the cyclical death of this dreary world,
an annual and expected occurence,
heralded by dark clouds across the sky curled.
The sky itself will be gray from this point hence.
By chance I looked up above
and saw a single white particle,
spinning and twirling as if shoved.
My breath suddenly grew shallow.
I knew its fate,
that crystalline little flake.
He was to fall to its warm end in my place,
melted without want or the slightest hate.
It's life was much shorter than mine,
much less at stake.
Nothing left behind,
no family or place.
We were similar we two,
that is to say.
We each quickly grew,
and we share the same ultimate fate.
When the sour deed was done,
and I'd destroyed the small friend,
I'd turned and swiftly gone.
With the knowledge that I'd tread that field again.
And so it came to pass that I was walking that field,
it was just a short time later.
My tattered wits had greatly healed,
and I felt infinitely safer.
My thoughts were here above me now,
no longer embattled or fraught.
I could see perfectly how
I had accepted what my dear friend had sought.
The beautiful little flake had fallen,
it had tumbled so that it may seek the end.
No matter how short its life may have been,
I was happy for my lost friend.
For that is really it,
that is the ultimate end.
There is nothing more after you sit,
after every last bit of energy is spent.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
That's it now
that's what you've reduced me to.
And I honestly have no clue how,
I'm going to deal with losing you.
I said three words,
that ever important,
but terrifying verb.
But I meant it.
I've tried killing my mind,
going back to where I was when I met you.
I wanted to be numb so I tried and tried.
That failed too.
But I think I've found a solution,
a way to forget for a few hours,
a blood stream pollution.
I won't have to think about all that was ours.
But those three words always return,
I love you.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC