The long night approaches.
The light grows dim.
Everyone is going silent,
except one little kid
- the voice I carry in my eye,
it screams in my ears
as it lets out a cry:
"I owe no one my silence!
I owe no one my words!
If I am made out of violence
- then those are my hertz!
I don't care if it's violent!
I don't care if it hurts!
My tune is like a violin
awaiting its orchestral turn!"
And so, as I've learned,
I give her the reigns,
and as the tune reverberates
all throughout the space,
once again, Wisdom true,
speaks as she reveals her face:
"Every frequency has its place.
Every indecency has its grace.
Every disruption, an escape,
every destruction elevates.
The art of darkness
was gifted to the brave
so that shadows they may seek,
the art of light to those that cherish the vulnerable and frayed,
so that they may heal the weak.
The art of both, a rarer gift,
was gifted but to a few,
to those that can hold
a stance both soft and bold,
to let both dark and light through.
Those were left guiding the gates
between what was real and true,
where black holes explode,
where dualities corrode,
where cold meets hot,
and old meets new."
I listened to her words
and had a little chuckle,
I know what she means
and I know it brings trouble.
But still I work
and wait by those gates
to once again discuss fate with Time,
who lately was wearing
something quite scary
- the mask of Death in his prime.
And then he came to me one night,
admiring my work,
knowing I will again ask about its worth,
and the rest... all of it he's heard,
the many times I've tossed and turned,
how the wheel burned,
how the knowledge got obscured,
but he knows
none of that is important, no,
only the wish
I made many moons ago...
the one to find my way back home.
He speaks with a tone that's firm:
"Both light and shadow
need be tilled like the earth.
Both joy and sorrow
need be transformed within the hearth.
Neither darkness
nor lightning
need scare the nondual away.
Neither love
nor hate
can pull the boundless astray.
You are right where you need be.
I remember our talks,
though you may think I forgot,
so you remember
to restore the balance
before you come back to your lot.
Of course the way is uncertain,
the nondual can never be traced,
just remember to always keep balance
and never stop changing your face."
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 9:36 PM UTC
Time is not the enemy,
but a forgotten friend.
Infinity is just a word from where I stand.
Go ahead, time,
swallow me again.
Your wrath is something I can stand,
though your indifference is exhilarating,
so let's make amends.
Whether I wish it or not,
I am part of your cycle.
As the day and night change
they remind me of my constant revival.
I always rise
when the tides of change are near.
I do my deed,
I grind the gears,
I bring about chaos and, again,
I disappear.
Use me as you have in eons past.
But, please,
assure me this time will be the last.
It's not that I'm tired,
it's not that I'm worn,
I just want to know that I am born
for something more.
Maybe I want to explore,
not just be an object of admiration or scorn.
Maybe I just don't want to forget,
as when the world's needs are met,
I usually return to the chaotic primordial set.
Am I just a chess piece you use,
is this of my own will?
I've been the beggar,
the king,
the jester
and the shill.
I've been a source of fear,
the precedent of love,
a conniving thrill.
I've forsaken my odds,
I've played with your so called gods,
I've brought droughts and floods
and nights oh so dark.
It's been so,
and now at the end of this age,
again I shall start.
I've lived your countless archetypes,
I've been both,
the bringer of death and of life.
Now, I'll combine all the dualities of the mind,
let the day and night intertwine in my eye.
I've transferred the whispers of the heavens to the earth,
I've transversed the worst,
I've applauded those of worth.
I've guided the weary and inspired the brave.
I've flown above the mountains of Hyperborea,
and I've been in exile,
forced to hide in ancient, primitive caves.
I've endured,
yet I've remained sane.
I've procured change,
yet I've remained the same.
I never caved,
I never swayed.
I've been played,
but those I've played with
never did have their way.
You know how many I've saved.
You know how many I've killed and maimed.
So, please, listen to my voice,
let it reach your throne of gray.
This time,
Time,
I want to stay,
long enough so I can find my true face.
Long enough to be displaced,
and diversify my fire
until it cannot be traced.
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC
I'm the one who suffers from boredom.
An anonymous username
appearing on a forum.
Lurking for answers,
knowing that I should be wary,
for if I stumble long enough
through these bits of consciousness
I encounter,
I may forget what I even asked for.
Links lead to links,
information in chunks,
like little kicks to the heart.
Everytime I uncover something new,
I stand uncovered before it as well.
A hermit,
unburdened,
by the words
and those who've heard them.
I turn the pages,
try to learn,
really earn it.
Disarmed,
I bask,
ambivalent,
at the world's elusive beauty.
It overpowers me.
Reluctant, yet curious,
I let it speak out to me and hook me in.
I let it tamper with my senses.
I let it find my boiling point.
I evaporate.
I begin merging with it,
giving in completely,
letting it uncover itself to me
...and devour me.
The dream,
so fulfilling,
yet empty at its core.
It leaves me wanting more, of course.
Its imperfection.
A fervid hunger it awakens within me.
Completely sore, I feel it leading me astray.
I appear as if I've pleasantly sunk into contemplation,
as though it has been revealed to me
that the rationale I keep under my sleeve
is not enough to help me sail freely
through these incorporeal waters of creation.
The shore may seem stil,
but the electric currents
raging in the deep ends of the water,
are always eager to stir up trouble.
A rash movement on the dashboard.
Going overboard
with fantasies of what the beyond could hold,
the need to hold this hole,
this portal to someone's soul,
often leading to a sole space
where one feels they could truly afford
to lose control.
I'd like to imagine this 'hole'
as a torn down place,
where ideas could be exchanged,
where passion could become airborne
so it can travel and reform
through points of view...
...and with each wall torn down by the exchange, you are reshaping yourself.
Shifting.
As you see that life itself shifts.
Co-creating with what is creating you.
Understanding that it's a two-way process.
Remembering those words
from an artist of old,
'Everything you can imagine is real.'.
The very essence laid out without resistance.
Bliss in a void so bliss-less.
The breath of new life
given to the dusty corners of my mind,
creating me, I know,
just by reaching in and yanking out
what I'd been holding in all along.
A story unfolding within the psyche,
a story that if it were to be described,
the aftertaste it would leave would remind
of the scent of wine and roses.
It's obvious my inner sights are rose-colored.
Romantic...
Hopeless?
No.
And yet,
when the world calls out to me,
tempting me to escape from life itself,
figuratively,
I take note of the rushing water,
a sound that's filling the background,
a reminder,
that all of the life that surrounds me,
whether virtual,
imagined,
or stunningly present
...is the dream itself.
I see this state is not a wayward journey.
It's more like coming home.
I plunge towards the depths,
accepting my fate,
knowing that the hum of the world
will always follow me,
always like a tiny switch
on the lower left corner of my heart,
patiently waiting for me to turn on the lights.
When I'm ready.
When I can.
It's undemanding, as it's timeless,
and it's merely keeping the door unlocked
for me.
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 5:44 PM UTC
Forget my face,
I’m just a messenger of your faith,
I’m just a soulless silhouette of age
- an actor for your stage.
Forget my name,
I’m just a shadow playing everyone’s game,
I’m just a soldier in everyone’s maze,
I’ve made a bet that’s only meant to be raised.
My heart is warm,
from all the faces of love I have born,
From all the times I evaded the norm.
You either go ******** or get bored.
My soul is real,
from all these troubles I had to feel.
A bit of happiness I had to steal,
so I could be strong enough to make you heal.
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 5:22 AM UTC
Angel eyes and a devilish smile.
A breath of sighs and an enigmatic tower.
Questions with no answer,
dead silence filled with pointless banter.
A painful truth in an aching chest.
Sharp words, an intimidating alias.
A cold head and disfigured thoughts.
Reasons and answers - satisfaction out of tremor.
My home has been torn by hurricanes,
over-worn by hopelessness.
Was I the poison? Or was I the cure?
How would I know? I'd never be sure.
I turned into a menace 'cause of this empty existence.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
bartering time for money, wasting it on love
or vice versa
rationalizing choices in white rabbit pocket watch anxiety
a pound of flesh to sell off a soul in limited real estate high yield *******
not a single serving available to nourish the mind
after insipid, ear-bleeding monologue conversations
compiling minutes into days suffered
always searching for that quick high, down to the wire bout of ********** asphyxiation
in diamond pressure ulcers born in
self-induced, great expectations
that look like strangers in the distance
the breadcrumbs that resemble the stain of dreams
feed the drama that knows the only truth
the hollow cannot be filled with a diet of Xanax and double shot espresso
dancing through norms on marionette strings
bartering time for love, wasting it on money
or vice versa
when time is all we possess
wondering, if once that currency is depleted,
will your soul finally feel complete
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 7:26 AM UTC
Some days pass by fast like a flash
of white, a young woman
crossing her legs on a park bench
while some nights roll slowly
like dark stockings a widow takes off
at the end of her mourning
but tonight is as black as *******
draped over the light by the bed
a silhouette of a lady in the glow
of a cigarette before morning.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 7:23 AM UTC
Immobilized by frozen eyes,
a gaze of amazement,
trailblazers on the pavement,
the worlds in my basement,
to face them, embrace them,
no need for replacements,
'cause greed turns to hatred,
they made it, I crave it,
but I don't have to fake it.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
Anticipating my demise,
no time to think about escape.
I don't think i can operate my fate,
I don't feel i can disobey my ways.
I am but a wolf in sheep's clothing.
I am but a trace of knowing.
I walk the streets at night under orange lights,
it's where i feel the most,
and I roam
because I'm a lost star and I don't need a home,
I only need the dark part of my heart.
When I skim through cafés
and poems of better days
I can't disagree
that the tides in which I reside
are awfully fond of me.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 6:45 AM UTC
let it tickle your fingers,
let it heat up your nerves,
let it light you up tender,
you needn't be reserved
allow it to devour you,
brave to the core you heard,
maybe you'll burn
maybe you'll learn
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 6:43 AM UTC