Have I become so bitter
So tainted in thought
That I lose appreciation for beauty?
For where I have begun to see weeds
Others see
Merely a beautiful flower
Perhaps it is simply a reflection
Of our inner selves
The child of beauty saw a flower
The child of darkness
Saw a ****
But perhaps that is merely
An overexageration
For I still see beauty
Even where others would say none lies
I hesr beauty in sounds considered mundane
And relish every contact
With things and people
That I consider lovely
Perhaps it is
That pain does not breed
Bitterness
And cycnicism
Always
But sometimes
As an indulgent god
Might grant a weary motal a boon
The pain instead breeds
A greater appreciation
For all things
An eye which sees beauty
Even in what others
Consider weeds
An ear which hears beauty
Even in sounds
Considered mundane
And ugly
Fingers which feel warmth
And beauty
In all human contact
And in all the things
Which over a lifetime
They may have the joy
Of coming into contact
With
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
What does my name say about me?
Is it an expression of who I am?
This collection of sounds
Jumbled into something
Others consider meaningful
It means "young creature"
In the Gaelic language
That was the birthright
Of my ancestors
But to me it means "writer"
"Thinker"
"Weakling"
"Warrior"
"Tempter"
"Encourager"
"Healer"
My name is how I know myself
How I express
The very idea of my soul
And all the experiences that have
Shaped
Molded
Filled
My wanton human soul
It is how I say
"These are the results
Of all the many things I have learned
Done
Destroyed
Loved
And they make a greater product than
The sum of all the parts."
My silly name
Is how I express my humanity
My individuality
My commonality
My ignorance
My name is not meaningful
On it's own
But it is how I can know myself
And most importantly of all
It is mine
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
In a night of soft and muted starlight
I saw myself
Erected upon a battlefield
Clad in shining armor
Wielding in my hand a sword
Wreathed in gilded fire
In a night of pouding thunder and
Lightning white hot
I saw myself
Cowering in terror
Before a beast dreamt up
From Lovecraft's nightmares
And woke sheened in sweat
In a night of cool breezes
And the warm song of the cicadas
I saw myself
Married before my friends and compatriots
Saw happiness across my face
And woke
Not terrified
Not over joyed
But sad
Because I had not the contentment
Of my other self
In a night dark and thick as pitch
I saw myself
In snippets
Saw what was to be
Mundane happenings
And simple laughs
I was, but for a night
A seer
In a night blanketed in fog
Thick as the rolling clouds of smoke
Wafting from a warrior's pyre
I saw myself
In a mirror
No dreams
No sleep
Merely myself and my thoughts
And I was more scared than suring any nightmare
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
I felt sure at first glace
That I had seen a work of art
A canvas masterfully touched by gentle brushstrokes
Till that face, glowing like that of an angel
Stared back at me
Through frame of oak and glass
Of flaxen hair
And sea green eyes
Was the beauty that fell 'fore my gaze
Skin like that of a china doll
And a smile
That to me seemed a golden ray of light
Warmer even than the
Fickle heat of the sun
I longed for that beauty
Though I knew I should not
And tortured my fair caged heart
Till cries like that of a wounded animal
Could be heard in my chest
Through every hour
Of every day
How is it
That a work of art
Could be of flesh and blood
Rather than of pigment and brush?
What great magic it must have been
To make this perfection a reality
I think that were my desire still
A painting
Of oil
Of canvas
Of beauty locked behind a polished wood frame
That I might overcome
Nature itself
To put myself in that canvas
So that I might share
The colors of
Flaxeb gold
Sea green
And porcelain white
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
To think of death
Whether of a paradise
Or of a hellscape
Or of bleak nothing
Is to have a mere elementary debate with oneself
To experience death
Is a multitude of expereinces
Once, we will experience our own
Many times we will expereince
The deaths of others
Of those we love
Of those we hate
Of those we barely know
And face our own mortality
To watch death
Is to watch as a body
Withers
Shrinks
Sickens
And to know that ultimately
There is no stopping it
To welcome death
Is not to give up
But is to have the maturity to know
That eventually we all must face it
And to make peace
With our limitedness
And to continue
To know death
Is to know life
Is to know sorrow
And suffering
And joy
And jubilation
It is to know our greatest openent
And our most beloved friend
It is to know fear
And confidence
And doubt
It is to look upon life and know it will end
And be okay
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
When I was young, they would look at me and say
"Who ever heard of a kid
With his feet in the clouds
And his head so far away you don't even know
Where to look for it?"
They saw that crazy energy in my heart
And those weird ideas in my head
And they looked at me and said
"A kid like that
Could never succeed in school
Because he's too wrapped up in imagination."
So I decided they were wrong
And I poured my soul into it
And when I had something I felt I could be proud of
I brought it forward
And they looked at that perfect test and said
"Whoever heard of a kid
So proud of some story he wrote
For some silly exam
That he wanted to show off?"
They saw my happiness
Over this thing they thiught so trivial
And they laughed
And they said
"A kid like that is proud of all
The wrong things in life
He still doesn't have his feet on the ground
He's still too crazy."
And so I, determined to be what I thought I should
Looked at myself
And took stock of the things they
Thought were silly
And I put them in a little wooden box
With a little iron lock
And little black letters on top that read
"A kid"
And I marched off to be something that
They had led me to believe
Was better.
When I got there and started to toil
To pour ny heart and soul
And all that I could into this work
They looked and me and said
"How can some teenager
Ever work this hard
Without stopping
To be a kid?"
And they sneered at me and pointed and said
"There must be something wrong with him."
So I took a few things
Out of my box
Being sure to lock it again
And when they saw these new old things
And watched me using them
They scowled, and shot me distateful
Looks
And they turned to each other and said
"He just wants to have fun
How is that going to help him?
He ought to act more
Mature."
And I, now at my wits end
Broke my back and sacrificed sleep
For coffee and textbooks
I, now at my wits end
Sacrificed long summer nights for hours
Spent staring at a screen
Straining my lifeless eyes
To work when I should have been playing.
And I returned to them
With all my achievments in hand
All my worldly work
And they looked down at the pile
And they said
"Shouldn't you try to have fun?"
And finally I lifted my headAnd I looked at them and at their
Bitter looks
Hollow eyes
Their tight mouths
And unhappy, looming brows
And I asked myself
"Why do I want to be
What they say I should?
Where did it ever get them?"
And I dropped my things and ran home
And prayed I was not too late
I pulled out my little wooden box
With the little iron lock
And the black letters that read
"A kid"
And I picked up the things inside
And gathered them out away from the box
And back into me
When I was done there was a little part of my soul
Where there had once been a hole
And in little black letters across the front
It read
"A kid"
And I smiled once more
Now wholy sure
That I could always, in some way be
A kid
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
I hear people say that
"Oh if these walls could talk, the stories they would tell"
With wry smiles
And wistful looks in their eyes
But my stories could never be told
By walls that see only in the light of day
My stories reside in the dark
With whispers that fly soft
On wings of thick velvet
From impassioned lips to ready ears
And with thoughts that are never fit
To be known by day
My sorrows drip like pitch from a bedframe
That rattles not with love
But with sobs so herculean that
They could rack the ribs of mountains
And drown the mighty
Rivers
In a deluge of raw emotion
My hysteria bubbles like a hidden pool
Deeper than can be seen
From a position on the surface
Nights when I tire
It explodes upward
With enough force to put fear in the hearts of those around me
My joy undulates like a thick wave
Heavy as the waves of land stirred up in
An earthquake
And can brush aside all in its path
As if the mighty hand of a vengeful god
Were seeking to punish all else
That stood in the way
My stories were born in the late of night
Among nights of tar
Crawling blind and untold
Because the sun would be too powerful
And might simply wash them away
Like flood waters wash away
Unsuspecting nations
And crush them 'neath the boot of values and respectability
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
Test me on my strength
My knowledge
My skills
But do not presume to test me
On the fiber and fabric of my soul
Judge me not
With your dull and glassy eyes
Judge me not
With a mind devoid of original thought
Judge me not
By a standard I never agreed to be a part of
I am no better
I am no bulwark of creative genius
I am no more than a boy
Trying to full the shoes of his idols
But at least the effort I put forth
Is an honest effort
Born only of my fractured mind
And weighted heart
Silly are the words
I put to paper or record
And strange are the thoughts
I voice on a daily basis
More so disturbed are the ones unspoken or unwritten
More so are the fears
That none will be remembered
Human
My mind must make itself known
And my heart must yearn for more
Must I then be tested
On how much I can supress these vital needs
Must I then be judged
On how closely I follow the tide
I tire of the tide
I tire of trying to be different
I tire of tests
Judgements
Fears
Joys
I am human
And I am weary
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
The Falls of Gods
Have no need for the ephemeral
Tide pools and eddy trails
Of man
And of his fickle creations
Man sees ant
Laboring tirelessly
And thinks how
Ultimately futile these rote
Machinations of nature are
When man can see his own
Futility
Then perhaps his world
Might be expanded
But not before
As the waterfall crashes
Like a primeval storm upon
The rocks
So too
Do I and all of humanity
Crash upon the ant
So what is to keep some god
From being the
Waterfall
To our smooth and
Supposedly wise stones
No more than haughty pebbles
Are we
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
I want you to be my princess
God willing I will be your prince
I need you to kiss me in the moonlight
I don't think you could make me happier
Than you already do
I knew my words were cliche
But how else was I supposed to say
That she made my heart burst with love
Love that could not be quelled
That begged to burst forth
But was kept inside
Because of the guardedness of my heart
Because of memories of the pain
That sprung from saying it last time
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC