Cynical-

Cynical- Sep 2018

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?

And the specialties of one person exists in the way they express themselves by the difference of looks, the difference of vision, the difference of mind - each individual being represents a uniqueness - don't let the malice of others replace nor change that, for you are you and special for that reason.

Cynical- May 2018

Chasing Dreams: The End

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.

Utilizing music to inspire a poetic feeling. Ever wonder what it would be like if the world were to end - or if the sun were to "go out"? What if it was due to human intervention? What if we had something tremendous like storms from Jupiter? A barren-desert-like image comes to mind for me in the end of the world.

Cynical- May 2018

Circus of Mind

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.

Rambling on about the mind, how the things we think are both, at times, humiliating, sinful, good-willed, kind, malign and so much more - and how we fear these very things in which we know are wrong, yet continue to envision on behalf of our imagination.. and never to act, yet to question "why?" we think as we do. Is it natural? Is it bad? Is it good? Healthy? Unusual?

#thoughts

Cynical- Apr 2018

Dreaming Dreams of Past Dreams

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?

I've been dreaming of a past close friend, one that I've since moved far away from. And yet I dream of something more. And I've been asking myself why? For what reason? I had never seen her that way before. So why in my dreams I see her this way now?

Dreams truly are something to ponder.

Cynical- Feb 2018

Entrenched

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.

Cynical- Jan 2018

Abysmal

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.

oh the silly crushes.. Ones that could never truly exist..

Cynical- Dec 2017

A Lullaby To Help Her Stay

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.

Written before I sleep..

When you want to hang on to what is so sweet... because without them, you feel as if you face defeat.

A good song to listen as you read along to this is "Midtro - Lullaby", or of course the title itself (inspired by both songs!)