Let each pluck,
tug on the strings of your heart.
let the moon soak you in its moonlight,
let it wash away your worries.
allow your voice to resonate in your chest,
vibrate in your soul.
breath in the cold night air,
Let it carry you to a higher place.

Some people just know how to speak
such a way it entices your whole being.

Most converse with ignorant eyes
speaking royally with velvet tongues
about themselves while they spit mud apon the world.
Then there's you few, that speak your own words with the depth of an ocean.
with warm eyes that hug your face and
tongues stained with the blood of emotions,
kissing peace about your soul.

If people saw uniqueness as a turn on,
the loneliness of the world would starve.

What do the stars whisper to each other?
little cosmic thoughts,
what does Luna think,
is she annoyed,
interested,
concerned,
what secrets do they all hold?

or am I just a silly man wondering
if stars actually have mouths
or thoughts to speak.

The rain has stopped, yet the ground stays wet here,
No longer able to absorb the storm,
The collection of it sits there, heavy and thick as mud,
In time, the ground begins to rot and decay,
An infestation roots deep in the flesh,
even worms will dare to dwell through this blight.

Snails and slugs shall follow,
Willing, they know they belong here,
They cherish this place of mold,
They sweat and break their sanity to hold it high,
They protect this place of mildew,
They know one day the sun shall show its golden face,
She will flash her redeeming eyes on this rotten place
Digging her muddy hands through the soil,
They shall step away and watch with joy as new flowers bloom.

Inside these quick April showers
lurks a silent melancholy,
a short buzzing of dysphoria.
The human is much like the earth,
for it is these short spells of sadness
that prime the soul for the sunshine
of happiness.

Her eyes are dark and mysterious as endless space,
Her hair is  as sweet and soft bed of flowers.
Her angelic softness is beyond belief, imperfect to perfection.
Her embrace, that rejuvenating warmth that illumination from her being.
she clings to my mind like a cute parasite,
burrowing into the cracks of my dreams
my thoughts are swallowed away by her magnificence
and I can't help but feed that desire.
Her presence cradles my soul with brut force.

i pray that one day my soul will evolve and move on,
but every time I inch away, she bursts from my heart like butterfly and flutters around my conscious, unwilling to be caught.

i am but a shy lion,
afraid to roar at the setting sun as it slips away,
day after day.

Have they changed their color?
Has the odious gray fog seeped and sweat across his eyes silently concealing resentment for you?
Has his eyebrows quirked and scorned at your words, has his mouth flexed against the fiery brush?
Have pupils swelled catastrophically into black holes denying the mind of order, rampant with chaos?
Have the monsoons of desire crushed your sanity,
Has she tainted your memories with splintered, broken glass?
Has your conscious been deflated, slashed by the deceiving hands of a love so massive it crumbled the earth below you!?
Have the waters of that sorrow drenched your clothes and sloshed the mud of years of mental clenching, under your bare toes?
If this be true, how come you stand ignorant on the roofs of your drowning houses crying for the birds to sing to you, only to have the vultures screeching down apon you,
"Why did you scare them all away" ?
                             -----------
Do you understand now?
You may reside in this land of debris and trash and broken things, but tis your home you will wallow in.
To live in places of this kind, where the sun doesn't shine and the birds don't sing, is on your own doing,
your own catastrophe, your own problem.
Your own problem.

I can guide you, but only you can rebuild you.
This is my last stop,
I'm done riding your manic train of thought.

I cannot give to those who chase after storms,
for the eye of the storm is,
and always will be
a placid façade surrounded in death.

©Dylan Christopher Whisman

"We will never forget,"
they say.
"We will always remember,"
they cry.
"Will we ever learn?"
I say.

To you, you and we, I write this elegy.
Though none shall see from blinding screens,
flashing colors and unfulfilled dreams,
I stand perishing with the few and the many,
peeking at the dark storm brewing,
while the rest sleep soundly in the rain.

In crowded crowds on sanctioned sidewalks,
we the masses sleepwalk with strings under our shirts;
Amnesic of our history,
speeches and words now smeared and silent
and all of that and who was great before us forgotten between pages;
Absent of the present,
blindsided by the amaurosis of propaganda,
selfishly trapped in selfies, we are left with no knowledge of the self;
Unaware of the future,
so chemically fixed, so wrapped in wool,
so unknowing of our enemies, even the Fathers
have rolled over in their graves.

We've been born and built into a machine vast and complex,
an ever progressing apparatus of countless lies
and watching eyes; and we are nothing more but the cogs,
spinning, ignorant of the system we so helplessly preserve,
afraid to stop our beast in its tracks.

We've all sang "My Country Tis of Thee",
but your country tis no more yours, twas never yours or mine.
It is of a gross abomination of a civilization's country
who currently and physically rapes this world of its soul, it's life force,
while we dream in our spinning slumber.

To those awakened and vigilant, I praise thee.
To those still unforgiving and unforgettable, I cheer to we,
the few, who see both the invisible hand,
and the dagger gripped in its vice.
For when election becomes subversion,
when free choice becomes intimidation,
when controversy becomes secrecy,
and information becomes entertainment,
we remain patient and pungent, a steady corrosion
cog by cog, bolt by bolt,
we wave the smelling salts of truth over the
dormant minds of our sleeping society.

I lament for you, for we,
the masses with out glasses
who let their fears plug their ears;
may your silent stupor be quick and numb,
for if ignorance is our bliss,
may our existence be a arduous rebellion.

I want to work my soul into madness,
i want the chance to study the scrolls
in those big brick castles with
all the nerds throughout the world,
to spend hours into the night
scanning philosophy and history,
pondering for answers.

even if I have to sleep on my textbooks,
on curbs,
in alleyways,
with filthy faced friends dimly lit
over a trash fueled fire,
I will still ponder for answers.

I lay askew and unfilled,
Grasping for an invisible something that I swore was there,
Scraping an imperceptible sea that scented of meadow,
A silky soft touch of blazing embrace,
A curdling pop in my chest retracts my arms to a pale chest,
My heart lay in waste, wishing to ooze itself from a ribcage that binds it in confusion.
Darkness licks my skin into cold bumps of sorrow,
My left mind screams in defiance as the right side rapes,
"Why do you just sit there and sulk!
The ashes you lay on are old, do not eat them,
Let them scatter into the wind,
May the rain cleanse not drown,
And the lightning strike you a brighter perspective."

I see them,
you see them,
everyday.
broken down.

they want to be able to love again.
they too, wish to be held, in a warm embrace.
with a sweet constriction with no restriction.

yet no one wants to mend a broken heart, a heart in tatters.
no, they'll keep wishing for some other strong heart,
a used heart with many miles on it.
most humans will look at that accident, and they'll stare,
and keep going on with their life,
with out a thought.

please be remarkable,
please let there be difference.
when you see that wreck in the coffee shop, looking sad
at their own reflection in the window.
pull up next to her,
sit with him,
charge your happy eyes,
your brilliant smile,
spark their soul.

jump start them.

Birds sing through a February shower,
and we be spectators of that grand choir.
For flowers now bloom
in the winter gloom.
Tears dripping from the green earth's eye .

Oak trees toss and sway their hair,
conducting a symphony of grey sound.
It's the music I like to hear,
when the good earth gives it's cheer,
Birds sing through a February shower.

Lyrics, Lyrics, Lyrics send me to the either,
weightless shifting there i'll be sitting here to meet ya,
inhale your sweet sensation oh lying here to greet ya,
come whisper colors in my eyes, lemme find what's underneath ya.

May it be love or may it be spite
on this deep n' purple flight,
you gotta shake some sense in me
rock me through the night.
Let us be on clouds of smoke
ain't this life just but a joke?
We can go on and on and on and on
Lemme find what's underneath ya.

Shout embrace I can feel my face
My my I have changed,
Electric veins jet full of grace
My my I have changed.
Sprint through me and hit the gong yeah?

Yes, my you we have only just begun
to know that we are all and all is one,
let's not leave we have just begun
to find out what's underneath ya.

Show me something that isn't false,
something that isn't tucked away,
for years,
for years, can't you?

a conversation real as flesh,
a smile with no code to crack.
friendship not cast in a play,
not an actor filling
a human role.

a love not scared of killing
hopes of mornings smothered
heavenly in harmonious being,
plastered with life worth living.
a love not afraid of fatal words.

May death be spurious,
standing bare without a scythe?
Might conscious be counterfeit,
scanned copies of life seen through ones before
they sought that of life?

Life is but a masquerade.
Every guest a facade of chosen character,
oblivious and eager to soak in the
fictitious nature of hope around them,
while the owners of the great party
check them off the list.

the temptation is there.
i could run away from this world,
i could run away into the woods,
with pine in my nose
letting the noises of nature echo around me.
i could do it
i would do it.
but I would forever live
with the shadowy guilt
of letting our world go to hell.

why must you set the bar
so high?
I get caught in the rip current
in your eyes,
they drag me far away
to that beautiful place
where my worries don't exist.
I want to meet someone else
who can fill my pale skin with color,
to rid of the gray clouds over my head,
just like you can.
but you've set this bar so high,
how can I give them a chance.

Thus be my curse or thus be my gift,
Itching and scratching yet never relaxing
through my brain thy sift.
A radar of such
with a thousand blips
searches an infinite falling sky
for clouds of dragons fierce and ghosts
preposterous in vapid moments
between a green eye flashing.

In the center of static mind spins
a lighthouse splattered in graffiti
paint from wicked galaxies,
illuminating ships already docked,
While others scrape the jagged thoughts
pincher piercing, sinking in magnetic soot,
later to be rubber-banded around the maelstrom
In a chasm that ***** the world dry
and vomits the taste that is too bitter.

Oh god the embarrassing flick on
flick off, hey look at the birds,
how they fly formations
like ripples in the pond to feed the
Little ones in a tree.
screeching in glee through mushy
worms of moist earth;
oh their I go again.

A fist used to pound and smack
to smash and wack, to grind the
white flavorless dough from
fields of broken gravel,
crumbled by the passing of time,
flooded by hopeless tears as it
shoves it's seed into stone.

Clenching tightly white-knuckled,
as if to hold desperately to kindness
long left, or never given.
A ****** callused and raw fist,
scared sick and confused, proceeds
to knock the wind from the earth.

Never will the fist be opened
to caress the face of it's mother,
to halt it's careless helpless tantrum
of being, to quit the flogging and be selfless.
A fist so ****** will only end
in a flailing fury of bewilderment,
into the golden flash of it all.

He is always there for her, yet she cries a sad call.

For he rises her emotions but always lets them fall.

Most days he's with her, skinny and tall,

But sometimes he'll skip being there at all.

Then he collects himself to put on his best,

He lets himself shine and sticks out his chest.

She lights up a bit brighter, sadness gone from her soul,

But he will always fade away, to watch her slip out of control.

I spoke to a girl with questions.
Silky black hair up like a pine tree,
cappuccino skin studying me
perusing thoughts like vinyl sleeves.
Petite and slouched against the wall
I did not catch her name,
cozy aimless no-name.
New star, squinting glances,
eyes rolling around like owls.
My beard was brustling
like a wildfire up my cheeks.
Maple eyes, oaky eyes,
ebony eyes, rosewood eyes,
burning the dead wood within me.

The trees outside are jivin'
and I'm in here beside 'em
askin' what's going on tonight.

"The party's at eleven,
they'll be playin' Bill Evans,
why don't you bring yourself over?"

"Wigglin' roots all night
bare feet should suffice,"
under the violet sky smilin'.

The pines seem alright,
archaic, a lil blight,
this room is getting stuffy.

So I slip out the back
followin' scents of cognac,
there be a fete in the greenbelt tonight.

Creakin' the wooden gate
I am called upon my fate,
I, am of the roots now.

And all the foliage rejoice
each their own peculiar voice
for I'm just in time, so are we.

As the clock strikes eleven
stridin' down from heaven
he takes his seat once more.

Hook of emotion,
line suspended thoughtfully,
sinker feels the thought.

The text is buzzing
my eyes new and fuzzy,
in my hands the last breath
of ten thousand winners.
The inkwell is half empty
candles flickering gently,
the moon rests her head
and pours a lavishing smile.
The pages glowing fiercely
yet my intent sincerely,
through snowy fingers she snickers
I've stolen her eye shadow once more.
By dawn we are full of intrigue
for we choose to bear this fatigue;
my dear we haven't slept in weeks.

I indulge the evening.
I indulge the evening
with a savory cup of tea,
percolated evergreen whistling
the sensual cup of tea.
For one could easily cast
their gaze and jilt off
into busy streets,
but you warm my heart,
my hairy toes
and pour into me
rivers of rumination.

Seeds of life and sweaty bees,
a ***** fingernail's eastern breeze,
Nile River hands and feet of Euphrates,
the born creators of our cities.
Of Light! Of Cheer!
Many faces here.

***** hands that toil away
to catch the lightning of the day;
and i do so in a way
for we all love a good tease.

Primordial forces sing in May
to bring the sun to all who play;
and I do so in a way,
for burning eyes study in pairs.

Children of the rice field run away
to chase the dragons of dismay;
and i do so in a way,
for flaming sunsets draw near.

Winds of travel and salty seas,
a distant wanderers expertise
Mt. Fuji's sight, the sound of Ganges,
within one sip I arrive with ease.
In Light! In Cheer!
I am it! I am here!

I indulge the evening.
I indulge the evening
and watch the flickers
of the chocolate sky,
Sweet and smoldering,
the coming febrile sky;
as the night dims low  
she sneaks through the window.
Shamelessly in standing ovation,
I greet the moon
still tasting of Earth
and her endless overtones.

Heed not the mask they wear
nor the color of skin and hair,
to hide and scare is the tactic of shadows.
The invisible hands that cling
to all the words that shout and sing,
like a virus to a cell it feeds.
Though in virtue it appeals
far intentions conceal;
see through eyes that are taken.
Fierce souls once tried in vain,
now shackled, the mind of Cain,
they shall see no other.
It is quite a site to see
the stricken children, bourgeoisie,
the loop, it pulls ever tighter.
The leash of will
soon the noose that kills,
the birds in the trees all scatter.
But to hang in the gallows
is all very shallow,
for the just retain no hospitality.

Calm, beneath lilly pad lay,
breathes a flower array,
on hillsides grey.
Cloud, drips above,
through sky of May,
so they can love,
within their day.

Midst a forest of harps,
the primordial bard rouses the chords
which woke the first of man,
curling my beard with warm enchanted fingers.

Fingers that plucked the light of Lyra,
conducted campfires of
olden drifters and seers,
lifted autumn's leaves into
the annual dusky blush .
The evening caress scatters
Sahara sand and sea salt
within the fiery blooming brush.

A crackling twist sparks
a synapse in the shadows,
a terrestrial muse speaks softly,
and leaves the world humming.