The weight of the universe,
But I’ve never had such strong arms
Seems to me a bit perverse
Deliver the sleeping to life and then immerse
Them in hostility and harm,
But for a few consolations
We would refuse to bear it
Preferring the cessation
And subsequent damnation,
And misery outwit.
But that imperfect face,
And the words it leaves spoken
Gifts me trust in the human race,
A suit of armor encased,
Until my faith can again be broken.

I wish I could cut out my heart
So I would never have to taste disappointment
again
How could something that causes so much
Needless bitterness and despair be such a vital *****?

When everything looks the same
Stay home and play a video game,
When you lose track of the things life took
Sit down and read a book ,
When justifying yourself becomes a chore
And you can’t take it anymore,
Question your choices and your existence
Give yourself a little distance,
Some time to figure some things out,
Like where to go and what life’s all about.
Think about how far you’ve got
What you’ve found and what you’ve sought,
Do a little introspection,
We feel a little better upon reflection.

I don’t want to put off living
And I don’t want to put off experience
I want to have everything life can give me
Be everything I can be
And I’m real sorry you don’t know the difference
Between being alive and simply existing
Hide these thoughts behind worthless rhymes
They say a coward dies many times
So you keep your eyes straight ahead
I want to die only when I’m dead

Someday I’ll have a desk, with a scenic view
In nature, where modernity I can eschew.
I’ll write stories, some might even be true;
And I’ll be free, do always what I choose to:
Escape this wretched trap that benefits the few,
Finally be content, not always so blue.
If this sounds appealing, I hope you find it too.

The road to heaven
Is paved with bad intentions.

A resurgent nihilistic philosophy
A second lost generation
Disillusioned with the being of nations
Lost in their own antipathy
Confused by new sensations

A political theorist I am not
I like to wander in hills and clouds
And pick out kindred spirits in crowds
A thousand wasted battles fought
A thousand raggedy burial shrouds

The bohemians revel in their nonsense
Shall I my conceits and imaginations forsake?
Maybe a decent Lawyer I would make?
What is real and what is performance?
Which side of me shall I deem fake?

To which should I my attentions give
My unceasing love for liberty,
or a discontented bourgeoisie?
Material things I need to live
Yet still I am most lifted by poetry

The weeds live side by side,
With the roses in a meadow,
Fallen branches of a dead tree,
Help its neighbor grow,
Nothing ever ends,
Death is not an impasse,
When you’re gone,
We’ll look for you in a blade of grass.

Emerson and Fuller,
Thoreau and Whitman,
Again and again, it has been written:
Nothing ever ends, death is no
Impasse;
So when you’re gone we’ll look for you,
In our Leaves Of Grass.

Like the muscles in our fists, and in our legs,
The heart too needs to be torn apart
Again and again
So that it may rebuild itself
Stronger than the day it was before,
And like how we can lift more with our arms,
And run more with our legs,
What hurt us the day before,
Suddenly has no effect
In our heart

If you raised those downcast eyes
And opened up your mind
You would quickly realize
You were one of a kind

A newborn spirit cries in my cradle
An uncorked spirit falls from my table
Innocent Spirit claws at their cable
Renew my Spirit I am unable