A shallow heart was once a…
A heart full love it was.

A empty soul had a name
But lost it, with sudden pain.

They but were, nothing to see.
But a man to be, and man of no greed.

A man of no hatred, he was once.
A man of no corruption, he was once.
A man of great forgiveness, he was once.

A man that died inside.* **He then was.

In the summer,

I’ll project the skies,
And roam the lands.

I’d paint my eyes,
with things revived.

I’d find the rhythms,
And unleash their beauty.

I’d write maps,
Of all my caps.

I’d start into planes,
And come back sane.

I’d draw the dimensions,
And seek their tensions.

I’d flap my wings,
And sing the ways.

The ways the skies,
Speak to my eyes.

The ways the planes,
Creep their pain.

The way beauty revives
Its trains of madness.

I’d see that
All up in the sky,

And hear echoes,
Of whispers and cries.

To a point that
the Mind
shall silence
it’s voice.

Of all my fallen ones
I’ve seen

On the bare ground,
Motionless.

For all my forsaken ones
I’ve seen

You’ve left me against the wall,
Speechless

But I wondered,
If I- the human was left speechless

Then they, the brothers and sisters
Were left beyond speechless.

And If I- the human, could write and speak.
And they, the brothers and sisters, could not.

Then they, were left beyond sadness,
Could comprehend.

And I- only knew this.
Because I looked deeply
Into their eyes

And I saw far from nothing.

A mirror does not stand fixed.
It may seem to do so,
But it does not.

A mirror, bends its angles
Twists it's idols, to a
Creepy perfection.

A mirror never stands fixed.
It reflects you, differently,
Each time.

Nor accurate, nor precise.
But concise, to its beings.

Place a mirror infront another,
You’ve been duplicated upon each other,
Move slightly--

The path has changed.

Break the mirror,
It continues,
But melt it.

It turns aura red,
And dissolves.

Could it be, that the mirrors you see.
That have duplicated you to be.
The very path, you walk?

And could it be,
The only way to destroy them,
Is to melt them,

And hell within it to—
Is the result upon who?

Don’t get too close to a mirror.
It is altered.
To a creepy perfection.

I vow, not to
Recognize voices,
Behold thoughts,
Dismiss one’s mind,
Stand fixed,

Despair and fall,
Find hope and rise,
And finally,
Reminisce feelings.

I have vowed upon the wall,
That stands so tall,
For it, to no longer exist.
For it, to dissipate.

I no longer gain or lose momentum,
I no longer find or lose hope,
I no longer I find a way,
Nor words to say:

A rose fallen, makes a tree.
That I will benefit from, until
It becomes part of me.

Look at the guns on the sky
Do they frighten you?
I thought so..
One cannot gaze upon the stars in the night
Only to find
Nothing

Silly, of course there's something
Something, you, my friend, should not see
So tug in your blanket tight
Close your eyes
And forget this poem

Look beyond those empty windows,
Find the swollen mirrors
Twist the tables
Do they spin inside themselves?

Look at the forgotten moon
Do you see it rot too?

Do you fear the system?
Do you fear it will tear apart,
The endless rhythms you've sought to create,
Only for ghosts to read those words?

Those words that bend in augmented illusions
And dissect their hearts
So that they are thick as flat glass,
Only for them to fit.

Sure, they fit-- but they also
Shatter in a million pieces,
That crack every second in every
Unimaginable dimension.

They have not yet realized, that the image it holds
Does not hold you for good.
Instead, its folds your reality
Till it becomes fantasy.

Those words written on empty pages,
They say, it speaks full of mysteries--
Mysteries that only talk nonsense,

Are you confused?
Does your mind dwell upon the reason
A reason that does not exist?
Or so, they thought.

And perhaps, there is no reason after all,
Perhaps the words,
Could, after all-- be pointless.
In the view of them, of course.


But the only thing that's pointless, is
The words they speak,

The words of empty meanings
The words of twisted walls
The words of the swollen mirrors

They speak.

I see things..
Far from beauty
But instead, souls.
Souls that remain with darkened faces,
And ragged shattered cloth.
Just like their hearts,
And their eyes?
I can’t bare them,
I can’t see them
Not because they’re not there.
But because I'm not there.
-
Shifting through the corners,
Standing behind my back,
Why are they watching?
Why are they listening?
I know they’re not there.
But they are there.
-
Curse these wooden floors,
Curse these twisted minds
Curse these broken bones
Curse these stricken eyes
But one thing that I shall not curse
Is their hopeless hearts,
For they have no heart.

Are you insecure of your own symbolic image, too insecure to the point that you undermine my image that you imagine?

When in fact, you will never weaken or reduce my image, because my image is far from your understanding. My image folds and bends into twisted planes beyond reality. My image is not your image.

Fool, you remain a disguise between the odds. You do not know me, in fact, no one in this room knows or will know me.. well perhaps one will. But the very blunt eyes you have, dispose malicious words that attempt to agitate me, only weakening you more.

I stand afar from your plane, I stand watching you torment me, in peace, in peace I am, to remain; not disturbed. I have seen things beyond your capabilities. I have seen odd realities, that even I could not explain! I’ve seen twisted times, of never-discovered realms. I could not explain how I feel or what I see, no one can. It is the line between a genius and insanity. It is living on a isolated floating island that is left in solitude. It is only the fear of myself that dominates me. It is the fear of living, of living alone. Alone, no one capable of understanding you. Only to find that one person who seems to “get you”.

I do not claim myself. I only attempt to merely summarize my words, words not enough to portray the image. The image that you, my friend, cannot see.