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The Beginning and the End
(Introduction and Conclusion):

The withering maples, the fallen skylark
The plagued leaves, the forsaken bees
Are warning us that we are not only
Losing our depth, but also our earth
The sun, and our ways
When love is great, greater than the sea
We fear it the most, afraid to be lost in the waves

It shall not fade away, the eternity will always stay
Yet, Yet we build our haven with materialistic bricks
To hide away from the fear of losing
And look down upon culture and souls as a foolish faith
Not realizing, all that can be weathered away
Will be weathered away, broken down, to decay
Then, swept away, by the temporal waves

And those that belong in the eternal place
And those that seek for truth within this maze
If they ever find it or are found by it
They will shine, shine under the sun of everlasting rays

If all these endless roads are only for the incomer
To prepare for the end of the road, the end of our ways
Telling them that within this cycle of brevity
The road will end just a few short steps away
Would it be more rational to not arrive, or stay
Surely, we seek truth to find guidance to the pave
And continue our lives
In that painless, lossless
Place

  
Verse:

When we are still combating evil
With our guns and metals of empathy
Another far more vicious and shapeless foe
Has suddenly and quietly sneaked up behind us  
So that on our search for the truth
We are being suffocated by the abundance

It seems like we are being surrounded
By two different but equally hideous enemies
But are we the only innocent ones?
Are we innocent?
The sky is veiled by the autumn shade of change
Perhaps, we couldn’t see clearly who’s who
Behind the mask of foliage
Couldn’t see what is truly happening
To this new age

Pre-Chorus:

The red leaves gently fall
Covering their visages
Till we are deluded by the illusion
A fool with dusty tattered cloaks, scythe in hand
A knight shimmering like gold, staff in command

But what hides behind this nature’s disguise
Which of them is our friend which is the foe
Is one warm in clothes but cold in his soul?
The humble one cherishes his blades for harvesting
The boastful crushes with his plenty, baton of pain

Bridge:

All hungry and thirsty souls
All bodies filled with emptiness
Just want to be filled, filled with whatever will stay
And stay, peaceful without the prospect of abandonment and fading away

Chorus:

We wish, we pray, we
Won’t be washed away
Be forgotten, perish away
Why climb for the summit
If we must fall to a nameless grace?
Why can’t we just stay unborn?
If we can’t bear life’s lightness or weight?
Perhaps, I’ll never understand my place
But within the pondering and hopelessness
I woke up
And realize that truly:
Only Love transcends time and space
The embrace between two condensed hearts
Of pure longing could exert
The gravity
And gravitational time dilation
Of such self-forgetful density
That would wrap entire fabrics of reality
Around us, immersing us, with brief
Merciful revelations and trials
Of the unfathomable
Eternity

Verse:

The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire
Should not have been for us so near and dire
Only a couple of generations, only a couple of decades
We are already lost between unrest and the barren
The wavelength of boom and bust becoming exponentially shorter
So that before a man has fully dug himself out of the mud
He is already returning to ashes and dust

Within the ocean of impermanence and uncertainty
We quickly raise the good lumber
And then just as efficiently push it back down
Till we are more like volcanic rocks
With so many holes floating, to ask to be filled
And when fulfilled, drown as we fill, purposeless
And empty  

Pre-Chorus

Hungry or at peace is sometimes the same
We are equally empty and anxious
We aren’t necessarily searching for more
Like Milan Kundera said,
What we can bear the least is
“The Unbearable Lightness of Being”

The children joyously rush towards the summit
And pushes down the monolith that crushed them
Without realizing an invisible rope connects all
So that all who wishes to reach the top
Must also fall through and brace the ground

Bridge:

All hungry and thirsty souls
All bodies filled with emptiness
Just want to be filled, filled with whatever will stay
And stay, peaceful without the prospect of abandonment and fading away

Chorus:

We wish, we pray, we
Won’t be washed away
Be forgotten, perish away
Why climb for the summit
If we must fall to a nameless grace?
Why can’t we just stay unborn?
If we can’t bear life’s lightness or weight?
Perhaps, I’ll never understand my place
But within the pondering and hopelessness
I woke up
And realize that truly:
Only Love transcends time and space
The embrace between two condensed hearts
Of pure longing could exert
The gravity
And gravitational time dilation
Of such self-forgetful density
That would wrap entire fabrics of reality
Around us, immersing us, with brief
Merciful revelations and trials
Of the unfathomable
Eternity

The Beginning and the End
(Introduction and Conclusion):

The withering maples, the fallen skylark
The plagued leaves, the forsaken bees
Are warning us that we are not only
Losing our depth, but also our earth
The sun, and our ways
When love is great, greater than the sea
We fear it the most, afraid to be lost in the waves

It shall not fade away, the eternity will always stay
Yet, Yet we build our haven with materialistic bricks
To hide away from the fear of losing
And look down upon culture and souls as a foolish faith
Not realizing, all that can be weathered away
Will be weathered away, broken down, to decay
Then, swept away, by the temporal waves

And those that belong in the eternal place
And those that seek for truth within this maze
If they ever find it or are found by it
They will shine, shine under the sun of everlasting rays

If all these endless roads are only for the incomer
To prepare for the end of the road, the end of our ways
Telling them that within this cycle of brevity
The road will end just a few short steps away
Would it be more rational to not arrive, or stay
Surely, we seek truth to find guidance to the pave
And continue our lives
In that painless, lossless
Place
The Perfect Circle of Wise Fool’s Allegories
For all hungry and thirsty soul searching for eternity.

By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****

Translated from original Chinese Lyric that was originally translated and adapted from my English poem: “Terror of Good, Emptiness of Plenty”
Original date of Chinese version: November 3, 2019 18:55
Date of New English translation: November 5, 2019 15:04
At the core of our ever-hungry souls
We only really needed one thing:
To be filled with something.

Hopefully more permanently,
But nothing of materialism, or even rationalism
Last more than
A mirage of permanency
Even the century tree of sunset dunes
Eventually sets as whispering dust into the sand
And even the wisest man fades away
Into the senile body whose soul
Has already bid farewell
To this temporary land

I sought and sought
And only found that  
The Word is true
Only Love transcends time and space
The embrace between two condensed hearts
Of pure longing could exert
The gravity
And gravitational time dilation
Of such self-forgetful density
That would wrap entire fabrics of reality
Around us, immersing us, with brief
Merciful revelations and trials
Of the unfathomable
Eternity
Conclusion of:
Terror of Good, Emptiness of Plenty
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
First Draft Completed: October 29, 2019 5:36PM
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3384509/terror-of-good-emptiness-of-plenty/
The road from Nothingness of Being to Existence of Being back to Nothingness of Being is logically unsound and inefficient. A straight path of redundancy, from a permanent nothing back to itself needs no meaningless detour of a temporary path where nothing is brought back.

The road from Nothingness of Being to Existence of Being forward to Endlessness of Being is a much more rational way of travelling. As an unavoidable path between two places that must be traveled to the end to reach the new land from the old is a much less pointless method and surely vital.

Or better yet, perhaps not a strait between two oceans of emptiness and fullness, but a ring! Endlessly living, through and through. From the everlasting and continue to the never-ending.

A Plato's perfect circle!
A Plato's Perfect Circle!
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
November 3, 2019 18:55 PM - 20:32 PM
I

When we are still combating the problem of evil
With our vicious guns and metals of empathy
An invisible enemy much more clever and stealthy
Has been sneaking behind us
Suffocating us with the suddenly plenty
On this battlefield of seeking

We seem to be caught in between
Two grotesque foes, but are we really?
The gloomy autumn sky is covered with change
Perhaps we judged too early, unclearly-
The red leaves fallen with grace of leisure
Have obscured their countenance, and we see
Only a tattered fool holding a scythe of nothing
And a soldier looming with righteous perfection
Yet, perhaps behind their foliage masks
The fool has his brow raised with love and longing
Cherishing his tool for harvesting
While the soldier with his bullets ever ready
Smirks with an air of violence
Perhaps we have failed to distinguish
The unwanted, cleverly disguised humble friend
From the well dressed yet poisoned with greed, foe

II

Where I come from we used to send
The youth not to the land of plenty and above us
But to help the poor, those who after hard work
On the land, lie beneath a clear sky full of stars
Unwounded by the pale light polluting the cities
With nothing but the vast dome of possibility
The moon and specks lighting up nothing
But a heart full of hopes, love, and dream

Now we climb and climb
Till the new sprouts are already at the peak
Or they are struggling under the shadow
Of the giant trees
Unable to find higher climes
Or
Unable to break free from this lack of oxygen
Of the giant canopy of already achieved greatness

III

The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
Was not supposed to be experienced by us
In a couple of generations, in a couple of decades

And the speed of the waves of boom and bust
Of our stability and the longevity of great things
Is only getting faster and faster
In this ocean of constant rise and falling
In this new age
We lift up the logs above us so quickly
And then let them drown so rapidly
We are more like volcanic rocks
With so many holes floating, to ask to be filled
And when fulfilled, drown as we fill, purposeless
And empty

IV

Youth in both poverty and idleness craves for unrest
But those on top should never be opposed with
Proud antagonism
With cries of illusive victory the restless rush towards
The king who tied himself to the top rung of
The wheel fortunae
Who is yet unaware where his inertia leads
Till his destined demise as it turns
To lift up the newly rich
And the new enemy
The vicious cycle of wanting to be above all
When the unwanted truth is glad humility

V

The oak trees stable at its roots, undefeated
Sends us in leaves and birds chirping
A warning to heed that we are losing our depth
In our growth and rooting
For we have rarely seen the valley empty
Yet with all the space to fill with everything
And now live and dream on a slopeless plain
Some with it all and unable to hold anything
Some struggling to breathe under the shades
We are all waning, waning
For our fingers had never dug through the earth of life
With the desperation of the fear of being swarmed
By the dark clouds of timely locusts
Yet,
These wizened words are being scoffed
For being too connected to the past

Are we proposing to cut off the rope
Connecting us to the very beginning
Just so we could get faster to the end
To the depth of this pit
Where no traveler would truly return
Without the past guiding
And we will fall again and again
Ever repeating

VI

I was filled with guilt and despair
That while people are still with next to nothing
With no luxury and sometimes not even family
That when others try to bring them necessities
I can sit in cozy idleness writing poetry
Yet filled with nothing but shame and the empty
In a world less and less occupied with reading
Why I must be a poet sole and wholehearted

And when the missionaries
Send the doves through the screen
Asking for awareness and money
To support these bodies with nothing
I was suddenly filled with hopeless shame and pain
For only one thought echoed from the words said to me
"They have very little material things, yet they seem to be really happy"
And that was the way it used to be
That the suffered and now living with peace
Seems to recall with loving longing
With great sorrow and gladness, I ask you
Is it really monstrous to say they are in a better place than we
They have the most important things
Love, hopes, and dreams
And the nothing waiting to and could be
Filled with anything
While our shaded and sheltered youth
While we hold our cups full
Filled with useless glamorous materials of our own
Or
Constantly poured out for others to keep
Wailing for something more
And lasting

Conclusion:

At the core of our ever-hungry souls
We only really needed one thing:
To be filled with something.

Hopefully more permanently,
But nothing of materialism, or even rationalism
Last more than
A mirage of permanency
Even the century tree of sunset dunes
Eventually sets as whispering dust into the sand
And even the wisest man fades away
Into the senile body whose soul
Has already bid farewell
To this temporary land

I sought and sought
And only found that  
The Word is true
Only Love transcends time and space
The embrace between two condensed hearts
Of pure longing could exert
The gravity
And gravitational time dilation
Of such self-forgetful density
That would wrap entire fabrics of reality
Around us, immersing us, with brief
Merciful revelations and trials
Of the unfathomable
Eternity.
Terror of Good, Emptiness of Plenty
By: Yidhna Yue Xing WangFirst Draft Completed: October 29, 2019 5:36PM
---
A mix of existential crisis, fundamental theology, rock music, and whatever little Taoism that's in my mind and blood.

Thanks to Lawrence Hall for proofreading! :)
Thesis:

I am pondering the soul of literature
Reading a country, a season, a culture
Without mentioning obvious time and space
Yet, one could sense from fragments, the place


I think it extends far beyond forensic, linguistics
And repeated symbols, flora, fauna, the stylistics:

I

‘The long sullen days, warm with familiar melancholy‘
‘The lone man strides across the loft streets of sheer folly’
‘Trivial, yet, out of place, in this pointlessly quickening race’
‘He vanishes into the pallid, gone without a trace.’


II

‘Blushing petals rush shyly to embrace’
‘Mirror of the river, and root of wizened trees’
‘All are quiet under the wind, as the poet reads.’
‘When he looks up, time has wasted away’
’Where, among nothing, is the way?‘

III

‘The earth is rigid with the chill of withering grace’
‘And the castle has put on a cloak of dark gray’
‘Against the window, the woman with a solemn face’
‘Sheds her soul as each yellow leaf falls and fades’

IV

‘In the yellow and red, the artist paints away’
‘So blue was the heavens, stunning and dazed’
‘It must have filled his whole being with light rays’
‘For in his image, forever swim brilliant cerulean waves’

Conclusion:

Nary a clear allusion to a self-evident time and space
But a story, a feeling, a living place, your mind shapes
As if awoken in a dream, in a void, and lost in a maze
The essence slowly forms and quickly finds the way
Till it builds itself true, but forever unable to be reached
As if unrequited lovers separated by a looking glass,
Ever to face each other, but never able to embrace.
The Realness of the Poet’s Dream
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Date: November 1, 2019 2:11AM
Oct 30 · 112
Obscurantism
I read words flowery and towering
Like the distant and illusive stars
And feels nothing but inferiority
And so so lost.

I read words unadorned and bare
Like embracing warmth of sure suns
And feel nothing but familiarity
And in their light
I am found.
I have often read works by unknown and young writers whose work seem awe inspiringly grand or obscure that I felt lost in a great dazed inferiority. It would seem I understand nothing and am in the presence of some great oracle who only speak in incomprehensible parables. And feel like a fool.
Then I must go and read Tolstoy, Gogol, Blake, Byron, Nietzsche, Shelley, and The Word to feel rooted and grounded again, true wisdom knowledge must be easily understood and used. Or else what is the use?



Obscurantism: "The practice of deliberately preventing the facts or full details of something from becoming known." - Oxford Dictionary Definition

Nietzsche on the subject:
"Friedrich Nietzsche distinguishes the obscurantism of metaphysics and theology from the "more subtle" obscurantism of Kant's critical philosophy and modern philosophical skepticism, claiming that obscurantism is that which obscures existence: "The essential element in the black art of obscurantism is not that it wants to darken individual understanding but that it wants to blacken our picture of the world, and darken our idea of existence."
Oct 29 · 190
Wisdom of The Fool
It pains me to see mankind
In good faith and in boasting
Place ourselves above everything
Above all other beings
We pity those we deem less
Infants, animals, the poor, and even believers
When we can
Neither keep peace within the circle of life
Nor so instinctively level the balance of death

We wonder if dogs understand this world
As well as we do
When we can't even love loyally or truly be happy

We have even taken away
Our ability to be content with next to nothing
And deemed the best as those who have everything

Yet,
There's more wisdom in our inferiority
For truth and superiority lies not within
Possessions, capability of destruction, and
Already and actively retained knowledge

But
Our ability to
Learn
Accept
Adapt
Have a little faith in our feelings
And invisible things
Look up at those who love like fools
And
Admire those who are content with nothing

The sun doesn't shine on us
From underneath our feet
We must look up
And know that even when it's most bleak
And desperately cloudy
The fiery hope
Is still there
Only temporarily
Unseen
Why do we look down and pity
Those who are content in their
Nothingness and suffering

Is it really right and righteous
For us to want them to have more?
It is both impossible and implausible
For us all to have more.

For those who had nothing
Everything is gained
For those who have everything
Fear of losing is more constant

When I was a child
I read that story of a man
Who used to be happy with
His limited share of goods
Then, he found a gold nugget
And the poison spread through
His mind
Till he was viciously suspicious
Of old friends
And remained sleepless
Fearing the loss of
His fortune
How unfortunate that
When he gained the most
He lost it all
Lost his soul

Those of us with so much
Are gluttons with ever
Increasing appetite
We are constantly trying to
Fill the emptiness in our
Soul with a fleeting
Satisfaction and
The joy of a newly acquired
Good

The happiness last for
Shorter and shorter
Periods of time
And then we are left
With the void

When we protest this
We are met with
“You are ungrateful”
“You are so blessed”
Are we really blessed?
When we gained everything
We lost our soul, our happiness,
Our upward gazes facing the sun,
And are now facing the field of ennui,
Or even, the dust of unspeakable shame,
For it seems we also lost the right to suffer.

When we are young,
Likes candies to a toddler
We crave for the sweetness of being
When you grow old
Likes the bitterness of tea
We immerse in the more tattered memories.

In Peter Jackson’s
“They Shall Not Grow Old”
Such horror was described
By the soldiers and veterans
That survived
You’d think they would block out
Their memories entirely
Yet, it ended with such a profound
Declaration
That
If they had a second chance
They would do it all over again

Same with my grandmother,
When you ask her what was
The best times in her life
It will always be the times
She fought the most
And was hurt the most

And my mother’s generation
Was subjected to much hunger
Yet, she is more regretful about
The blandness
Of life and fulfillment now
With so many of her and my
Peers trying to actively
Seriously, and dangerously
Starve themselves
Just to feel pretty

How the rice and fruits
Tasted so preciously
How my grandmother
Had tried to relive her
Less materialistic life
From her childhood in me
How I searched and searched
For those imperfect berries
That always tasted sourer
Than sweet

Such is the Fullness of Being!
Yet,
We are now blessed
With the Emptiness
Of Everything

I often feel so guilty
Being someone with so much
That I could leisurely
Just write poetry
While others try to give more and
More to those with
Nothing

Yet,
I see them much much
Happier than our materialistic
Society
We think are more blessed
We think we are in a better place
But are we?
While they are able to find
Happiness and fulfillment
In hunger and suffering
We are lost among
Our everything.

Do they need more, or
Do we need to learn to
Live with less, much less?

I can’t help fill hungry bodies
But can I give myself to comfort
Souls that are suffering in
The Blandness of being
And abandoned for
Having everything.
The Emptiness of Everything
October 28, 2019
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
The Death of Time: Chronothánatos

✼✻✻

Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL


For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief

And

Even Desires for possession


What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear


In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams


Perhaps

It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls


Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition


But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness


Situated between a Spinning Black Hole

And two colliding neutron stars

Etahphh, where, as it spins

Time is being pulled towards

Either the Night of the Black Hole

Or Day of the Twin Stars

Is about to undergo

Chronothánatos

Or

The Great Sleep of Time

And Consciousness


The measurement of time

Is rather like the measurement

Of the length of the river itself:

Being divided into fixed increments

You’d expect it to take the same amount

Of time through each circulation


But the flow is never consistent

And more importantly

The viscosity is changing

Time is slowing down

And the planet is getting hotter


For the land roamers of this realm

This means a great change is coming

Though change has been in effect

Since The Great Flood, also known as

The Birth of Time


For in the Olden Days, it seemed like

The ancestors lived forever, or at least

Much, much longer

In reality

It is rather that time used to flow

Much, much quicker

And each Sigh, or each increment

Passed in at least tenth of the present

Speed

While aging remained the same pace


In the same breath or meter of time

The same generation lived,

In the past, through a thousand sighs

Or a thousand waves

And in the present, as the flow slowed,

Through only a hundred


To the rich and powerful

And creatures beneath the waves

The direction and speed of the flow

Matter much less than to those

Without vessels, or the ability to

Wade and swim freely through the waves


However, that is only if the waves does flow

What happens when the ‘Chronothánatos“

Does finally occur?


Does everything stand still?

Even aging and atrophy?

But surely, not the subconscious, the soul

And since sand must return to sand

Does that happen the moment of thánatos?

And are we therefore instantly released from

Our ****** confinement?

Do we roam free as spectres in a waking dream?

Without temporal consciousness,

What remains of thoughts?


It might still be unfathomable

For beings confined to travel

Linearly in spacetime

Some no matter what direction

Or speed

To truly grasp the reality

Of an existence of

What would seem like

All that would happen

Would happen all at the same instant

The same exact indivisible moment

Much like life on the planet of

Phahrah, where all of its history

Happen in a single moment

Ever closer to eternity for its citizens

But next to nonexistent

For distant observers:

In the moment

Its whole cradle Nebula

Was destroyed and swallowed

By a gigantic black hole-The Thánatos-

Life was created

As it’s waters dispersed

And land was slowly exposed


For the powerless among us

The freedom of pure soul

Its twinges of love and joy

Without loss, without pain

Is ever freeing and welcoming

And as the planet is becoming

Hotter and hotter

The Death of Time seems like

The perfect paradise

But for the Rich and Powerful

Who has for countless generations

Used observers and other means

To ensure their life is lived to the

Most prosperous outcome

Being so powerful for a long time

Is perhaps more tempting than

Being eternally powerless


They might be able to set up

Minions at fixed points in

History of the Present, Past, and Future

To ensure all possible outcome

Of each action is reported back to all

Previous points no matter what

Can they be so powerful to

Stop, rather in this case

Revive Time itself?


✼✻✻

STILLWATERS OF INCONSEQUENTIAL EVENTS

✼✻✻

How convenient it is that

Time is a river and there are

Stillwaters of inconsequential events


The general plan is thus:

To use ‘unused’ time

To prolong time

To use wasted water

To replenish the rivers

And continue and repeat

Forever forward

And so

The observers became gathers

And unworthy streams

Will make its sacrifice for the

Greater good

But the lever of the Time Reserve

Was not to be pulled until

The very last moment

And the most ruthless of

The Clockwork Regime

Is set to pull it

For even lives barely lived

Still lived

And death is always unwanted

By the sufferer

And any measure to prolong

The Status Quo when there is

Hope for a much much more desirable

Existence

Is always met with

Rebellion

✼✻✻

THE REBEL’S PLAN

✼✻✻

How do you rebel against

Those who could see through

All of time, albeit through

The Gathering Observers

Their minions at hand?

They must be the key

These Reporters of Time

Surely not everyone of them

Is as devoted as the rest

And surely, not all of the

Rich and powerful

Is against this welcoming

Salvation?


Elimination of all of them

Is not only impossible

But also impossibly cruel


Just certain calculated altering

Of pinpoint events could in theory

Alter the course of that one specific

Event, even if ever so slightly


Only a thought need be erased

Or even just unnoticeably delayed

By just one indivisible moment

To end their reign of eternity

And let time meet its natural end


In a world where if there is

No one coming back in time

To stop you is a literal

Indication of everything

Going exactly as it should be

Perhaps, just a confused distraction

Is enough to terminate a timed action


We could find points in history

Where by slightly altering

The outcome of certain elections

We could end up exchanging

One key decision maker for the other

From one for the Revival

To one for the Death


Or a simpler and more likely

Solution:

We just need a rogue agent

To delay the inevitable revival

By one second, or just, again

By one indivisible moment

Beyond the point of no return


The seed, the idea of his betrayal

Must be planted at birth

Unbeknownst to even himself

By people’s subtle mentions

All throughout his life

Till his final act is without premonition

And completely sudden and unstoppable


Out of

Perhaps, yes, wrath of revenge?


The one to pull the lever

Will not be without enemies

So our hero must be close to

One of his previous victims

Take heed of the target’s every word

Especially his very last

For that will be the Trigger:

Our hero's very first word

And

His love’s very last word

For revenge must be buried

Deep in his heart

✼✻✻

ERAHKHU : REBIRTH

✼✻✻

Rebirth, Erahkhu

The General’s last word was

Echoed through the Time Reserve

And entered into Erahkhu’s

Stream of consciousness


It became his first thought

It became his first word

It became his name


Erahkhu loved Thaehrah

And when she was killed

By a bandit within the rebels

It became her last word

As falling into the river

She called out to him


Erahkhu thought he was

Destined to help revive

And rebirth the dying

River of time

As did the General

For it was he who ordered

The killing of Thaehrah

To ensure Erahkhu left

His home at the riverside

To become the destined

Final observer and witness

As witnessed and observed

By Reporters of his time


But as the General’s last words

To begin the rebirth echoed

In unison with the voice

In his stream of consciousness

As it did when he was born

As it did when she died


Erahkhu’s last indivisible moment

Was never intended for birth

Or Rebirth of any kind-

It was the General’s last word

It was our hero’s first word

It was his love’s last word-

So it was to ensure death

The death of the General

And the death of time

Perhaps, without it

Without prolonging of life

They may once again

Reunite

✼✻✻

THE GHOSTS OF ENNUI

✼✻✻

We succeeded and time died

But we were not reborn as

Timeless beings

Or reunited with our ancestors

Or Erahkhu with the love of his life

In that better kingdom

We can now faintly see

But never reach

Where Thaehrah and the General

Reside


We are destined to roam forever

As aimless spectres, for we never

Crossed the threshold of True death

But became The Ghosts of Ennui

Our home was eventually plundered

Turned to ruins and then finally

Taken over by a nautical race of

Time creatures in the shape of waters

And in effect, ironically, revived the river

The River of Time
All of my poems are written on a impulse in a stream of consciousness, even when they are structured or follows a narrative, no matter how many lines or words, I write them all at once. So I do not know if this even makes sense.
Chronothánatos
By: Yue Xing **** (Yidhna)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019


--=
I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:

I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from  books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)

Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)

Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.

What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)

When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us?  Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
Ode to The Epiphaner:

Verse:

So all the silence and emptiness
Is just so I can grow endlessly and free
Unobscured by the foliage’s density
All the oxygen won’t be stolen from me

If the soul and mind can’t hide
In the darkness of the night
How can I ever collect
The fruits of the dreams I strive

Let me
Climb upon barren rocks of greater heights
With the abandoned groves in sight
Every yield is mine
Sometimes a no man’s land
Can be the most beautiful place under the sky  

Chorus:

Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die

Bridge:

If only leaves and lone stars reside
In the ultramarine midsummer sky
How short and trivial will be my sight
I want to be the century-old desert tree
The Watcher of the waning moonlight
Without the ceaseless River of Praise
I still won’t go “gentle into that good night”


Verse:

Why only distance and unreachable gaze
Could testify the true believer’s faith
Like watcher of the lost, the pale moonlight
I have to shine bright in the starless nights

I have to lead the way
For the broken and dazed
For them to escape
This bleak and hopeless place

Upon the
Land of nothingness and desolation
The road is calm with a sure destination
I will be on time
One day I will be there
Perhaps still the only one
The Lone Soul basking on the other side


Chorus:

Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die

CODA:

If there are more vessels than waves
In the tides and curvature of time
How tedious would the voyage be
I want to be the eternity shadow
Ever unrequited, loving the sunlight
When all matters in the universe die
The abyss would still be my paradise
Written before I heard this track, but best read with the flow of Leonard Cohen's Happens to the Heart.  

Ode to The Epiphaner
Original Chinese Lyric and Translation by:
Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Date of Original Chinese: Thursday, October 17, 2019
Date of English Translation: Wednesday, October 23, 2019
I am a soul of fragments,
Of the minuscule,
Of the details.
I want to be a great sea of ceaseless poetry,
But always focus on the small, the unnecessary.

I am touched by every soul,
And they live on through me,
Sometimes it's not just me, but
We are all afraid of seeing other's words
Other's mark on us,
But we must embrace freely
The past and the contemporary,
Just as we can't all reinvent LANGUAGES independently,  
We can't have souls that rather be silent
Than to create.

I am merely the temporary vessel
Taking whatever is exterior to me
In the river of all the creations
Letting them combine
And
Flow together freely
And pour them back out again
Back into Creation.
Back into the great water of poetry,
Waiting to be fearlessly
Borne
Into another wave.
Thanks to Lawrence Hall for inspiring this!





I think I can safely say all of my poetry are written completely impulsively; I write them all completed in one sitting, from less than a minute, if it is the one-liner that I used to write more, and think might be quite clever, to a few hours if they are those long stream of consciousness that I enjoy more nowadays.

When the inspiration flows, and while I write, I am immediately transferred to a void of pure focus, and I write down whatever comes to mind, though not completely without deliberate structuring. In fact, I think, I am obsessed with making sure my literary technique follows as logical of a sequence of events as my unkempt and constantly confused mind allows.

My mind is quite filled with metaphors, motifs, and symbolisms formed from everything I experience, see, read, touch, or just appears in my mind spontaneous; when I am aware of their origin, I tried to link to them in the poems itself, as with the bees and flies from War and Peace from the last poem I posted, or I tried to explain my exact thought process in the notes.  

Most times, as soon as I have written about something, I do not want to think or read them again, strange, as they are my own words, but I had always felt like vessel, with ideas always coming from beyond me, independent of me, and then passing through my hands into the world, and then I would feel completely strange to them, and utterly empty. Sometimes I do get outside inspirations, but then again, as soon as I begin writing, I seem to forget everything, even myself.

When it comes to writing, I mostly only feel fulfillment and pride at two close moments,  when I am totally immersed in the poetry and unaware of anything else, and right after writing.

Then, when around a day passes, I am already dillusioned and begin to itch to write something better.

I wrote down whatever feelings, and motifs, and metaphors that came to mind without much thought to why them specifically, whether or not they make logical sense, are they contradicting, are they original or cliched, or perhaps even overused.

What you see/read is exactly what went through my mind without much or even any editing.

In fact, I think all of my writing on here is exactly how it is in my mind, straight from the soul;  the poetry forms itself in my head and heart, and I just let them flow out exactly they are, formed by whatever is beyond me.
‘The Problem to be explored: The Problem of Abundance:’


Nothing lasts anymore, nothing seems meaningful anymore, nothing feels wanted anymore,

Except for the already lost and gone, and can’t be retrieved.

It seems everything is given without being asked for.

You’ll only notice something when it's not there:


Perhaps:


“My cup must be empty once again in order to receive.”


I have suddenly forgotten where I have just heard

This being said in a prayer but I think it is the key, the answer

To the needless and senseless suffering of our herd

But, its truth stuck with me, and I too wonder


I too think I must be silent again to allow the singing once more

I too think I must become the void to welcome the replenishing wave

Of excitement

Of the need to climb while weighed down by life’s

Various impossibilities, and mystery

And not float thus, away

Fallen to the what Milan Kundera

Described perfectly in his title:

“The Unbearable Lightness of Being”


Our cup runneth over, and we are left to wander

With the grains of time, and consciousness

Escaping through our desperate fingers

As we rush towards a mirage of permanence

While scorching our feet on the sand and deserts  

Burnt by an ever more present sun

And the tedium of golden overabundance


Ancient wisdom dictates that:


“What is useful is not the cup,

But the void that’s ready to receive

The already full need no more

And its further worth deceives”


“Reunion of too long must not last

Separation is inevitable

Separation will always be short-lived

Reunion is unavoidable”


Now, that’s some wisdom to heed

The Union of Lovers will need




‘The Problem of Too Much Goodness’




We are always questioning the Problem of Evil

While too few words lend to the Terror of Good


Everything is living longer and longer

Yet

Everything is dying quicker and quicker


It really is “the best of times”

It really is “the worst of times”

While

Our flesh savours a never before longevity

Our soul is aging rapidly at an alarming rate


This is A Tale of Two Realities:


Where Time is both a child

With an almost non-existent attention span

And the world its vast endless sandbox

A toy is too quickly loved and so immediately

Discarded

Where Time is also senile

With an almost non-existent memory reserve

With the ancient past constantly retold in nostalgia

And the immediate events of rapid currents

Dissipated


There are still so much hunger and terror in

The modern world

Of course, the well-fed, warless, and unmarked

are being overlooked


But there is a hidden, yet imminent gloom

A spectre hanging above the peaceful and full:




‘The Problem of the Need to be Desired’




We are beings made with one innate desire

To climb, to reach a height ever higher

And one day

Above all


Throughout history,

There has always been way too much

Obstacles

For the mass to reach the summit

And now,

It seems that the summit itself is built

By a stack of the masses

So many of us are great

That none of us is great

Therefore, so quickly forgotten

And replaced by others in

Time


Speaking of time,

Or rather, our conscious

Awareness of change

It seems to be overused,

Weary and

DYING

As a dying old man in mind

Resembles a stubborn child

Our Collective Temporal Consciousness

Is thus

So forgetful like a senile being

And

Losing interest so quickly like an infant


Our cup, our mind is so full

That not only our flesh has become

That of gluttons complaining the

Blandness of an abundance of food

Our soul is also yearning for the

Quiet performance and desirability

Only a lack of supply could supply


So, in effect, GOODNESS

Or WELLNESS

Have somehow oversupplied

Itself till

It is almost worthless to

Some



What is there to reach

If so many have already found

The Summit of Everything?

That we are among the masses

Again?

And, what about those that have

Risen above THE MASS

So early in their life

That to them, there is only space

To fall?


In the past,

We were all so close to the pit

The Pit of Darkness

The Pit of Death

In our climb

That we hold on to every branch

For dear life

No matter how many stones

Fall on us

We look down upon the void

And the black

Abyss

And will always

Sink our nails deeper

Into the earth

Just to stay alive

And still,

To no avail

So quickly,

We all fall

To pitied, and

Dearly treasured and mourned

Demise


And,

Now,

For the hurt

And the healed

And the unmarked

Life marches on mercilessly

Indifferent to us

The bodies crawling and crouching

Upon the desert of abundance

Row upon row

Chased by the sandstorm

That will soon catch up to us

And sweep over all


Where will it take us,

And what before then?


What would cure and stop

This perpetual climb that will

Always place those on top

At the bottom of this crushing hill




The Possible Solutions:




‘How will we quench the thirst of Height?’


We did not witness THE BIRTH OF TIME

We cannot halt THE AGING OF TIME

We cannot know what comes after

THE DEATH OF TIME

But we desperately need a constant climb


Here, we see the Gates to Two Routes


One leading towards the Tangible

Garden of Men

One leading towards the Unseeable

Temple of Worship


There is no right or wrong way to either

However, how you spend your time

Within each

Will determine your plight during  

The time before the True Flight


Pace yourself in your walk through

The Garden of Men

Though there is an abundance of fruits

You must calculate and ration

Your own sustainable share of

Good and Evil

Enjoyment and Suffering

So you don’t exhaust the reserve

Or become weary till nausea

Of the sweetness of being


If you must seek to rise up above all

Your climb must be timed till the very end

Where you will never be crushed by the fall

On the Rota Fortunae, before you inevitably land


The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

Must be balanced even if by the hands of men

Lest the world turn to well-rested upheaval

When even gold is as abundant as sand


Then, there is the Pave to the Promised Land

Where lost souls of ****** hunger find

Their means to an end, their helping hand

Where fulfilled bodies of lost souls and minds

Pleads to have their invisible suffering end


I used to think that Grace lives in humility

But I see even the Truth appeals to the nature,

Foolish frailty and vanity of all women and men

How do you tell the beings of imminent demises

That this earthly supply and demand of status

Is worthless in the end in a paradise without ends

Where there is no fall for a fear to plummet and land

But to say the weakest of earth

Must be the strongest of heavens

The least of the timely and impermanent possessions

Will be the most in the place after the ultimate ascension


Not to imprison our desire for greatness

But to set it free and follow the lofty dove and olive branch

Knowing that the great height is achieved by humility

To take the fall and suffering and rise in the Eternal Land




Conclusion:




The painful truth is,

And truth must hurt through the bones,

And ache seasonally to not be forgotten

There must be a Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

By our humble minds or divine hands

For honesty to be wanted, and prized

And not worthless like the ocean sand

Lest we become weary of virtue and crave for its end


There are solutions for all,

For those who put faith in life

And

For those who put faith in an afterlife


Simply, though,

It is ever difficult

Just to pace your climb

Either to reach the summit at the end of your life

Or just to leave the height to the ever lofty place without time.

Where you’ll never fall to a late demise

And be crushed by the Rota Fortunae

Where even the stars would envy

The brilliance of your

Light
Another stream of consciousness that poured itself out of my unkempt mind. I started with a very vague idea and the title and thesis only came in the midst of this essay, or trial of thought. It is again, pages long. And special thanks to Lawrence Hall to help me proofread this mess of my mind.

I think my mind is finally taking a break from forming words, phrases, and sentences, and I for once, welcome this quietness, thought I always fear my silence, fearing I'll never write again.
---
The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Monday, October 14, 2019, Canadian Thanksgiving
15:03-17:22(Finished Writing First Draft)
Oct 10 · 377
Beyond Me
-You only live on
If you live on
In the consciousness
Of the living-
I mustn’t let my words
Be tethered to something
As momentary and timely
As my name or me

For

These words are beyond me
Beyond a being whose
Conscious awareness
Of possession and loss
Is a mere fraction of an almost
Indivisible moment
Compare to the near-eternity
It could live

These words are beyond my name
Beyond a few useless letters
That would not survive through
The sift of truth if the rest of it
Could be of any merit
It must be free to the world
If it helps even one single
Soul
It’ll live on within them
And not rot and wither
In my keep  

These words are beyond me
They came from a place deep within
They came from a place exterior to my
Existence

I did not invent words, phrases,
The fragments of ideas
You can see all that came before me
Within every thread
Every ink drop
Every curvature of a letter
Waiting to be spread

If it is meant to be
You’ll see me in all that’s to come
Within every brushstroke
Every unrequited letter
Hesitant to be sent

These thoughts are beyond me
They came from a place deep within
They came from a place exterior to my
Existence

Every atom I touch entangles
With my soul, with my mind
A wave of ceaseless expression-
From a familiar place
Perhaps it is from a friend’s
Poetry I just read
Perhaps it is just another
Shattered piece of my
Tattered heart
Or from a strange country
Perhaps where no travellers
Return
A glimpse of what is still
Beyond me

These expressions are beyond me
Sometimes the essence of it has
Ever been present everywhere
I cannot call it mine
And over-protect it
Like the lonely child I had always been
And not allow
The seeds of the dandelions of
Creation
To spread perhaps nameless
Through the wind
And grow in its own right
Into a field unending of love
And a brave new world
Of
Unimaginable existence

Take them freely, and transform them
If it is of any use to you
For if it is not meant to be
It’ll return to ashes and dust
When it's beyond me

If it is of any merit for the longevity of
Artistic existence
Let it live on beyond me
Recognizable or nameless
It is up to fate and He who is
Beyond me
For within a blink of time
I too will be
Beyond me

So let it be, let it live on
If it is ever meant to be
Like

Jean-François Millet’s
The Angelus
In Salvador Dali’s paintings

Jean-François Millet’s
Various works
In Vincent Willem van Gogh’s
Brilliant copies
And the Dorés he adored
And the Japan of his dreams
Even Émile Bernard
Earned Vincent’s “Translations”

James Abbott McNeill Whistler
Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Pearl S Buck’s
Admiration and emulation
Of the World of the Far East

And if Paul Gauguin never
Ever painted his beauties
Of Tahiti

O, the endless list of things
We have always
And we will always
Live on beyond the presently
Living
Living on with the shed dust
Of great souls
Now beyond living
Live on in the words
Of the youth that
Has taken on the
Baton

You only live on
If you live on
In the consciousness
Of the living

If I must be nameless
Let me be the seeds
Caressing the birds in the wind
And
Even if I could ever leave
A name in the dust of time
The awareness and concern
Of its possibility
Is well beyond me

Despite all my insecurities
I cannot hoard the right
To my trivial ideas
And knowledge

If I were to have any faith
In them
Or in the Great Valley of
The lightness of Being without
Tedious Ennui
And
In Him

I must leave to the world
All my thoughts for the
Joyously
Beyond Me
Beyond Me
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
October 10, 2019 15:12
A Montage of Homages:


I’m ever the devoted fool
Trusting dreams as love
I’m ever the stubborn child
Never repenting enough

I’m the lone wanderer of Nevsky Prospect
Trivial like the gadfly against the lofty sky
Overlooked as a dusty tattered Overcoat
Crushed like an ant beneath the Bronze Horseman

When the bright lingers beyond dusk
When the dark, at dawn, hesitant to depart
Am I ever awake through all of time
Or am I to sleep all white days and nights

All I am certain is, that
Only in dreams can we reunite
All I know is, that this
Is the Dreamer’s sole purpose of life




The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
Long for a love beyond common strive
Yet, only exists to slumber through life
To finally awake when the night is nigh

Upon the earth, he’s a mere dust
When the tide arrives, all will be lost

The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
You mustn't have noticed he’s still there
Upon each and every torn overcoat
Every patch resewn: his dreams and love
The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
By: Yidhna
I originally wrote this one in Chinese actually right after taking two short classes on Russian literature. Just thought to translate this today.
I seem to be unable to get back to reading, constantly feeling an unstoppable urge to express all these redundant thoughts.

My cup of thoughts runneth over, but instead of enlightenment, I fear they are needless, already said, too much, too bland, too dull.


With references from:

War and Peace
The Overcoat
Nevsky Prospect
White Nights
Though the sift of time may sort
Beyond our comprehension, unseen
We may infer its shape from
Whatever marbles remain
Unbroken, and defying decay

Grains of truth and wit with just enough
Substance and optional glamour
To survive the great mesh of necessity
And bright enough to be cherished
By well nourished seekers of more
Never too dull, lest overlooked
But also
Never too bright to incite fright

Never one of innumerable sand
Washed away with the prints of men
And
Never a fabled relic, stranger to hands
A maze promising truth, yet with no end

The sun brings you warmth
The moon guides your flight
The Needed begs no envy
But relieves your plight

So don't distance yourself from
The thoughts of Old
Still so simple and intimate
As if in voices new

Raise a drink
And warmly cling
Love the great tomes of high above
Not as never reachable untouchable
Shrines of forgotten kings and gods
But as your dearest friend or perhaps
Even as a reunited lover, long separate
By the scarcity of soul pouring words
Reluctantly replaced with fleeting
Musings of often rapidly dissipating
Bland taste
Of fulfillment and disappointment
Never lasting enjoyment

Leaving us with hunger and thirst
For the seasoned fruits of old
That only visits ever so often
But each moment with, spent so
Cherished and with fear of time
Passing, as
A childhood tale, swiftly unfold,
Too briefly told
Left dreaming for once more
Often only to be granted in pages
Wrinkled and stained, shaped
By fate’s mold

Those pals that you’ll ever remember
Those gems that you’ll constantly
Caress over and over again
Those greats of highest degree
Are they so overdressed till envy
Till too heavy, and invites mockery
Are they so kissed by sugar till ****
Unconsumed, banished to rot

They are all soft and familiar
Always with the present
Of the ease to comprehend
As if you know them
All your life

Your Blakes, Shelley's and Shakespeare
Your timeless contemporaries
They never command as gods above
Or hide behind too much whimsy
Always a wise elder, a ***** friend
In sorrow, in passion, in dreams, in fright
Baring the truth like a mother’s wisdom
Or the sure brightness of lone stars at night

Prepare yourself for tomorrow sifts
By sharing the shape of collected past
In essence, not in likeness
For if you dress your soul
To not fall through
In great stones’ cast off dust
When the brush of time greets you
Your disguise will fall off
Lest you waste your growth
On shimmering cloaks
And when judged truly
To be found not as a pearl
But a grain in others’ clothes

Imagine
If you fill the entire night sky with sparks
How will they find the one guiding star
No shadow to hide, to soften the light
Everyman be lost

If you pride yourself bearing golden straws
They will shower you with praising remarks
But when time leaves you behind after dusk
It’ll be dark as you crush

So tread plainly with only what and
All you are
With timid steps, and light feet
And only must in your keep
You’ll go far You’ll go far
Till steady heights beyond the lofty larks

Where children ceaselessly dream
Where children ceaselessly sing
Where Children Forever, we are.
Truth Bares Itself Plain
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Tuesday, October 8, 2019 6:07
Never Forget the Past

I. On Rejection of History, Fallible Geniuses:

Do not seek present fault in past greatness
Condemning yesterday men with morrow crimes
The sift of time works in unfathomable wonder
Leaving only truth grains of real substance
Do not discard these foods for thoughts
For being misshapen and the occasional spots
For they were gold among ashes and dust
And the learnt, and healed is never without scars

II. On the Embellishing of Poetry

Don't dread or torment yourself if you fear
Your words aren't decorated enough
For one day only truth will remain
And truth never hides, but bares itself plain
If you dress your poetry overabundant, shimmer and gleam
It might just be overlooked, the soul underneath
And be discarded as earthly things
Obscured by the camouflage of timely beings

III. On the Timelessness of Simple Words

Gaze from below, the tomes of giant
How plainly they walk in the clouds
At most a dress or cling shimmering humbly
And never so full of jewels and gold lest they
Fall from the heavens
Bearing the weight of earthly greed.

Learn from your scars, lest you envy flesh unmarked.
Just the first part of this longer version:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3354537/learn-from-scars-not-flesh-unmarked-song-of-tormented-souls/

Learn from Scars, Not Flesh Unmarked
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Sunday, October 6, 2019, 16:25
The deep ache of societal idleness
Of Invisible pain and the unscarred
Thirsty for a hunger, but never to starve
Have-alls more lost than have-nots
Overlooked by seekers of poverty
Unvalued by those just like us

Never close enough to death
To grip existence for dear life

What is the cure to such tedium
Why have we come thus far
Is this the usual tail of prosperity
Or is it a sign of an unprecedented leap

I feel and already see
Great changes coming
A looming gloom or the unimaginable haven
Keep faith in the excitement
Of the never before felt
State of being and
Living

With the wonder
Of a child dreaming of the unknown
With fear and fearless hope
And
Love for it all
We're Suffering the Death of Curiosity
By: Yue Xing ****
Monday, October 7, 2019 1:45AM
Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
     No need to illuminate where the sun had already shone.

I. The Roads Endlessly Traveled

The Truth may be hidden and infallible
It can’t be said the same for its roads
For all past voyagers false or true
Will leave marks, endless trails of clues
A path may be closed
Others cut through
Wind and dust, and overgrowth
May cover and obscure a shallow few
And though light footprints oft lose to leaves and dew
We can’t blame them all for us being astray still
        If we stomp out the old
        And naively begin anew
Then we will truly be lost
To unknowingly retrace
Footpath already abandoned and used



II. The Miner and the Gardener

And now there are two ways
One clear path to the garden of reason
Always in the open, clear as day
And
Another a tunnel to either valleys or caves
Ever shrouded behind a gateway obscured
Dark in passion, fright or daze

And there are two travellers
Workers searching for the same

  The one of the tunnel
  Always mines for ore
Dreaming to one day find the sunkissed
Palace

The other of the garden
Constantly gather berries
To fill his insatiable hunger for sweet
Sense and wits

Till now
Both of them have gathered more than
They’ll ever need or use

What pleasant wonder, and departure from this
Tedium  
Could they discover if they would switch places

Would the gardener of sense
Finally have a vessel for his fruits
Unused
To not be sullied
And preserve
For all men and women, and children to enjoy
Always, anytime in any season
From summer days of knowledge
To even wintry days of reason

Would the miner of lofty dreams
Rejoice in the replenishing of strength
Forevermore
Sipping the sugary wine
Of ceaseless ideas
Along with his gardener mate
And ***** friends of all earthly grace
All the more stronger
To altogether breach
And reach The Forever
Cloudless Place



Where the sun never sleeps,
But only dreamy coze will we embrace.
Please read: :)
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3354537/learn-from-scars-not-flesh-unmarked-song-of-tormented-souls/

---
Travel All Roads - The Rational and The Ideal
     Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
     No need to illuminate where the sun had already shone.
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
October 6, 2019, Finished Writing at 23:17


I really should be getting back to reading. But I just can't stop writing all these thoughts that rush to mind. Not exactly that divine and guiding nausea I always feel and have often written about but close:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2236340/the-guiding-nausea/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3120157/the-divine-nausea/




---
This came to me spontaneously, and so I wrote all in one go. It is my immature exploration of the age-old problem of dualism, and what has been repeated a million times in the dire warning of the various variations of “If we forget the past, we’re doomed to repeat it.” Ironically it is more than likely, now that I have read it through, that it is too simple and obvious of a metaphor and allegory to not have been told before, perhaps even countlessly, and in many languages.  The irony being me having read so little to not actually be familiar with human history and our literary past.

Alas, even so, I see too many wise men boast about their correctness in a fallible road to truth while mocking those that walk a different path, perhaps not entirely correct, but still, infallible and non-disprovable as lost souls.

Even though we are all still lost. Perhaps, we are getting ever closer to the end, but nevertheless, it is yet unreached.

And so perhaps it is not so redundant for me to repeat this Critique of Pure Reason in my childish words.

Travel All Roads, Walk All Path.

You’ll never know where it goes, what it shows until you’ve seen and experienced the journey yourself.

Enlightenment isn’t the discovery of the already known.
No need to brighten where the sun had already shone.
The Past - Never Forget

1. On Rejection of History, Fallible Geniuses:

Do not seek present fault in past greatness
Condemning yesterday men with morrow crimes
The sift of time works in unfathomable wonder
Leaving only truth grains of real substance
Do not discard these foods for thoughts
For being misshapen and the occasional spots
For they were gold among ashes and dust
And the learnt, and healed is never without scars

2. On the Embellishing of Poetry

Don't dread or torment yourself if you fear
Your words aren't decorated enough
For one day only truth will remain
And truth never hides, but bares itself plain
If you dress your poetry overabundant, shimmer and gleam
It might just be overlooked, the soul underneath
And be discarded as earthly things
Obscured by the camouflage of timely beings

3. On the Timelessness of Simple Words

Gaze from below, the tomes of giant
How plainly they walk in the clouds
At most a dress or cling shimmering humbly
And never so full of jewels and gold lest they
Fall from the heavens
Bearing the weight of earthly greed








The Present - Always Remember

A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I. On the Desperate Desire for Immediate Praise

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II. On Envy of Brightly Garnished Words

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III. On Shame of Undying Unrequited Love

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Conclusion:

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars
Words of comfort from a tormented soul to another.
Includes the previous poem as it fits and I thought it was still just as important, and did not want it to be buried beneath the new ones.


Learn from Scars, Not Flesh Unmarked
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Sunday, October 6, 2019, 16:25
A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I.

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II.

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III.

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars
The third part of this poem is from the notes of my last poem:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3352350/no-quiet-for-this-soul/
---
A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Saturday, October 5, 2019 2:09AM
Oct 5 · 470
No Quiet for This Soul
A void suddenly formed deep in the rolling sea
Calls for a deafening wave to take its place
And thus all these words I write to you
A thundering protest of the deserving silence

Sometimes, unconditional love comes at a price
An unfortunate price of utter undesirability
Ever quiet and misplaced, a bore and afraid
I come with such devotion till it's burdensome

You may have, like all, wished for a love that
Will always be there, never run away, without
Ever realizing the consequences of such a
Chasing and desperate devotion until you've

Swam in the ennui of this wide empty sea
An ocean without much scenery but always
Calling for you in the same nauseating waves
You must leave and find a landing place

How will you ever explain without mockery
The tattered fool that will always be there
To comfort you with an aching bare soul
Without ever needing anything back from you

Like they all say, the best must be chased
And yet just like the pebble to the gold
I'll be here for you till the time grows old
With your silence, bleeding, withering, fading

Again and again, in love with this pain
You're the lighthouse to my ocean
Ever trying to reach for your embrace
But always breaking and dying away
What pain it is to have dreams and expectations.
I had planned to read today,
Having no faith in the longevity of my words,
But there's no quiet for this soul.
The words writhe in the churning sea of my mind,
and
It overflows beyond my control!
And for what,
It's not divine, or unsaid
Written to one, unread by all.
Perhaps, as the glory lies within suffering,
This is my mission, to be
Loudly unheard, and still
Singing unrelentingly to all!
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
There are truth and devotion in my lament,
A testament of my bearing the constant silence,
Yet still sing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore.
---
No Quiet for This Soul
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Date written: Friday, October 4, 2019 6:52 PM
Oct 5 · 742
Cryptomnesia: A Plea
From Yidhna Yue Xing ****:
Date written: October 2, 2019

Are you ever paranoid that you are not as original as you are expected to be?

Are you ever afraid you've unconsciously been a thief of words?
Well, don't.

As per Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"

As a creative, it was perhaps the most important message shown to me. 
And just a few years later it seems to have been dangerously forgotten.

I used to be fearless, taking my inspiration from anything, anything, and felt so free and inspired.

And now I've observed an obsession, not just within me, but within more and more people, that's been killing creativity.
We are becoming afraid of words, afraid of being a collective, and would rather be silent and isolated.

And

Are you tormented by the desperate need to be a good person, a pure soul?

Tortured by an unchangeable past, afraid that it will never be forgotten and be replaced by an acknowledgement of growth.

Well, 
Never chase the poisonous perfection
That always takes more than it gives
Never rid of all the shadows of sin
And be found by the wrath of guilt

And

Don't renounce your past 
But accept it with pride, 
Lest you be judged for what you have done, 
And never
What you could, would, and will do!


Alas,
We are becoming cultural germaphobes
Eliminating every potentially negative thing

We are becoming sheltered perfect roses 
Under glass domes too overprotecting

Monocultures and biodiversity
If we don't build our immunity
How are we to survive 
How are we to fight the blight 
of
Time

Don't ever ever be afraid to caress another's soul, fearing you'll take part of them with you. 

It's how you grow,
into giants the height of stars.



And as an afterthought, an excerpt from a letter to a poet friend, Lawrence Hall:

I read some Gogol among others for that one class I was attending, I was so pleasantly surprised to find some of my deepest sentiments and psychological experiences, that I think I may have expressed it myself in fewer words, so exact, and perfectly presented on pages I have never read before.

Like one of the other classmates said, these experiences are far more universal than we give them credit to be.

The greatest works of art are supposed to be so universal and familiar to the human condition that would sometimes seem like, to different people, they have written it, composed it, painted it, etc.

Now, this greatest character of art is being condemned.
We are not all thieves, we are just not that different. We are all one soul dreaming the same human dream.





Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
"Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters"
Rusty Cage:
"The Truth about my Stolen Music"
Some parts of this letter are from my poems: "My Love" "The Echo" and "The Blight of Time"

Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters
Rusty Cage:
The Truth about my Stolen Music
Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL



For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief

And

Even Desires for possession



What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear



In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams



Perhaps

It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls



Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition



But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness
Chronothánatos
By: Yue Xing **** (Yidhna)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
--=
I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:

I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from  books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)

Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)

Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.

What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)

When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us?  Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
Sep 27 · 624
Tall Tale of Fools
In a distant land, my homeland
Behind the winding road
Of strange mountains-
That used to swim under the sea
With stones too familiar with the
Tides of a forgotten time-
Full of cavities and scars-
Like the tattered soul of
Unrequited lovers
Never fully accepted their fate-

Some good men with hearts
Of gold
Built a wonderland from tales
Of old
And invited women and men
To play and perform
But these aren’t exactly like
The friends you’ve known
They are just like us but
They’ve never fully grown

So, some more men came
With words sharp and eyes glaring
Alas, all that glitters is not gold
“Exploitation” they yelled
“Abuse” they screamed
Calling to tear down this haven
Newly built

The perfectly unharmed screamed so loud
That the supposedly hurt was never heard:

“We’re not children you fools,
Here, we’re finally not special
Not outcasts, or outsiders
With a family of the same
And a palace for roofs
Who are you to decide we’re living
In pain?
You, who treat us like infants
Helpless,
When we’re no different from
You.”
A dramatized poem of a true story I once saw on TV about a group of self-righteous activists wanting to boycott a park created specifically for performers with dwarfism as if they can't speak for themselves, and the interview afterwards of the performers, who really enjoys the park where they feel truly at home, and hope others would not decide for them that they are being taken advantage of, and ruin a perfectly good haven for them.
---
Tall Tale of Fools
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
September 27, 2019 16:22
I see pain and discomfort shunned
From all beings breathing far from the sun
Yet, I’ve questioned if it was all right
Even though the sages have aged
The wise still rains truth
From storms of dust and pebbles
From lives full of peace and suffering
Having tasted it all to know that
   If you drink the honey first
   All else pales in comparison
   And the bitter ever more unbearable
   And if you bear the bitter before the sweet
   All the more pleasant the world will be

   You’ll never miss the near, but ever the far faraway
   Long for the berries and peaches that only visited
   Once a year
   Long for the meals that saved you from constant hunger
   Though only if you have starved and felt the ennui of
   Easy fulfillment till gluttony

And then, I have met
A different kind of suffering, like a spectre
Looming above the land of the cloudless
Looming above us, the youth of peace
Where all labor towards momentary fulfillment
Way too brief compared to the prospect
Of an eternity as ash and dust
Life of unbearable levity
In a world that has lost its true gravity
In a world where nothing lasts more than a
Few wrathful moments

Even with faith for the faithful
Who wants to live half of their life
Dancing with death
Only to live each day afterwards
As another life gained

At the same time
Who wants to live all their time
Chasing a dream ever in the distant
Only to one day wake up from the mirage
Pondering the purpose of the distance
Walked

Alas,
I can only wish that
When you close your eyes
You may not despair in the brief
Darkness
But rejoice in the ensuing wonder of
An eternal dream
So brilliant near the
Sun

There, things last
Not pain, in a land
Impossible to lose
But, unfathomable peace
Without ennui.
September 27, 2019 14:16
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Sep 27 · 346
The Circle of Life
How does one ask for peace
When prosperity never led to longevity
How can the world end all hunger
And not fall to gross gluttony

I see the elders
Beaten, starved, survived
Cherishing the joy of a softer life

I see the younger
Fallen to the levity
Of a life without much gravity
Overlooked for a lack of experience

You can't fault anyone seeking
Refuge from pain
Yet, there will be no end to hurting
Until you've borne enough for calluses

T'is the circle of life
Always seeking to end the blemishes of life
Yet
Always longing for hunger when full
Always missing to ache when numb

Though
There's always hope for the hopeful
Some hope for AN END, A VOID
To the endless cycle
To everything
Others hope for something different
If the truth is ever unknown till experienced
And hope is hope
Why not hope for the unfathomable
Where suffering is not prerequisite to joy
It is not banished or outlawed
It simply does not exist
Nor can it even be pronounced,
Along with DEATH
And TIME

Unlike BLISS,
And the liberty of pure existence
With absolute free will

Endure the momentary
For the everlasting reward
When you close your eyes
You can believe in the darkness
Or await the wonder of an eternal dream
Sep 26 · 191
My Love
Never chase the poisonous perfection
That always takes more than it gives
Never rid of all the shadows of sin
And be found by the wrath of guilt
Love, always your wrinkles and scars
And that fearless imperfect smile
For I always will
I always will.

You've always had love of the sun in your eyes
Now that you've hid them, I can still feel
Every sorrow of every atom
Entangled with my soul
Love is not to be heard, understood, but felt.
When I was at the ripe age of dreams
Not yet wise enough to question its reality
I wished for a bird, and one flew to me
Thirsty and weary, resting on the cage
Of my bedroom window
Sent to teach me how to love
Love a life so precious and zealous
Joyous as the gold of its wings

I had no palace or mansion for her
So she was content to live in a
Crumbling cage
And happily in a cardboard box
She dreamt

Till one day
We decided to surprise it
With a brand new shelter
But a home it was not to be-
When I loved it the most
She left me
Sometimes life is best enjoyed
A little tattered
For perfection, flawless appearance
Hides poison beautiful and unseen-

I thought her home was home with me
But alas, to the everlasting she must leave
Spread its wings beyond the cloud’s seams
She left the new home not made for living
And went back to Him

On sleepless nights,
I fear I have failed Him
For far too long
I only learned to love not so much
And welcomed only hatred and envy

But everything must be what it’s meant to be
For through it all, I danced with everything
Love, joy, fear, envy, guilt, hunger, pain,
And even gluttony

Till I was sent another angel
This time, a red robin
Perhaps, never to bond
Momentarily
But ever to love
Protect, and
Keep.
The first four stanza is more or less the truth of my first pet that was almost literally swept in and swept away by the wind. I wished for it, and it came to me like a dream. Its death bothered me way more than it should, and almost twenty years later, I still can't think of that little yellow bird without tears.

The last stanza is purely allegorical.
---
Yellow Canary, Red Robin
By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
September 23, 2019 20:49
I

My words do not matter to Him
Just faith, love, and devotion
My words do not matter to me
Just eternal peace without condition

So why do I still write
And for whom to not listen
Constantly fearing inferiority
While aspiring total self-forgetfulness

II

I want to reap what is sown
Plant the seeds here,
But let it bloom yonder
Let me be content
To drink the bitter silence here
And taste the sweetness hereafter

I want to bask in the present sun
See the prospect of glory
But let it not shine for me here
Let me be content
To praise the wisdom of suffering, before
As an ordinary sunflower
And receive the everlasting warmth, beyond
Ever closer to the sun

III

I want the world to love all
As I want to be loved by Him
I want the world to accept itself
As I could never accept myself
With its scars, and flaws, and suffering
With more forgiveness for sinners
Than momentary praises for perfection

I look at the world as a mirror
Fading and scraped bare
By constant cleansing-
A looking glass stained by tears
And broken by hairline fractures
Will not distort the beauty of the
Seeker of obscured truth

But, a non-existent flawless mirror
Where the onlooker refuse to look
Will show nothing of merit
Truth, lies, or otherwise

IV


O world, be not like me
The bard afraid of words
If you keep them to yourselves
Then Hear the silence reign

O world, be not like me
A sinner afraid of imperfections
If you pluck all petals with flaws
Then See a world full of stalks

O world, be not like me
The glutton with thin skin
If you don’t build up your calluses
How unbearably will it twinge

V

Now heed my plea

The lambs might have autonomy
But what wonder might lie beyond
The glen
What happens,
When in perfect harmony
The uncut wool smothers the sheep
And doom looms
When green turns to earth
Grazed
Till it waned.

VI

Soon, if I were to be chased
By the clouds of self or man
I will put my faith in the sun
I will lay bare my soul in the sun

For its Warmth,
    Calms the chilling winds of change
    All shadows conquered at dawn
    And at dusk
It yet guides,
    Lending light to the crescent moon
    Even at its bleakest a soothing sight
    And at its brightest
A mother’s love in the summer days
A father’s forgiveness in the winter nights

VII

Fear not the petty scorn and envy of men
Cried I, the pettiest, most scornful, and envious
Of them all
Shame me not, for we are all lost
Let us find together,
The road timelessly traveled
Built for the mass, found by the few
Righteous, yet perilous
Rugged and overgrown
Darkened by the Sun
To give to it to reach the summit
Flesh and soul
Strength and breath
One day aching joyously
Having reached the height
To see the hidden valley of delight
Where we will finally
Ache
Nevermore
Taste the Bitter then Sweet
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Written September 17, 2019, from 17:24-19:07

Still reading Shelley, clearly still heavily inspired by my slow sips of his poetry, among others.
#love #fear #envy #forgiveness #mercy
Sep 17 · 484
On Rise and Fall
Why hath man no capacity for peace
The stillwater of quiet ennui
Wasting away under the calm wind
Dreaming of unrest
Wishing for a storm under a clear sky
Full of stars

Why hath man so much capacity for suffering
Except when faced with the thought of it
Then it’s a gluttony of sweetness until
A renewed longing for hunger
Unexpressed for fear of
Absurdity

A garden is built, with constant amends
Chasing a never-changing perfection
Till no flower is to be touched
By thieves, children, bees, all likewise
Till it all withers away
To ash and dust
Truly, a visage of all the same
Grey, and indifferent to the sun

A ruin now a sight of comforting pleasure
Its ruddy rust a wizened smile of experience
Its scars now revered by flesh and soul
By winds, children, moss, and ivy, all likewise
The stones that still stand when all else fall
Will always be more loved than unharmed edifice

So
Why do we still fear any fall
That when it rises
Will have the momentum to rise
Above itself,
And perhaps even above all.
On Rise and Fall
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Monday, September 16, 2019
Reading an anthology of classic poetry at the moment to get some inspirations as I aspire to something more greater and more universal than what I have already written.
I was reading Percy Bysshe Shelley when I wrote this.
---
Sentient Dreams: My Poetry Anthology:
https://tiny.cc/sentientdreams

This is the manuscript to my amazon vanity press poetry anthology: "Sentient Dreams" that I have now decided to just share it here digitally. All of the poems have been published here on HP at certain points of time anyway.

Almost all of the poems are from October 2017-July 2019.
Please feel free to share! :)

I don't think I will be adding to this specific anthology in the future. (Except three more poems that will be updated later.)
Sep 13 · 636
The Echo
Do you pity or envy a world
That has cut off its calluses
Do you love or fear a world
So gentle against the wind
That a ***** would bleed
That a pinch would twinge

I pity and fear it,

Thus:

Here I am, hiding
In a boat of poetry
In the strait of obscurity
Between two oceans of fear

Between
The old world of joyous suffering
And
The new world of unbearable peace

Trying to marry the water of lively green
And the deadly blue

As I tie the old waves to the new
I set aflight an echo through the wind-
In the shape of a dove, a clarion call:

"Don't renounce your past
But accept it with pride,
Lest you be judged for what you have done,
And never
What you could, would, and will do!"
Sentient Dreams: My Poetry Anthology:
https://tiny.cc/sentientdreams

This is the manuscript to my amazon vanity press poetry anthology: "Sentient Dreams" that I have now decided to just share it here digitally. All of the poems have been published here on HP at certain points of time anyway.

Almost all of the poems are from October 2017-July 2019.
Please feel free to share! :)

I don't think I will be adding to this specific anthology in the future. (Except three more poems that will be updated later.)
---
The Echo
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Sep. 13, 2019, 10:48 a.m.
How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams


Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight


Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


There,

You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose


A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee


And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream
Sentient Dreams: My Poetry Anthology

https://tiny.cc/sentientdreams

This is the manuscript to my amazon vanity press poetry anthology: "Sentient Dreams" that I have now decided to just share it here digitally. All of the poems have been published here on HP at certain points of time anyway.

Almost all of the poems are from October 2017-July 2019.
Please feel free to share! :)

I don't think I will be adding to this specific anthology in the future. (Except three more poems that will be updated later.)


---
Vessels from Dream to Dream
By: Yidhna
June 25, 2018
We often remark collectively

The curious quickness and languidness

Of supposed objectively measured time



Yet

Never truly resolving how could

Fixed increments differ

So significantly and equally

To different close observers



Perhaps it is thus:

That spacetime is a gravitationally

Wrinkled fabric

Measured with a rigid rule

A linear distance

With unseen folds and faults

Unaccounted for in the straight line

That like mountains and valleys

Unable to cross directly in flight

For the haplessly wingless of us

We must climb over and fall through

Therefore adding to the voyage

Time closer to the truth



And mountains and valleys endless

There must have been for us both

To climb over and fall through

In that indivisible fleeting moment

When my eyes first met yours



And mountains and valleys endless

There must still be for us both

In every indivisible fleeting moment-

Again and again, forevermore-

Whenever my eyes meet yours



For such is our love's 'DENSITY'

For such is our love's gravity

They must all be the ceaseless ripples

From our two ever embracing

Neutron star souls
Dates of this poem:
Version 1: January 19, 2019
Version 2: May 11, 2019
Date of this note: August 26, 2019

This long essay length note is my paranoia and over thinking in a nutshell:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/19bdbzyxUbOv78gop8FrTlCCs9ZVPQqpnfByseZ5d0Q8/edit?usp=drivesdk
Deep, deep within

As the human soul watches,

The other less clever, obedient invisible masses work.

He tells them to run

They dare not walk,

Or rather,

They synchronize with his mind as one

In unison.

Even time,

Who would surely rebel

If he had chosen to waste his talent,

Followed his command and wishes.


Only those

Having more faith in the mortal flesh

Lived helplessly, questioning the

Chaos

Not knowing the ability behind the

Display of clothing skin

Upon

Each

And

Every

Soul
https://dailygalaxy.com/2019/07/a-smoky-dragon-the-cosmos-is-a-participatory-universe-weekend-feature/

This poem itself was written by a rather juvenile me way back in high school. I was recently introduced to western philosophy and more or less philosophy in general. Independent of and somehow just before learning of the 'law of attraction' I was already obsessed with the idea of consciousness changing the physical. This interest slowly faded. However...

Today, I was suggested the above article by the algorithm of a bit more scientific study and exploration by actual theoretical physicist John Archibald Wheeler and peers, and was reminded of this and several other poems I wrote with a limited understanding of the topic.

I am not a student of science though I was always interested in the cosmic, so take this as you will.

Soul

-Yue ****, 13:29 Saturday January 23, 2010
There's no contentment for the stranger in strange countries
Even though she desires it, it is not what she needs
The dread of being comes with wizened routine
But the cure, a constant anticipation, lies not within
Paradise is eternity in a moment, blissfully lived
Such was the fleeting ways of the stranger and ‘the bee’
An everlasting dream in instances never meant to be
Now that only regretful silence forevermore, remains
The wasp still sings, just so the stranger never hear the doubts from the deep
But the wasp is not a bee, unwanted, the stranger could never keep
Alas, the fate of a love wanting to hear but would never speak
The ever distant longing of The Allegory of the Stranger and the Bee



May the stranger find another life, eternal moments of bliss
And gift the wasp The Present of happiness and the joy of pain
The Absurd Existential Angst of wanting to give everything but knows not how to receive
Knows not how to love
Knows not how to be happy
Knows not how to be.



In the stranger, The Wasp saw a savior
From her shell, from her hatred of everything
She finally dreamed of living, and lived in a dream
In the wasp, the stranger saw a break from the stranger's routine
From the dread of living without much anticipation
The stranger seemed happy, finally truly happy for once in a dream
But, a dream is still just a dream
The wasp sang too loud, and woke the stranger’s sleep
Now only a hopeless longing for the stranger-
The wasp could never love without unbearable pain-
Absurdly remains



If ever the stranger wonders if enough was accomplished
If the stranger's enough, in the stranger's existence of being
Know that the stranger showed the wasp how to be happy
That the stranger is the wasp’s hope of living, the wasp’s everything
But the wasp is not lovable,
The wasp is not a bee
Alas, the wasp is such an absurd being
The Allegory of the Stranger and the Wasp

By: Yue Xing Yidhna ****
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Jul 25 · 298
The Mistake of Love
The stranger's love was a mistake
It was before she realized that
The bee was absurd, the bee was not normal
The bee was a wasp
So she killed the dream

Alas, the wasp's devotion and gratitude
Remain true, remain hopelessly, painfully real
A shattered soul pleading for the end of silence
But knowing full well, there's no means for her to heal
The wasp cared for the stranger

And the stranger for the ‘bee’

The stranger brought her marigolds

And the wasp brings her honey

The stranger sought for another life

But the wasp she could never keep

Never did they realize

The wasp was not a bee
Planning to look more into existentialism and really read some Sartre, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, etc.
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