That say that they’re good
When they’re full of spite
They say they’re okay
When they’ve lost all their might

They’ll fight all these wars
For what they think is peace,
Only looking back
Do they know they’re never pleased

I cannot bear or understand
The tragedy of all of man
But perhaps if they treat me as they should,
I’ll be who I always thought I could!

I’ll have some pride,
A goal and a dream,
Friends and a lover,
People I call brothers,

Discerning insight,
Sage philosophy
A home on Earth
To then die cheerily.

If only this could happen,
I’d resemble a sapient person
Spoken to, acknowledged,
Cared for, minded, visible and loved.

And maybe then I’ll be
Fully human after all.

Gracefully, I dash through the void
The void of grassy meadows and defined, gently held flowers
By the strength of their delicate stems, their petals held only by the miracle of bounteous life
And yet, the winds a metaphor as circumstance
They toss the blameless petals out into their destruction
Torn, tattered, tempest-tossed,
Disintegrated, forever lost.
I sprinted past the aching in death,
Beyond your ultimate fear,
And in it,
The reasons behind all your actions—
Mortality.
For beauty gives you nothing—
Except your values and meaning and hope
Then sing to me, why so few seek it
It slips below their noses, beyond grasp
Don’t look at me as a fool,
I have found reason to rejoice.
As I race through pastures cloaked with beauty
I’ll question—Truly?
This is your final desire?
And with dissonance to my ultimate unwavering choice,
I’ll contemplate—for not quite a second
Then am dashing, rushing, charging into grace,
Before leaping to the finished line,
The turning point, the answer,
Source of life so it can carry on
The reason that I have this hope

Death.

The Last Love

Please, caress me
Hold me tight in your arms
Just let me let go of this world
I find so helpless, lonely, and dark.
All else is nought
These words are true
I cannot help but say
I’m so in love with you.

They said with you
You’re just not a solution
With you,
I’ll never be safe

But who has got a care
Of what they say?
They’ve never cared
About me for a day

Let me feel your warm embrace
Let me brush your heavenly face
You have my soul,
My spirit and essence.
I’ve never met anything
That’s a semblance like you!

Now listen to my sonorous laughter
The epitome of insanity
Listen to my last cry of anguish
And now from this world I’ll leave!
Your breath, the touch of your love
The gentleness in your sweet voice
Never before have I ever felt
Everything in you I find so well

Oftentimes we can be inanimate as an insentient being,
If not, then lost, torn, or broken,
Drifting off into a minimally-conscious stupor,
Responding only the the most prominent of stimuli,
Quite frankly, most of the time, we aren’t really alive.

And this--this is condemnable!
This is a pleasureless trick!
The human mind has incredible potential,
Yet it's hardly active,
And essentially quite thick

Still, such is forgivable
For when we originate the formidable,
Dreams come true,
Aspirations brought to place
Life is brought to life through inspiration!

Have you never experienced some urges?
Strong desires that can never be explained?
They rain down,
As a blessing,
Better use them--
They're quite shifting,
For the love of yourself and your species:
Respond to compulsions of ingenuity!

Out of all indecipherable anomalies,
Creativity is by far the strangest.
Yet, strange is commensurate to lovely,
If put into practice,
Creativity is quite comely.

Some might say said compulsions are
Granted by the influence of divine beings,
Yet I believe they manifest from the divinity IN us,

I could grant a rant,
An oration,
Or a panegyric about compulsions
But only under the circumstance
Of such an aforementioned trance

Oh Life!
Such compulsions are
The love of me!
My pillar of strength,
My foundation of truth,
Mainstay and
My hope!
My perceived ESSENCE

Steadily, she approaches me, hands bound behind her back, observing and forming judgements, discerning our essence, or lack. Does she know? Wait! What would she know? I've nothing to hide, nothing to show! Could it be she's a clairvoyant? In their daunting, cryptic ways? Is she a mystic a gypsy? Does she know of all our days? Can she read between--beyond the surface? Seeking through obscurity? Can she tell who are the martyrs? The traitors and betrayed? Does she know of all the secrets in the diamond dusk of age? Or can she read through the stories of the world, page by page? Alas, as she stands there, confusedly staring into my face's voids, I cannot help but wonder, who has sanity, and who's devoid...

If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ******, cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light