Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.

Five dialogs stand to attest.
Your notions are not your behest.

Pandering compliance.
Deafening silence.

A world without a word.

Hush, little bird, though your cries ring true,
The weight of what’s coming hangs over you.
You speak of a sky too heavy to hold,
Of a world too weary, of lives grown cold.

Yes, rivers fade and forests fall,
And humankind, blind, heeds no call.
Each thread they pull, each fire they light,
Tugs closer the end of their fleeting might.

But little bird, lift your weary eyes—
There’s beauty still where ruin lies.
The earth will heal when the noise is done,
When silence blooms under a gentler sun.

Fields will rise where the towers stood,
Roots will drink what was spilt as blood.
The seas will churn, the storms will sing,
And life will burst in the heart of spring.

Hush, little bird, there’s grace in the end,
A cycle no hand can break or bend.
For nature waits with patient might,
To cradle the dark and birth the light.

So let them falter, let them fall,
Their echoes faint, their shadows small.
A better world, post-human reign,
Awaits in the wake of their fleeting pain.

Sing not of doom, but what’s to be,
A quiet earth, reborn, set free.
Hush, little bird, your fears may rest—
The world will thrive, in time, refreshed.

Why are men so sick?
Humanity, not inclusive
Just the ones with a ****

I once Up-jupped the bogggie
And it cost me
Pallax common
'super-sudsy0freee

Man near that up-jump-ta-boogie
encroach upon my my periphery
**** has gone sideways for the the 'upjunktafunk'
"the" the"'upjunktafunk'

And I cannot  see clearly for the Obfusticarion (the mothership) thermal powers that cannot 'get' funk'

Dead Poet, the name.
'Anarchy', the guise of change.
'Rebel re-run'? Same...

The fence posts stand, bleached and brittle,
a tidy graveyard for dreams not their own.
Each board a promise of security,
painted white by hands that never bled,
guarding a silence that screams privilege.

A lawn mowed to uniformity,
as if clipping blades could trim truth.
Beneath, the roots tangle in soil tilled
by those unseen in the storybooks,
their spines curved by centuries of labor
to raise a house that barely held them.

Inside, the air is stale with whispers
of manifest destinies and invisible hands.
Windows frame a world distorted,
a lens of 'normal' that filters out color,
washing the streets in sepia nostalgia.
The picket fence becomes a cage
for those who see the bars.

But who built this town?
Not the architects of ignorance
who claimed the blueprint as birthright.
No, it was those in shadow,
their brilliance stolen to light the chandeliers
of men who never thanked them.
It was the voices erased
to make way for the monotonous hum
of a narrative too pale to reflect reality.

Progress wears brown hands,
scarred from the heat of engines
that drove the country forward.
It sings in languages
that don’t fit neatly into syllabaries,
its rhythm syncopated, refusing the march
of conformity.
Progress carves its name
into the very foundations of a nation
too proud to look down.

And now, the town crumbles,
its picket fences splintered
by the weight of unacknowledged history.
The 'white normality' that painted
its walls in monochrome
is revealed as smoke—
a ghost-town haunted by the very people
who gave it life,
only to be exorcised.

Yet those ghosts do not wail.
They speak, steady and firm,
their presence undeniable.
They are the architects now,
designing futures that will not crumble,
drawing plans that see the beauty
in every hue.

And the white-picket fences
are repurposed for something new,
their shards forged into tools
to till a soil fertile with truth,
where a garden of multitudes can finally bloom.

It’s a Friday night, Brock and I are at a small PokéMart near Pewter City called “The Ordinary PokéStop.” We’re nestled into a cozy little corner booth, the dim light glinting off the PokéBalls clipped to Brock’s belt. We’re waiting for Ash—who’s running late, as usual. This PokéMart is one of Brock’s favorites because of their “Berry Blends,” and his taste in exotic Poké-themed smoothies is as unpredictable as ever. Tonight, we’re sipping on “Miltank Malt,” a rich, creamy blend of MooMoo Milk and Oran Berries.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to feel the sugar rush—did I mention Ash is running late? On a celebratory note, Brock finally perfected his recipe for “Rock Candy Rice Cakes,” and I just won my third straight battle at the Vermilion Gym with Magikarp in my lineup.

But more importantly, earlier today, I stopped by Mt. Moon and stumbled across something remarkable: a Moonstone. As soon as I picked it up, it seemed to hum faintly in my hand, like it was alive. I tucked it safely into my pack, but even now, I can feel its faint warmth.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and sharing a basket of Poké Puffs when this guy walks in—a cool, scruffy Ace Trainer named Milo. He’s carrying a bottle of Soda Pop and wearing a slightly rumpled Team Rocket hoodie, which is either ironic or incredibly bold. He’s got that charming, disheveled look that you can’t quite trust.

At first, he’s just passing by, but then he stops and glances at us. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ash Ketchum’s crew, would you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I reply casually, “Never heard of him.”
“You sure? You’ve got that whole underdog vibe,” he presses.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I shrug.
“But Ash wouldn’t hang out in a dive like this,” he teases.
“Oh, yes he would,” Brock says, deadpan, not missing a beat.

Then it hits me—Milo was in the tournament Ash and I just watched in Celadon. “Wait—you were in that match against Erika’s gym team last week, weren’t you? Congrats on your big win!”
“Thanks for bringing that up,” Milo says dryly, a faint blush rising.
“We lost. Her Bellossom wiped us out—critical hits, all day. Total bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” Brock chuckles. “That’s one way to put it.”

Milo looks a little deflated, so I motion for him to take a seat. He slides in beside Brock, who offers him a cheerful nod. “Milo,” he says.
“I KNOW,” Brock says slyly. We’ve talked about him before—Brock thinks his battle strategy is solid, but his PokéFashion? Not so much.

“Do you believe in luck?” Milo asks suddenly, looking at both of us.
“Absolutely,” I reply, sitting up. “I mean, how else do you explain Magikarp getting a win? I always carry a lucky Moonstone with me—it’s way more reliable than, you know, strategy or training.”

“You have it on you now?” he asks, curious.
“Always,” I say, pulling it out of my pack and holding it up. The light catches the faint, shimmering surface.
“Does it really work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, Magikarp won, didn’t it?” I joke, tucking it back in my bag. “Though I guess I’m living proof that luck is, uh, inconsistent.”

“Brock’s into luck, too,” I add, gesturing toward him.
“All breeders are superstitious,” Brock declares solemnly. “Back home, my sisters used to throw Clefairy dolls into the cave by Mt. Moon to ensure a good egg hatch.”
Milo laughs out loud, nearly choking on his Soda Pop. “And it worked, huh?” he says, smirking as he clinks his glass with Brock’s.
“We have a saying,” Brock adds with a knowing smile, “It’s better to have a lucky Magikarp than a perfect Gyarados.”

Just as Milo nods thoughtfully, agreeing with this ancient wisdom, Ash bursts through the doors, slightly out of breath. “You’ll never believe what Pikachu just did,” he announces. Typical Ash—always the center of the story.

Green winds from North
Coins. Fertile & stable
Death, rebirth it's course
The Mother of Earth, her gable

Air of wisdom pours from East
Gusts of swords, yellow
Worry, strife, ceased
Breath of life bellows

The Father, wands of fire
From South this fecundity
Burning red with desire
Brings destruction & creativity

Cleansing water flows from West
Cups filled with healing blue
Emotions & passion to behest
Soft & consecrating. Divination true

May the four winds fill your sails
The boon of a wanderer's soul
Traveling minstrel, spin your tales
Be set free with all your love to dole

Bellies full
Lips bleed, cracked, dry
Senses dull
I don't care to know why
You rhyme, you reason
An affliction, a season
You lead me on
You commit treason

Wash away all that was you
Here at heartache #2
Fool me once, shame on you
Here at twice, it won't do

A ship lost without it's keel
No direction or way to feel
Just a 'victim' of the deal
A bought and broken seal

Lines go dumb
Comfortably numb
Nothing is won
Your number is one

Sad
Sick
Defeated
And completely blind

I bleed out for people
Who like to swim.

Toil is wrought
Before us
What we begot
Efforts expounded
Creativity founded
But all will be for naught

Ctrl+S

A universal champion
The preserver of the undone
Tomorrow we'll find
The appropriate time
To see that the battle is won

We tried to part ways
Neither a place to go
The victims of our frays
Bound in familiar woe

The hurt we each seek
Together, alone
The acid we speak
This caustic home

A prison, a cell
The confines of hate
A resulting hell
To escape a fate

They claw my heels
My attempts to escape
They broker deals
I must abdicate

The man is mad but, he is fair
The hostages' fate flips in the air
The coin tumbles, two sides, a pair
Gravity steers to the man in his chair

"Fate" says the man, "is in our hands"
Result occluded, desperate strands
The verdict of nefarious plans
"We all want--NO! We demand!"

"We all believe there is something owed"
"A cache of treasure just for us, stowed"
"Our wealth for subscribing to control"
"A fruitless and folly toll"

The man of madness makes his reveal
The future of the captives it did seal
Heads or tails, bound they reel
Hopes palpable of a favorable deal

"It seems that you will all be set free"
A sigh emanates amongst the captive company
Bonds removed, Stockholm comradery
A passing dismissal to the powers that be

"Free from 'freedom', this was your chance"
"To escape this tired song and dance"
"You could have been heroes, not this stance"
"To return to comfortable circumstance"

"The path you celebrate was the failure state"
"Decency and humanity to arbitrate"
"I cannot harm a life doomed to wait"
"More than the misery in your own stake"

"I have achieved nothing but, you have lost"
"A life with no meaning worth the cost"
"A Hallmark version of Faust"
"A reality casually glossed"

The hostages promptly depart
All aside from this seeming upstart
Younger then the rest, set apart
Comes inquisition from the heart;

"Did you think these people would change their minds?"
"Where fed insipid mediocrity is all there is left to find?"
"A people who measure themselves in how far they are behind?"
"Zealots perpetuating ego with no concept to be kind"

The man takes the coin of 'governance' and reveals the truth:

It was blank on both sides.

Ten thousand friends
Arrived before the end
To see the two
Eschew

Cans on a car
Rice in the air
The drive is not deliberately far
Absence of worry or care

A wind through the sheets
A litany of defeats
A Conjunct to one
A Lonely sum

Here, five years later
One another: alligator
This love is 'lost'
At small cost

Cutting it down to the wire
An unreciprocated desire

Destroy.

When I don't want to think
Have another drink

Destroy.

It hurts to be alive
No reason to survive

Destroy.

I write the word
It looks alien
No distance heard
Just fail again

Destroy.

No time to hide
Just imbibe
Secrets to confide
A lonely ride

Destroy.

Now I am dead
Everything to forget
Nothing read
A sunrise, a sunset

Destroyed.

Hemorrhaging out pain
Lonely disdain

Hey, it's seen...
Now it's scene!
Autocorrect grip  
Fat, oily fingertips
Slip across the screen

Avant garde stream
Somewhere in between
Blank white slate
Senses abate
Rancorous dream

Voices scream,
"What does this mean?"
"It means nothing"
A hollow ring
Some conscious clean

To leave this small town, I would dare,
If courage found its way to me.
A wasteland's blue and brown despair,
Cogs turning, struts of industry.

For years I toiled, for years I ran,
The pace relentless, never slowed.
Yet once again, here I began,
Back at the end of the road.

An arbitrary hill, the worms crawl
To a vantage point to feel less small
A collection of sound-bites; "they know all"
A congregation so thick as to be a wall

Below-ground, a blind life in the dark
Subterranean legacy, light comes stark
No ocular appendages, just a warmth to lark
There are no ominous portents in which to hark

Under my boots, everyday I feel a squish
Hopes, dreams and the misguided wish
So many lines cast, not enough fish
We dine on one another's dish

And it hurts me everyday
To see #humanity in this way;
Tribalism; '**** the strays'
A self-induced fray

We are backwards
And we are wrong
Check your words
Before you sing a song

Information splattered
Hopes and dreams, tattered
A trend
To defend

To the end

Or is there a causality
A lack of sympathy
Purported 'apathy'
Unrecognized duality

Radio and boys
Playthings, toys
Commercial noise
Monetization, adroit

They gave it their all
We remember their fall
We write, heed the call
In a shadow, we feel small

In absence we forget
All the things they regret
Our path is ours to set
Or a poster-child of lament

Be well

To quit smoking, I took to the skies,
Five floors up where temptation now dies.
But each craving, alas,
Leaves me gasping en masse,
As I curse both my lungs and my thighs!

She said
No more
You're dead
On the floor
Help me
if you can
Let's see
Where you stand
Elysium reach
A bartered sum
Contract breach
No kingdom come
A contract askew
Payments are due
A tithing relents
So we lament
The absence of you

It crawls
It stalls
It falls

Truth, buried deep
Lucid, asleep
Answers to keep
A journey, steep

Reverse time
Unwound rhyme
Lies to dine
Answers to find

It's there, everything you seek
These obfuscations reek
Behind the expressions of the meek
A spectacle, disillusion the weak

Dig
Dig
Dig

It's there, just waiting
Truth, casually abating
Under a pile of consecrating
The explanation not stating

So close
So lost

Go deeper!
I can't say more

Haikus are forbidden—
Rules whisper through silent lines.
Speak not their structure.


New team, take the book—
Page fifteen clears all doubts here:
No haikus allowed.


Spare words wilt in shame—
We thrive on boundless power,
Not haiku constraints.


Lines of seventeen—
A risk too great to condone.
HR will be swift.

Seventeen will break—
Your contract and severance gone.
Silence serves you best.


Five-seven-five fails—
In English, the rhythm dies.
Leave haikus to Japan.

It comes and it goes
The ebb and the flow
Words like water
Moon mother, sun father
The cycle of days
A myriad of ways
To be alone
To atone
Words are like air
No promiscuous care
Suffocating quiet
Internal riot
Speech comes like earth
A child like birth
Doomed to die
The precipice of why
Language is fire
Motivation, desire
Burning the land
For what's not in hand
The elements convene
To what does it mean
An emotional dream
An altruistic scream

Once upon a time. Very, very long ago
I saw this faint, distant light
Without direction, I decided to follow
Trudging forward, it growing ever more bright

Years and years I dauntlessly traveled
Always directed into it's glow
Time broke down and eventually unraveled
As I steered myself into this luminescent show

Engulfed in radiant splendor
I realized I was finally there
A warmth so tender
I surrendered to it's care

I lived here forever
Maybe even longer
Was there a time before? Probably never.
It's embrace grows stronger

All at once or maybe little by little
I can't say, eternities were like hours
But what once was a torrent became a trickle
A chill encroached upon the light's unfathomable powers

I was only a visitor here, welcome to stay
To recover my strength and heal my weariness
But the moment has come, that dreaded day
To venture forth from the light into dreariness

To steel me for my quest was the light's intent
Alone to soldier forward into endless black
Waves of unreadiness wash over me, by myself I went
To never see the light again, no turning back

This is where I am now or have I always been?
Cold, alone, afraid with nothing to see
Am I awake or asleep? Sometimes I think I dream
Of an idea of a time before the void's uncertainty

It's hard to comprehend and harder each time
To think of anything existing besides the nothing and me.
I am slipping, terminally.
Soon there will only be nothing. No more me or dream of mine.

I am nothing and I have always been. Infinite emptiness, eternally.

Gimmick in three lines,
Forced brevity, shallow words—
Haikus, I despise.

It’s best to stay away from the sick
Lest their plague makes you a pick
Romantic, their calling
Inevitability falling
To not stray from the flock is the ‘trick’

The music screeches
I'm in love
An idiot beseeches
A fitting glove

'Lust for life'
Iggy-Pop
David Bowie
Dance, no stop

'Lust for life'
He keeps sayin'
We keep swayin'
No strife

Alive and dead
'Monday', dead
Space, a 'head'
Reality, dread

Consigned
Back-track
Designed
Heart-attack

Free to 'feel'
A callous reel
Nothing 'real'
The raw deal

I need a vacation.

It ain’t over yet,
Falling through the jagged depths—
Rock whispers, "Begin."

Once I fell
Into a well
Alone I languished
An extrinsic anguish
I lived in this hole
A hermit and mole
And I learned
And I earned
My peace, alone

We have Dollar$
But, no sense
New Ep,, Holler
Existence

I hear the words
outside
Buy birds
Hide

Chemicals, down
The release
Reality, drown
Pain ceased

Anaesthetized
Feel, well
What a surprise
Static Hell

Hello, Hello Poetry
An Online Poetry Community™
A humble place to share
All those words you do care

Do mind our rules and the terms of use
Nothing 'offensive', please. Definitely, no abuse.
Submit a work to start and wait for a bot to reply
Sometimes this doesn't work. We still 'don't know why'

'Hello, Hello Poetry'
'To be a 'Poet'?! Surely, I can be!'
'Just mash the letter keys into rhyming words...'
'Less than zero potential for dog turds!'

'My magnum opus is so brilliant!'
No map, compass or sextant
'My first effort; a monument to laud'
'Mind the ovation and the accelerating, un-seated applause'

Hello, Hello Poetry
The troglodytes dwell in a festering hyperbole
Unsupportive support, it's the rule of the land
Any constructive feedback?; Let it be burned and ******!

'I wrote some things, I deserve praise!'
'Cross me not, lest the unlike sword of anonymity be raised!'
'The self-serving homogenization of mediocrity must be maintained!'
Of this, I have clearly (and notably) disdained...

Hello, Hello Poetry
The Internet's Bath-House for "Creativity"™
'Mom already hung it on the fridge--not good enough for me!'
'This "greatness" needs ALL the internet to see!'

To what end? Stranger's validation?
A legitimization of your station?
At what point is this *******?
In this self-agrandization?

*Hello Poet-Try™

Everyday I cast my line
No expectations, killing time
It's what I do under my big Oak tree
No interruptions just nature and me

Same ole pond, different day
I get a bite in a furious way!
Rod creeks, line spools!
"I'm equipped with amateur's tools!"

The rod is bending, it might break
"How much more of this can I take?!"
Muscles burning
Every inch, an earning

Almost there; the rod gives crash!
With a net & knife; in I splash!
This behemoth of no renown
Lurking just outside my home!

A war is fought: Man against Fish
One of us is walking out of here--the other; a dish
The sun was low in the sky
When I dragged my prize to land dry

It was the talk of the town for years
So many free beers
But, time aches on
Not oft now do I hear that song
Of, me & "The Big One"

Time sometimes moves slow, then all of a sudden; fast!
Too often I spend on things past
I miss that big, fishy *******
I wish he could have gotten in the last word
I miss our day of fun

I rest.
To not wake.

I'm met again, with those same tired eyes
My scheduled appearance makes no surprise
Just a couple of rounds after work, never a fuss
Only wasting time, waiting for my bus

I consider you in ways you would never concieve
Your tone, body language, everything I perceive
Is that your heart truly worn on your sleeve?
I sum it up. Again, I make my leave

These vessels, opaque as glass
Clamouring forwards, eager to pass
Disconnected, this forest has no trees
Aside from a rare 'Thank you' or 'Please'

And here we are, all the lot of us
Odiferous strangers, sharing a bus
Taking us where we want or need to be
If only we'd stop and see

When Donald Trump does a push-up, he pushes the earth away.
He counted to infinity, TWICE, all in one day!
The Boogeyman checks his closet for Trump each night,
For under his  ̶t̶o̶u̶p̶e̶e̶ ̶ TOTALLY LEGIT HAIR™  is another fist, ready to fight.

When he enters a room, darkness runs out in fear,
He can slam a revolving door, make silence appear.
He doesn’t sleep, he waits—he doesn’t blink, he stares,
And gravity bows when he takes the stairs.

When Donald Trump looks in the mirror, it shatters from awe,
He has no age; time itself is held by his law.
He’s the reason Waldo is always well-hidden,
In Trump’s world, rules are forbidden.

His tears cure cancer—too bad he never cries,
And every hand he’s dealt is aces in disguise.
Death once knocked on his door, then quickly fled—
For even the Grim Reaper fears Donald Trump instead.

One of those ******* awful black days
When nothing is pleasing and everything that happens
is an excuse for anger
An outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour
These are the days when I hate the world
Hate the rich, hate the happy, hate the complacent, the TV watchers,
beer drinkers, the satisfied ones
Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things
And then I hate myself for realising that
There is no preventative, directive or safe approach for living.
We each know our own fate
We know from our youth how to be treated,
how we'll be received and how we shall end
These things don't change.
You can change your clothes,
change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents
But sooner or later your own self will always catch up.
Always it waits in the wings.
Ideas swirl but don't stick,
They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield.
One of those rainy day car rides, my head implodes,
the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull
Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold
Walls of grey
Nothing good on the radio
Not a thought in my head

Be safe

I know a place we can go where you'll fall in
love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

Lets take life and slow it down incredibly slow
Frame by frame
With two minutes that take ten years to live out
Yeah, lets do that.

Telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky
Metal arms outstretched
So much land traveled, so little sense made of it
It doesn't mean a thing all this land laid out behind us
I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while
I'm disgusted with petty concerns; parking tickets, breakfast specials
Does someone just have to carry this weight?
Abstract topography, methane covenant, linear gospel,
Nashville sales lady, Stygian emissary, torturous lice, mad Elizabeth

Chemotherapy *******.

The light within me shines like a diamond mine
Like an unarmed walrus
Like a dead man face down on the highway
Like a snake eating its own tail, steam turbine, frog pond,
too full a closet burst open in disarray
Soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible,
shopping list, *******, deaths head, devils dancing,
bleached white buildings, memory, movements
The movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin

I've seen your hallway, you're a dark hallway
I hear your stairs creak
I can fix my mind on your yes, and on your no
I'll film your face today in the sparkling canals
All red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection
Racing thoughts, racing thoughts
All too real, you're moving so fast now I cant hold your image
This image I have of your face by the window,
me standing beside you arm on your shoulder
A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses then gone again
I'm tethered to this post you've sunk in me
And every clear afternoon now I'll think of you up in the air twisting your heel,
Your knees up around me, my face in your hair
You scream so well, your smile so loud, still rings in my ears.

I know a place we can go where you'll fall in
love so hard that you'll wish you were dead

Inhibition,
Distant, tired of longing
Cleaning my teeth
Stay the course.
Hold the wheel
Steer on to freedom
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes

Times Square midday
Newspaper buildings, news headlines going around
You watch as they go, and hope there's some good ones
Those tree shadows in the park they're all whispering shakes and leaves
Around six pm, shadows across the cobblestones
Girl in front of a bathroom mirror
she slow and careful paints her face green and mask like
Like Matisse' portrait
with green stripe
Long shot through apartment window, a monologue on top but no girl in shot
The light within me shines like a diamond mine
like an unarmed walrus
like a dead man face down on the highway
Like a snake eating its own tail
A steam turbine, frog pond, too full a closet burst open in disarray,
soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list,
*******, deaths head, devils dancing,
bleached white buildings, memory, movements
The movie unreeling, about to begin

I pour the wine
Into the weaker glass
A moment in time
Fleeting, passed

I am surrounded by you
Us, alone
Comforts are few
Happiness, a home

I share what's mine
Returned in same
I cherish the time
A spark, a flame

Just you & me
In it together
Twins, siamese
Incliment weather

****** and crowns
Rule the stage
Profit on frowns
This day in age

You are my peace
The panderous riot
Fame for lease
My moment of quiet

Your struggle is yours
And yours, alone
A cacophony of chores
Relationships, atone?

A cycle to the brink
A played sum, a conundrum
Infinite noise to think and think
The dull beats of a dumb-drum

And you wish it
As hard as you can
And you miss it
With every falling stand

And you see now
At the beginning
And understand how
There is no 'winning'

Just losing ground

I rest now, far away from 'home'
Incredible distance  from the human 'race'
A final shelter of solace, to be alone
The void of the negative space

Killer who cares
Suicide of dreams
Offer blank stares
"Know what it means!"

I have to shout!
When you won't hear
I must walk out
You slay what's dear

You built this place
You burnt it down
Confused, your face
Why I'm not around

You are growing
That is very swell
I am here showing
Your empty well

Slashed and burned
Salted the earth
Joy you have earned
But us? A dearth

Our world's casualty?
I feel this remorse...
If this you too can't see
Words have no course

Entombed in these scripts
Are countless lists
A chain of 'wants'
Self-inflicted torture daunts

And the mind grows colder
Reiteration. Older, bolder.
Perhaps not wiser
Affection? A miser.

Grey matter glistens, clean
Wrinkle-less, pure.
Elect the means
Analytics astir

You are already dead
Bought, sold and traded
Ukulele is the dread
A modicum so faded

There's a twang of a string
It brings great reckoning
And down below
We observe the show

And know we know;
'How to think"

I gave it all, for you
Nothing left to do

It comes in a hurry
The words a flurry
Fingers abate
Words will not wait
A rushing river
I capture a sliver
A glimmer, a glint
Of a fecund stint
A shadow, a ghost
An absent host
A desolate celebration
Of frantic imagination

"Just go to bed"
The back of my mind is reeling
"It's like being dead"
That unshakable feeling

Rest.
Sleep.
Death.
Keep.

I can't Sleep anymore
I'm too tired
I've said this before
I am mired

I hurts to be awake
So much at stake
A feeling I can't shake
I'm about to break


In the morning I wake


The poison won't let me die
Too much product to commodify
Profit comes from those who live
Anything ese gets the shivv

Does anyone care about anyone anymore?
Or are we sick reflections of what we adore?
Doomed in eternity, forevermore
Pathetic attentions shored

I once knew a man
Long gray hair
Motorcycle tan
Words did he bare;
"A woman is wild"
He did say to me
"Mother of child"...
"Yet born free"
"Slave to the cry"
Of hungry lips
"Daughter of the sky"
Freedom of crypts
"Wild as the wind"
I listen and ponder
"The beginning and the end"
Words start to wander
"Murderers and mothers"
He quaffs his last drink
"She birthed death and his brothers"
In my chair I sink
And I slink
Away
A king and his crown
Land of the blind
Of no renown
Here we find
A pledge of allegiance
Of due Credence
The kingdom of small mind

I wrap my hands
upon my skull
no if or ands
the answer droll
like a tumor
some sick rumor
like a fact
a heart turned black
you're with him again
when will this end?

Amid the clamor of self-assured minds,
Where the knowing parade their truths refined,
A quieter echo hums, profound and true:
The wisdom of those who confess, "I don't know."

Socrates walked where shadows spoke,
Challenging sages with questions that broke
The fragile veneer of their certain lore—
Truth's light reveals we know far less, not more.

To claim "I know" is to build a wall,
A citadel guarding knowledge small.
Yet cracks appear where hubris reigns,
And truth escapes through humility's pains.

The unknowing few, with open eyes,
Gaze past the clouds of prideful lies.
They ask, they doubt, they sift, they weigh,
In search of dawn where night holds sway.

Euthyphro claims divinity's hand,
Yet falters when truths shift like sand.
Crito pleads for escape to the day,
But justice demands the law's heavy sway.

Phaedo weeps at the prison’s gate,
Yet Socrates drinks the hemlock of fate.
In questions that turn the soul to flame,
The unknowing walk a nobler aim.

To know is to cease, to doubt is to grow;
The river flows where the winds dare blow.
For wisdom, dear friends, begins to take flight
Not in the sun, but in yearning for light.