Integrated thinking allows societies to exhale, finally excel.
Driven communities show in masses at full-scale,
like a church bell.
Ignited ideals spread as far and wide in detail as one can tell.
Truth-ridden thoughts evolve the concious people past the outdated tall-tale.
The White Buffalo, the holy grail, the unveiling of life's undetermined fairytale.
Life is but a fickle and fragile game,
constant pain and pressure create inner ill fame.
As we watch time pass like droplets upon a window frame, we are suddenly awoken by an extinguished flame.
Shock, despair, devastation now all we imagine and watch in full frame, we see no hope and want something to blame.
Their is never anything to blame or claim.
It is just time passing through and through, the inexplicably untamed. Untamed life. Seconds away from the afterlife.
Who am I if I'm not alive enough to see?
Who can I become with so much internal deceit?
Who and what is a soul when it's become lost?
Who and what is remembered when I'm forgot?
We all traverse pain, we all know it's true name.
The cold eternal flame that is universally the same, the fuel to this almighty game of life we confusingly play.
Cramped, lost, and crying in my own exhausted body,
tired of spending all my money like I'm overly gaudy.
Short is this pain but long is the ornament,
until I see the path to winning this life-long tournament.
No longer numb am I, yet still caught in a gasp.
New knowledge instilled that ferociously connected the dots, and at long last filled in the gaps.
Through anarchy, you gain fame.
Through monarchy, you claim an executive name.
Through trial, you earn a new automobile.
Through a steal, you gain a first class meal.
Throughout it all, you learn that the battle is not worth the fall.
Throughout it all, you learn how to find your natural call.
One of my better poems I think, as it can be very difficult creating rhymes aligned with the same rhyme throughout; without losing any authenticity or creativity. Hope you enjoy.
On the cold road;
Given a kiss
Of hot asphalt,
For it is
just a road,
Profits to be made
And I don't have the money
Or a steady job
Why should I care?
I'm living off
The fat of the land
I'll work some
But never 40 hours a week
It doesn't interest me
I briskly walk heel-to-toe in order to keep my surprise,
equipped and prepared with deadly ammunition from the wise.
I spot many targets running clearly in and out of plain sight,
as I methodically recite the magical words for entering the limelight.
Other hunters encircle and stalk the same prey,
each of their minds accelerating towards the main entree.
Encompassed and imprisoned by materialistic greed,
and it all started from a small seed, the creation of currency.
The few who control these jobs drink any ambrosia of their picking,
simultaneously tossing constituents bones about after tooth picking.
Too much is never enough, yet we all throw out the crust.
The world's insatiable thirst is much more than these agenda-based bluffs, it is all about making a job market for many...is that too tough?
if the money is stacked
in a sufficient tally
business can be done
the transaction swift
no questioning the deposit
as long as it is
of the right composite
money buying whatever
you so fervently like
the scalper worries not
about who he'll out strike
deal making going on
behind a screen of smog
that has the appearance
well clouded in graft's fog
Help is on the way, squeeze your lids and dream away.
Wish away the hours past, as realities minutes pass through the hourglass.
The sunlight fades in your mind, and inevitable gloom takes control.
Why is life treating me so, I can’t take this many blows.
Somebody take my hand and guide I, the blind.
It’s the only thing that can tame the feelings inside.
do i matter enough for my death to be an art piece?
will i just be one of 3,600?
what matters more, life or death?
cant have one without the other
like a child and a mother
so **** yourself just like your brother
and give thanks for one another
bring me some ******* clarity
do i matter?
or was i just inspiration
for a poem about how many boys loved and lost you?
DO I EVEN ******* MATTER?!
im lost with no foundation
and im drowning on my own two feet
if its any consolation
it makes it really hard to breathe
i cant even think of you
without it bringing back the pain
of when i mattered
and the drugs
just mingled in your brain
i called you in california
talked until the sun came up
and now your life is figured out
it feels our past is all made up
until i really meet you, friend
i guess i'll never truly know
was i an object of amusement
or the pain that helped you grow?