"Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darueber muss man schweigen."

Young, we understand
the world, but not ourselves.
Old, we understand
ourselves, but not the world.
Between falls the mysterious
and baffling substance
of our lives. Confusion
marks any real life
of consciousness.
Certainty is the lie
we believe in to smooth
the transition. Death
is the period that punctuates
the end of our sentence,
when we finally know
what we really know
in silence.

It may be true that we’re
All sitting on death row
Mistaking temporary ripples
For permanence.
But life doesn't touch you
Because
Your eyes are portals into eternity,
And your smile is a wormhole into
Polaroid moments, taking place in
A timeless spaceless plane where
We are infinite.

No wonder the demons are jealous.

I trip around a corner
Adjacent from the other
All hears the wall
Being built by ones own brother
A king sits front row
While his mother is center stage
He knows he's lost control
But he keeps bottled all his rage
Angels dance reluctantly
Hands grip hands circled up
We all fall down expectantly
Who knows who grows the rows
Mystical marijuana hoes
I'll keep making 8 faces growl
As you steep so low to use eleven
How dare you use that tone of lip
With me boy, dont you know
I'm am you creator, nah, na, na
I couldn't be for I am much two young
And I couldn't be for I am your brother
And I couldn't be for I am a little bit evil
I'm am NOT your creator
But the one you look to when all else
Have so horribly failed
You look to me for a hint of which trail
But militantly I sprinkle false truths for you to stumble into
And because you trust way too much you take them as proof
This red snake slithers down the rabbit hole only to have its nose bit by a gopher who happens to be the rabbits best bud so don't believe all you perceive but reality is not what others breath but what you can conceive

Honestly i cried,
those feelings cut me deep inside.
I tried my best to keep you alive,
but in the end,
don't we all die?
I've thought about it a lot,
the thought of my fall,
but whenever you're near,
i can't help but want to continue it all.
You bring me such happiness and so much more.
I just wish i could do the same,
for the one i want everything for.

Why?

why am i human so that i can have feelings?
why do i have feelings that lead to me getting hurt?
why do i always end up getting hurt?
why does my hurting turn into depression?
why is my depression such deep sorrow?
why is it sorrowful to stay alone and watch something that entertains you?
why does society feel that there's a reason to disturb a peaceful soul?
why is that soul truly peaceful?
does the soul have what it wants?
does the soul have what its needs?
does the soul lack?
why does lacking leave such a gap in our our?
why is it so hard to find something to bridge the gap and fill the void?
what if i never find the key that fits the lock?
what if i die depressed?
what if i stay locked away in my house confined by bitter happiness?
what if i never found peacefulness?
what if i never got hurt?
what if i never dug a hole into depression?
what if i never felt for someone?

then i've never loved,
i've never loved you, never loved her, never loved it, never loved what i did or the way i did things.

He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary

Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas

Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape

Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)

Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair

Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam

It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road