It is so late. I am so very tired
and there is nothing here to restore
the fire that burned in me before
exhaustion ran through my back door.

Inspiration would be a fine elixir,
a sweet supplier of an eternal shine
that would make me as hot as the divine
intermingling with other demon beings.

Heavy red eyes scratch the surface of
inconsequential stuff that was stuffed
somewhere under the cover of my skin,
with secrets sharper than razor blades,
that let letters and vowels bleed out in
thin spinning lines of linens draped over
my slumping sore and aching shoulders.

Fatigue makes me a nervous overthinking,
fool cowering, and shrinking from daylight,
longing for the lunar loving touch of night.

Hungry, I eat junk, but I’m never sated,
so many universes of the knowledge
split infinities, divided by eternity
still, I am a ravenous rumbling mess.

My mind is a mad mass of confusion,
foggy abstraction thinking any action
might make the slightest difference,
but consciousness is a lie of persistence,
a disturbing pittance better paid
when sleep lets strange dreamers play
and I can wake fully rested and focused.

Picture yourself as a prophet of sorts
trying to revive a dying discourse,
writing enlightening verses while
studying to improve your own style,
thinking, reading, eating, and seeing,
digesting then changing what you are believing
in the face of new knowledge that you are receiving.

Imagine yourself struggling to create
poems and ideas that counteract hate,
to fight off the arrogance of those who just take,
whilst battling against your own arrogant state.

Picture your paradise then deconstruct,
look inside out so your mind doesn’t get stuck,
remembering we all can work to be better.
Humanity can be an alphabet of good intent
if each vowel and consonant is well spent,
written and given like a love letter
proclaiming life can be something greater.

Rest for a moment and dream for a second,
remembering diversity is the stream that we spring from,
it is the catalog of songs that sing some
beautiful intentions and creations into existence,
the inspiration that keeps us moving forward
as earth, space, and grand mind explorers.

Take my hand metaphorically speaking
and rise from the shadows of pain that were keeping
our brothers and sisters in pain from the chains of oppression.

Its’ a strange game, but let’s play love tag
and give our hearts and art away to say
it is time to change and make this world
a far grander place.

I'm sending unending lines,
editing and accrediting
these collegial rhymes.

Inspecting and perfecting
in obsessive over editing
these miraculous words
that I was temporarily hoarding.

Trying so hard not to be boring
with my own verbal exploring,
reporting to myself about myself
for everyone else to read.

2:00 a.m. and I'm sitting
at home gaming again,
a 21-year-old life
with no direction.
I’m out of lock step
with the dreams
I haven’t lost yet
as I watch them
fading in the distance.

In delaying my resistance
to this degrading system,
I am slowly becoming
one of the mind numbing
cogs grinding other gears
who work here
with the same sad fear
that this is a rat trap that
no one will escape.

I’m not ready to go,
but got lost in the flow.

I’ve estimated
I will be decimated
by the next disaster
humanity has created.

I’ve wasted time
trying to find
the truth behind
these divided minds,
whiles other have
just retroactively justified
their hate crimes.

It seems peace
is only a dream
that I find
when I let myself
go to sleep
along with
the rest of the
waking walking
sheep.

I'm tired, old, and worn out,
still sternly considering my doubts.
Getting ready to pass on a torch
that I haven't even earned
cuz I barely ever marched for
the lessons that we’ve learned.

Now, I write not to delight
but for new insights,
to question why
and ask my friends again,

“Who taught you to hate,
to sit and separate
yourself from the sacred state
of that which elevates?”

My mind is wed to
weird worlds
no one else can view,
fantasy realities,
and nightmare realms
that haunt me,
such terrible
terrors taunting,
like stairways
to primordial days
or ancient ages
were massive
sea monsters
raged beneath
the deep seas.

I walk through
windows to
grassy fields
that yield
fond fairytales.

In my daydreams,
I am pursuing
my own undoing
ungluing
all that held
me to myself.

Ancient pines,
as close as I
can hope to find
to the divine,
run rings around
the years I’ve found.

I am dying,
whilst trying,
intensifying
the neural firing
of my overactive
spastic synapses,
these bio electric
responses.

Tender digits
from children
who fidget,
take the rose stem
and grab it,
pricked and bleeding
while delicate petals,
fall and float away
fleeing the dying flower.

Waking or sleeping
it is all a dream to me.