Ink - Hello Poetry

Ink Apr 2017

heaven is simply a place on earth
and hell is the magma
we'll eventually all fall into

the ground is cracking
and it's not long
until it splits underneath us

our world is breaking apart
from our preoccupied actions
of violence and hatred

while we search to gain
money, power, glory and purpose
we actively lose our minds

this heavenly place is the first world,
full of ease and ignorant bliss
and the fire of the third world is from our firearms

they do not suffer so we don't have
they suffer because we let them
and so the fire blazes on

our craze helps mute their cries
and the sounds of the splitting ground
as the hell-bound rush up to engulf our sins along with us

I find it terrifying that I'm able to feel so strongly about the issues in our world one day, and the next I've reverted back to caring about problems so minuscule.

We think so much about theory, about if people are good or bad or if God exists. If stopped thinking so subjectively sometimes, maybe then we'd be able to deal with the horrific objective truths of our relative realities.

#syria #third #world #first #hell #heaven #god #war

Ink Mar 2017

Depressed Weather

Today
A child of nature walked out under the bare sky
for the first time since she broke

The Sky,
So joyed to be able to see her beauty,
began to weep a wondrous rain storm

But
The girl thought The Sky was upset
and hid back under car hoods and roofs once again

Its Tears
Flooded the world as The Sky wept harder,
wondering when its kin would return

The girl,
So beautiful that she was comparable to the sky,
would hide away until she would be fixed

Next spring,
She would try to be a part of nature again
but this spring she must heal before she can blossom

#love #girl #sadness #beautiful #rain #nature #beauty #sky #spring #pretty

Ink Mar 2017

purifying days

these days feel like the soap bar
my mother used to lather all over me
as she bathed me in her
parents' home

they're soft and cleansing
to the point where I feel refreshed
and pure
and new

but as she cleaned over my chest
where my small heart beat
she dropped the soap bar
and it disappeared into the cloudy waters

soon these days will slip away
just as the bar did
and the purity and ease will wash away
to expose the filth i've hidden within myself

#happy #memories #filth #dirt

Ink Mar 2017

Sometimes I Think

Sometimes
I feel as if I embody the universe
And that I have the strength of the big bang within me.
It seems tirelessly eternal
To be forever found within the depths of music and art,
Dancing in the feeling of living.

Sometimes
I feel as if the universe embodies me
And that its fragility is the same as that of my body.
It seems achingly temporary
To be forever lost in the shallows of yesterday, today and tomorrow,
Fading into the pool of time.

Some times
I wonder if I am temporary
Because I will disintegrate so easily and so soon.
It seems eerily lonesome,
To have my existence and experiences buried with me
Decaying with the forgotten dead.

Sometimes,
I wonder if I am eternal
Because my bones will become part of the earth.
It seems pleasantly wholesome
To have my being preserved within something greater,
Giving way to new life.

Other times
I fret to feel or wonder at all
From concern that I may crawl too far into the unanswerable.
It is covertly treacherous
To hover around the realm of realizing human importance,
Falling into a spiral of maddening uncertainty.

I find it difficult to think in the surface level. I've realized that most people stay there because it is safe. Somehow, my mind still craves danger. Too many of my days have been spent chasing circular ideas, inevitably inconclusive. The unknown is terrifying for the very reason that I could never think of how to solve it.

It is too difficult to start thinking about trivial matters, so I have given up thinking about reality all together. Fantasy always allows for conclusions, and these conclusions are specifically catered to my liking. It never bores me as there is always something new to think about, something new to conclude purposelessly.

On nights when my mind is restless and my curiosity is as high as my weariness, some thoughts about the real world trickle into my head. That is when I think collectively of all the thoughts I wish I didn't have the mental capacity to consider. It is on those very nights that I nearly lose a grasp of my sanity before I climb back up to refreshing breath of imagination.

#dying #death #thinking #earth #universe #overthinking #humans

Ink Feb 2017

Forgetting Love

My headphones play the song of your voice
And the words you spoke as I whispered my fears to you.
I find myself tapping my feet
To the rhythm of all love:
Chasing, cherishing, regretting, forgetting
One, two, three, four
It’s a beat my heart has been conditioned to hear
Since my mother taught me the song as an unborn.
Just like her,
I know you’ve kept my secrets secure,
And unlike you,
I have not forgotten our midnight promises.

I can’t help but close my eyes every time I long
To feel the warmth of your smile that night in August.
And there, behind my eyelids
Your image is burnt like a childhood memory
Unwilling to be forgotten.

I stare at what I remember of you as the beat pounds in my skull.
“Forever,” you had said.
“You and me- just the two of us- forever.”
It’s a shame our forever was only as temporary
As your breaths in this world were
And now that I know we were never meant to be
I’ll hold this song inside my head
And your image in my mind’s eye
Until I am forced to forget you

Love does not break because of death. It breaks by the human notion that moving on is essential, and by the weakness of the memory.

Inspired by H.A.

#love #death #forgetting #forever #memory #missing

Ink Feb 2017

A Match that Lights the Fire

Within the lonely tunnels of the underground
lurk soft honeysuckle smiles.
These young hopefuls are surrounded by darkness
but in each one, there is a hidden light.

For some, this light is an idea.
For others, a burning passion waiting to be exploited.
But for a select few, this light is their whole self
- their being is a treasure yet to be released into the world.

He is the first light that shone so wildly,
I could see it even from within his mind.
He is dipped in talent and purity,
unseen in the higher, filthier realm.

One day, these hopefuls will surface from the underground.
And he will be the first spark of this fire
that illuminates our hopeless world
with the eternal flame of art.

As my Bright Hopeful shines above
I will remain in the dark underground
where my light has long since dimmed out.
And i will wonder if he remembers the match that lit him.

I know a boy who will be so big one day. He is not any more special than you and I, but the sum of his parts make him extraordinary. He is a gift that the world must open.

We are both underground artists waiting for our chance to shine.

I feel as if my chance will pass me by, and my light will die out. So before then, I'm using my light as a match to start his fire. If a lit candle touches the tip of an unlit candle, its legacy will live on. I am doing just that. I hope to touch to keep his fire burning long enough for him to see the day where his chance will come.

I just hope when he makes it big, he remembers how I started this fire within him instead of focusing on how to make that fire bigger.

Your roots are more important than your branches. If you forget your humble beginning, you'll get too caught up in the end of it all. I hope he doesn't make that mistake.

#hope #artists #beginnings #special #underground

Ink Feb 2017

The Quiet Listeners

With heads ducked low and hoods pulled high
The Quiet walk through life
With their eyes shut
And their ears wide enough
To hear the softest of hearts
That beat in the chests of the Loud.

The Quiet is made of eerie spirits
Of happy and sad and empty human shells.
They watch as others lively live their days away
And only dream of one day whispering
To the life of the party
When the party comes alive.

They’ll say:
‘Why are you pretending?’

The Life of the Party,
So high on euphoric relationships
Will drink away the question
Like they hid away their sorrow.
And only at dawn when the alcohol fades
Will they panic at the question’s exposure.

The Quiet is made of strong shattered souls
That watch the Loud lie to themselves.
As the partygoers pretend to be painless,
The Quiet bathe in their hollow pasts
Until the cold waters become soothing enough
For the Quiet to gain the courage to speak.

They’ll say:
‘There is a Quiet within us all.’

With their soft voices and youthful wisdom
The Quiet live invisibly amongst the Loud.
And as they watch the world ignore its own misery
They’ll listen to the soft hearts of the sufferers
To convince the Loud that one day they’ll be strong enough
To suffer in silence.

#materialism #shy #listening