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Julius Nov 2012
Your eyes are sockets of disapproval
My eyes are sunk in their reticence
Would I be the flustering morning sun?
No I'm not, I only break the dawn
When, creeping from my slothing insolence
I enter the world afresh to some harried call
A new day stretching my body from contortion
To a slumbered, slouched hunch
With bags afrenzy under these eyes that stare back
Are portals to my  soul, which is also empty
Reflections of woeful, haggard dejection
Which, in my mind's eye, which is yours,
Give me call to curl back to my hibernation
To recede like my own vacant eyes do,
To my seat of morose repose
Senseless, as I stare thickly into space
Beholding my dreams strewn before me
As I curl away from them, and they seem ever reachable

Moments ago, I used to speak to myself
A mutterance for the day's outlook
Something to find a more suitable reflection
Waiting for me at the day's end
A worldly philosophy, or mind set proposal
But a strange shame spoke back at me,
As I perceived my speaking of these words
That with each day's turn only mildly echoed
As I turned from monotony with each night
To mediocrity of passionless habit

With a pinch of thought each glance conjures
I look upon myself in years,
My futile vision, my rampant egoism
With which the twinkling eye discerns me
At my now stage, and with
Reassuring confidence tells me not to change
As with time's growth will I become you
But blink and I return to forever
For without vigor and drive will this image
Imprint and stagnate its glare upon this glass
My eternal face, my motiveless eyes
Which so piteously transfix themselves on wonder
But turn up only rubble and soil

Now, I turn in disgust, relinquishing my desires
And, turning to the hour, feel slowly
The weight of each second's thunder
Crash upon my shoulders as it is snatched from me
And now I must not lounge through this new morn
I must not lessen with the tide
What I have stored up in greatness
But instead find the key to my ghostly heart
Bring myself back,
Forward into each new life
Julius Jul 2011
Whirls of smoke have sidled our brains
Leaving emptiness
Nights of withering inconsequence
Tinted with ghastly strokes of melancholy wit
As we grasp for more, addicted
Believers in merriment, but to no end

Fooled. The past has gone
Ah! But we are stuck, bitter nostalgics
Laughing at the times past, when we strove
Happy, for entertainment,
And stumbled'pon narcotics
I feel I have seen the failures in our ways

We've no love like we did once
But you each remain
Staunch defenders, heads spinning  
Single minded in your quest
Sober you are morose, reticent
But what merriment is brought?

Why did I take this rending smoke?
For these tired looks, into nothingness
As we recede into bubbles of self-indulgence?
We disconnect, and throw away all reciprocity
As weeds paucity causes faces to turn yonder
Or to themselves in sadness.

Is it that we are dying?
Or will be be forever stuck, in this eternal stupor?

What can stir us from these technological wonders
That light our faces in our self-absorbed, transfixed stares?
With comfort paramount, and misery found
In repressed echoings of a warmer, better place, away
From the throes of competition fought with tooth and claw
For meaningless aspects

Far from the yelps of laughter
The endless, choked machinations
The giggles and dreams of helpless schoolboys
They are only found to us when **** is plentiful
Those days have receded, like us
Away from our sight and our thoughts

We don’t embrace the life we give eachother in company
As we could, no,
Stinginess and selfishness are first
We don’t create a sound
As much as we engulf others
In our stream of subtle consciousness
Is this what you wish for?
A world of these faces staring, cold, tired
Is this what you think of?
When you dream of some stoner’s Utopia?

Or does malice engulf us too much to look upon ourselves as we do others
With phased memories that act as barriers to progression
And our life.                                                            ­                                         My friend
Your flat face may turn from this to silent, personal mutterings
Of cursed levity
As you are cursed with a ghostly heart.
You should not utter a word of revile
Or turn yourself up in sneers

Trust in what I tell, with honest roused from my soul
And do not take it in passing
Like you so turgidly and heedlessly do all things
Crying hope shattered in these passing moments
With evil beyond compare,
Incarnate in your expression,

Do not, my friend
Look upon me with the icy malice of derisiveness
Nor with the shallow, empty eyes of hedonistic senselessness
No, brother, instead realize
With momentary individualism, the gravity, at least to me
Of these words. I speak morbid
Of my, our humanity, in our restless silence
And our uttered oaths and in our artifice of the tongue
And in all things that shiver my blood to even think of

If it is so that our acquaintance is founded on a passionate whim
On a fairy’s wing, on the smothered apparition of a dream
And not grounded in earthly brotherhood,
Reposed of efforts of the mind
Then this is the end for us, brother
For I will no longer cut my heart across this herb, turncoat
As you have, in its infirmity
And cold infer’nality

— The End —