Freedom is an expression of want
The desire to move freely;
To speak your mind
But too often we find
A lacking in the base refrain
Of purpose and meaning
Behind the individual definition
That separates and divides
US from the animals
That creep and crawl
Along the earth
Never stopping to consider,
Even for a moment,
That the essence of being free
Is a function of OUR need

Only slaves forget liberty

Recently I realized
There is a fine line
Between good and evil
Take someone like me
Philosopher, poet, prophet
Whose journey through life
Has been wrought between
Heaven and hell
Always seeing the good
And trying to be better
Only to be met with disdain
That has alienated the best of me
To a small pinprick
Barely a memory
Of the potential I once had
Now in its place rests hate;
Scorn for all those
Who have made me what I am
An evil tyrant
Absent love
=================================
I will make this country tremble
You will not deny another their light
As I train my sights on your authority
Dead because you took my rights

"Buy me a drink?"
She asked him
All dolled up
In layer upon layer
Of cover-up
Accentuated by
The strong stench
Of the wrong perfume
To him, she was fake
A person that exists
Only for four words
Or 4 syllables
Temp or ar y

To most men
This invitation
Equates to one night
Of senseless pleasure
In the shallows
Of human experience
That propagates
Short term like
Over long term love
Never realizing
The three most important
Syllables
I love you

Man, Let me tell you about late night drinking. Starting with the urge, more like an itch. A vain attempt to cover up the problems of the day. Rather than simply talking we just run away.

Next comes the drink to quench that whiskey thirst. Either chasing the burn or going straight, sweet intoxication forming as the memories fade.

Then comes the ground. A fact that is never soft but hard as you collide in a blind stupor, unable to control your movements while loosing your temper.

When suddenly the process is reversed. That sweet southern comfort comes back first and your head begins to pound, hammering and beating. Making you regret the decisions of that inebriated mind feeling.

So next time I go out Late Night Drinking I wont be alright. Since nothing good ever happens after midnight.

Sit and talk
Write the soul
Blank canvas
Stained red
Talking all
Those words away
Twisting madness
Turning gray
Running over
All the stories
Every sip
Turns into more
Blue thoughts
Of the falling rain
Don't compare
To this life of pain
As I hit this green
Nothing has changed
Everything is yellow
Nothing the same

I never understood the real meaning behind poetry and philosophy.

The former takes great meaning and condenses it by duration reduction; Compacting enormous information and emotion in just a few beautiful words.

The latter is the priors direct opposite, opposing condensation for elaboration to the grandest questions a mortal being could ask. It's defined as a love of wisdom but really it's just the wisdom we love.

Both portend to be a front of art and an artistic mind.

So it makes you question these opposites and the balance they bring?

If combined "what is the product" of poetry and philosophy?

I'll tell you,
It's Prophecy

Frozen,
Close to absolute zero
In a state of near preservation
Do our atoms collide
Breaching the comatose exclusivity
Of each electron as it slowly orbits the nucleus.
In this way we can simplify the quantum
To a near exact state of uncertainty
Which Heisenberg predicted
Even as cold as our atoms have become
Their exact speed
Or their exact location
Continues to remain a mystery
As neither can be known plural
Only singular to the extent
That the realm of the smallest of particles
Is dependent on the temperature
Within the heart of a proton