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Mar 2016 · 376
Dark Clouds on a Stormy Day
Lucas Mock Mar 2016
Dark stormy unspeakables
form eclipses of the shining sun
and the sarcastic ecstasy of a drained emotional high, of cutting veins
while scathing shards of soul
are struggling against the unearthly cyclone,
in conjunction with dirt so mundane
form a manifesto of fire
to drag the heathen into hatred
scorch the earth to raise
a plagued farm of scuttling scarabs
beneath the morphing skin
of diseased brain matter
splattered on canvases.

The cosmic cantatas of hope's celestial voices
coldly calculate into oblivion
while hordes of thunderstorms
in calamitous cacophony
set fire to the wilderness
food to fuel the demons
that crawl into our eyes and retinas
moving our nerves like we're marionettes
severing the stockpiles of memories in our psyche
forcing forgetfulness and ignorance
upon our fretted, filtered minds
and make us fail to recollect
those sunny days
hiding behind the army of darkness
singing etudes to unknown questions
praying to the eternities
or maybe begging?
If you feel like this can be edited at all, please say so. Your criticism will be appreciated a great deal. Thank you!
Feb 2016 · 303
Rise of The Innocent
Lucas Mock Feb 2016
Maturity breeds contempt
and its aging raises fire
that seethes at the vices and sins
that encompass the world entire

Knowledge does undo the oyster
and shows the pearls of each other's wrongs
morality demands a fervent reaction
and now the globe is in chaos' throngs

And in what results we follow our soul
we find our brethen stuck in a divide
and the only solution within our minds
is the rise of the innocent, those without a side

so now our government becomes birthed with children
those without knowledge, those without power
and eons start, with dull, lazy, inactivity
giving way to the evolution of a warm, gilded, shower

But even the innocent do desire some fun
and the innocent know nothing if wrong nor right
and so down jump the children from their high golden throne
to start a game, some mischief, a trite little fight

And now what has risen is only pure hell
decreed by our lords who we loved and did dote
and while now the rise of the innocent now has true meaning
the chaos returns, and up comes the smoke
Jan 2016 · 1.0k
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
Drips and drops of lab-tested fluids
pouring lipids in curves all over the place
while pops and pangs of tiny cells
bubble and fizzle in petri disks and flasks
regurgitating out strands of fine DNA
mix and synthesis of unusual entities
bubbling cauldrons of chemical ritual
give rise to spells of mystic creation
boldly configuring new organic oddities
from lab nonsense to ancient theory
mitochondrial splits and caverns
entries into the unknown of man's babble
for the fine and final production of science's silk
that which is life
and undeniable to our being
so creation can forever stand tall and strong
in the triumphant art of recreation
I plan to edit this poem, so I would encourage readers to give criticism on how to improve it. Negative criticism is fact, I would encourage that as well as ordinary criticism. Your comments will be appreciated greatly. Thank you!
Jan 2016 · 227
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
...dark and nameless shadows
that you can never touch...
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
If I told you my name
how would you know that you can trust me?
Some ancient cave might hold the answer
An infallible possibility
though maybe not a probability
***** glasses can see half-truths
but can they see the smudges?
And so, can I be trusted?
Say yes-I dare you to
But explain in essay format
with strategic logic, rhyme and reason
Possibility? Probability?
There are some real questions
that no one can answer...
I plan on editing this one for if anyone has any suggestions on how to improve this poem, please say so. Your criticism will be appreciated a lot.
Jan 2016 · 222
The Smell of Flowers
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
I never liked the smell of flowers
so bittersweet and sour
behind that simple, lovable, face
lies a prickly, sadistic, satire

So many people seem to forget
that on every rose lies a thorn
but yet to roses and their sickly cousins
people's hearts and love are sworn

All we see is a perfect circle
eternally a logo to true simplicity
but in reality that deceptive grin
is home to a labyrinth of untold intricacy

And so I could never stand the smell of flowers
that giggling honey so cool and sly
for I could never shake off the feeling
that those petals are but home to a lie
Jan 2016 · 241
The Plight of the Bishop
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
Once upon a long time ago
on a land so far, far, away
in an unknown kingdom unknown to itself
a bishop entered the fray

He promised the greatest gift of freedom
burn our bondages into sand
and open the hope of mighty salvation
and entry into the Promised Land

Bells ring brightly around the world
strike the most beautiful of harmonious chords
and when all those minds begin to unite
for priceless gifts they arrive in hordes

They gather in front of the mighty church doors
merge into a conglomeration
and in a fervent, selfish, call, they say,
"Bishop, lead us to salvation!"

After pacing back and forth a lot
the bishop replied, "Follow me!"
and off everyone went on a winding path
trailing off as far as the eye can see

The bishop stopped in an ancient cave
in a mountain with secrets that sing
he turned around and spoke with fire,
"Friends, I can not give you anything!"

"Brothers and sisters, you just must learn,
spirituality is not on earth by presence!
It lies in metaphor, in goodwill and sermon!
The Promised Land is but here in essence!"

"Chains of the earth are not found in heaven
and so heavenly souls you must make!
If you follow the shepherd to freedom on earth
then salvation is something you'll have to forsake!"

The crowd was stunned by these fiery words
put to confusion by this engagement
Were earthly bodies not allowed in heaven?
Was that the point of this engagement?

Fiery words had kindled cold fiery souls
and you fight fire with fire, many do say
and a revolution of earthly interests
was made to end the earth's dismay

You can still find the bishop in the cave
forgotten by time, blood dried on the ground
and regardless of his loss, his words ring true
as the earth has never found the Promised Land
Jan 2016 · 388
Dead Planet
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
Ancient secrets in dark, dry, caves
filled with airs of eldritch winds
suffocated of life and it's needs
solemn graveyard to the nonexistent

Biting brown of antiquated dunes
dead fire of fossil sand
burning with the lost rage of lost ages
exterior to great alchemic secrets

Heavens filled with brooding anxiety
pining and craving teem in the atmosphere
desires to combust and crystallize
eroded off by laws of impossible physics

Uncongealed remnants of shells and beasts
bacteria and algae now unearthed to light
testimonial to buried memories
mummified by cadavers of glaciers and mesas

But a glacier for whom?
Can resolution be concluded by the uinverse
that vast cosmic void hanging in oracle's riddles
staring back at the stargazers?

Ancient secrets, eldritch airs,
solemn graveyards, and requiem for what?

— The End —