You lay with stagnation
A sterling object effortlessly within your reach.
It is food, a bag of Doritos.
Open, beckoning for you.

Like a blind beast you stuff yourself into the snackly relive,
Reaching far for any crumb.
The bag is empty, the joy begins to be ripped--

Another bag, Fritos, a repetition,
You immersed yourself into the instant reward of joy and bliss,
then, the second your comfort is complete the hand reaches inside of you pulling out all your joy and replacing it with guilt, sadness, grief, and finally emptiness.
Making you lust for a way to put the planet in reverse, or at least just make it all go away. Disappear.
Or cloak either it or you in a black more thick than oil.

An epiphany.
Fuel yourself and find that in getting up, walking across the room
Opening doors,
Going up and down stairs,
cleaning the self.
A seed will find you.
Plant it, with true and pure care,
Water it, with true and pure care,
Pour your life into it.

And if it is pure

Then when the olive tree is full,
You will lust no more, need no more, want no more.
For what the complex joins you with will not allow anything into its holy trinity.
If it, you, an the other are pure.

Not as silver,
And all will fail and the blind beastly actions of the past exists as if never gone.
For it was simply hiding.

Journey.

When the force of wickedness came upon him,
A force against,
He became overwhelmed,
With a suffocating feeling that all the evils of the world
Were attacking him,
Worry, panic, coldness,
Willed by a nameless engine of the non sensual world.
The beast begins to breath, taking in fuel,
The energy being from his own panic and worry.

A feeling of deathliness takes him over,
He sees a force of death on him,
The trap has begun, the feeling of dieing with no way out
Worry of death marching with a speed unmatchable by an encompassing brightness.

Light, a thread, he pulls
He tries to grasp it with the might of a soul.
It eludes, he asks for the light
The light fills the known universe, erodes the black, breaks the black, banishment.
Cautious joy,
Cautious freedom.
A light of a helper eludes you to your relinquishing task.  
Non sensually.

The moon.


I feel as if it’s the pupil to our eye the sky, showing to us a different world, a world that shares the same pupil looking back through it at us.

I look deep into it, no, through it,
Reaching for another soul,
Another soul looking for me,
For if I am looking, then they are looking.

I think of the other, looking though the same moon,
Down upon all of us, upon you, upon me.
Them too wondering the same question, are they there?

I can feel the answer,
I feel him looking back down upon me
And he feels me searching for him. Even though I am the one who is lost.

Without seeing,
Without hearing,
He answers my questions, and answers questions I knew not of.
I feel everything that man has once wondered,
And I see there irrelevancy.

All my worries are taken up through this glowing pupil in the sky and tossed into nowhere.
Not for me, not for him, not for her, not for it all.

For a burden on me is a burden on him, her, and all.
For the burdens of men blind our view to the great eye. The great truth. The one relevance.