Can not distinguish my breaths
Why I take in these threats
That takes grasp
Of my fair air
That clears my internal affairs
And though it seems my anguish
Is lost to the polished scheme
I have ingrained within my eyes
I am reminded again and again
In abstract I contract a line
That fools the absolute
To the Fin
Only finding the rules dilute
To a drinker of truth
Facing the sky
With the clouded justification
To find association
In the tone
Of the polarities
Sincerities
To merge into
Middle linear ties
Overtaken by java sages
Virally programmed by ages
Of systematic impulses,
All false
The need, strength, and balance
Is a mediator
That is an open instigator
Over and moved closer
Holding on
I might lose her
Not in my own right,
Of emotional plight
But a fight fought long
Within each song
Fused for this muse
Doing wrong to my mind
All along, is this poet wrong?
Have I exposed it all?
That there is nothing left
To transpose to proses
Or is this a step
I have yet to step on to
These words these mere
Entendres in parallel to
My daily tears for fears
Vice viscerally seared
Repeatedly, incessantly
To attempt to understand
That Socratic it is, to withstand
The frantic resolve, to accept
That there is something
In nothing
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC
Can not distinguish my breaths
Why I take in these threats
That takes grasp
Of my fair air
That clears my internal affairs
And though it seems my anguish
Is lost to the polished scheme
I have ingrained within my eyes
I am reminded again and again
In abstract I contract a line
That fools the absolute
To the Fin
Only finding the rules dilute
To a drinker of truth
Facing the sky
With the clouded justification
To find association
In the tone
Of the polarities
Sincerities
To merge into
Middle linear ties
Overtaken by java sages
Virally programmed by ages
Of systematic impulses,
All false
The need, strength, and balance
Is a mediator
That is an open instigator
Over and moved closer
Holding on
I might lose her
Not in my own right,
Of emotional plight
But a fight fought long
Within each song
Fused for this muse
Doing wrong to my mind
All along, is this poet wrong?
Have I exposed it all?
That there is nothing left
To transpose to proses
Or is this a step
I have yet to step on to
These words these mere
Entendres in parallel to
My daily tears for fears
Vice viscerally seared
Repeatedly, incessantly
To attempt to understand
That Socratic it is, to withstand
The frantic resolve, to accept
That there is something
In nothing
10/28/07 ©AGDP
Request permission to use this poem