Jul 2017
Maybe hate is just an aspect,
means of time that was or will
do, or spill, eventually, ****
the love we drowned in, remained still...
Maybe hate is another form,
a state of matter, a lapse of reason,
a part of a personal, secret decision,
to save our mind, to protect freedom...
Maybe I have learned to lie
unconsciously to unlearn love,
making excuses to stop,
hoping to run again a year above...
Maybe I've forgotten truth
by will and by a certain choice,
to give my utmost shame a voice,
to take a beating without cause...
Maybe all the time I've known
the difference, but that is, hence
torn up in bitter ignorance'
twisted, deep, black, blissful hands.
means of time that was or will
do, or spill, eventually, ****
the love we drowned in, remained still...
Maybe hate is another form,
a state of matter, a lapse of reason,
a part of a personal, secret decision,
to save our mind, to protect freedom...
Maybe I have learned to lie
unconsciously to unlearn love,
making excuses to stop,
hoping to run again a year above...
Maybe I've forgotten truth
by will and by a certain choice,
to give my utmost shame a voice,
to take a beating without cause...
Maybe all the time I've known
the difference, but that is, hence
torn up in bitter ignorance'
twisted, deep, black, blissful hands.
I cannot feel anything that pushes me out of this calm, insensitive state, the - so to speak - lack of emotions. In this poem, I am just trying to regain some emotional consciousness but it seems to no avail, all seem to be the same in a sense that data is just data and information is just information, words are just words, separated, in a solidified ocean of still thoughts.
(Two-Spirit)
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