strong spirits
welcoming in nature-
powerful in instinct-
trying to find a moral compass-
one that they can believe in,
with all of their ****** hearts
searching for complete harmony
in a static world, charged by the sun.
their own saturated, sturdy bodies
learning to not know-
experiencing the now-
accepting that simplicity is beautiful-
realizing that no life has to be so complex.
—
no life needs to have so many thumbtacks
stuck in its cork board,
hanging on its bedroom wall-
only to be stared at by its owner
to distract from the present-
to keep sentimentality afloat-
to compare and contrast;
to remind a tired soul
of better moments and feelings
in its personal history.
but when those tiny memoirs
are reminisced upon,
the soul becomes vulnerable-
susceptible to reminding itself
of memories it does not want
to have as its own.
memories most likely forgotten-
blocked, and left somewhere
in the owner’s brain-
lost, due to lack of importance-
deterred from its conscious-
pushed back into its energy’s
open life storage, unconsciousness.
—
those memories like sharp tacks,
metal tips, dropped and unseen-
abandoned in a grey **** carpet-
left there so many months ago-
waiting for their owner
to decide their fate-
to either lay its bare foot
upon their thin metal,
creating a river of crimson-
so they may be finished with
their metaphorical life-
thrown in the trash can-
or they could taste the sweetness
of not being crushed-
of having one more day
to become as best as they can be-
to enjoy the soft, scraggily **** carpet-
to be unwanted, unfounded-
to aide in the growth of the now-
by refusing to resurface.
those memories, remembered or not-
are locked behind the purple indents
above the owner’s cheekbones-
below its red, puffy eyes-
violet crescents-
slowly caused by sleeplessness
and lack of nutrition.
—
if the past was not meant
to be consistently remembered,
why does humanity constantly try
to decode the future?
recorded history is meant so
living beings will not
repeat previous mistakes-
the human race is a cycle-
history will repeat itself-
mistakes and all-
the future is completely unknown.
predictions are never certain-
why spend the life one was given
trying to figure out why humanity
exists the way it does-
when in actuality, the researcher
is missing out on humanity as it is.
why try to figure out what happens
when someone’s energy is depleted-
when a mind is laid to rest, dead.
while searching, one is losing out
on actually being alive-
no one knows exactly
what happens when mortals die-
humans have been searching
ever since they developed cognizant
abilities, conscious minds…
the future will happen eventually-
people will experience it when it is time-
it is wasteful to spend one’s life
always looking for the answer-
instead of celebrating, and exploring
the earth that has given humanity
endless opportunities to love.
—
ghosts of creative minds
walking amongst the living-
ghosts encased in flesh
with no memory of their past lives-
their auras radiating-
saturated with ambition and kindness
following different dreams-
floating toward their goals
in a similar manner,
all with the same amount
of vigor and curiosity-
young (old) spirits;
hoping for their fellow
outspoken, anxious specters
to listen, and notice their potential-
to make their words understood-
to show their many points of view-
to let go of their pasts-
to stop worrying about the future-
to live in the present.
intelligent, brightly glowing entities-
the ones with flowing energies,
pigmented with color-
the ones striving for positivity;
the ones who really wish
for just one simple thing-
only for their peers
to consider clarity
as a degree or two on their own,
individual moral compasses.
to love this beautiful world
with no bias, with equality,
with excitement, and with
virtuous appreciation of life
as a common mystery-
one that would end a lot better
if it was left unsolved.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
strong spirits
welcoming in nature-
powerful in instinct-
trying to find a moral compass-
one that they can believe in,
with all of their ****** hearts
searching for complete harmony
in a static world, charged by the sun.
their own saturated, sturdy bodies
learning to not know-
experiencing the now-
accepting that simplicity is beautiful-
realizing that no life has to be so complex.
—
no life needs to have so many thumbtacks
stuck in its cork board,
hanging on its bedroom wall-
only to be stared at by its owner
to distract from the present-
to keep sentimentality afloat-
to compare and contrast;
to remind a tired soul
of better moments and feelings
in its personal history.
but when those tiny memoirs
are reminisced upon,
the soul becomes vulnerable-
susceptible to reminding itself
of memories it does not want
to have as its own.
memories most likely forgotten-
blocked, and left somewhere
in the owner’s brain-
lost, due to lack of importance-
deterred from its conscious-
pushed back into its energy’s
open life storage, unconsciousness.
—
those memories like sharp tacks,
metal tips, dropped and unseen-
abandoned in a grey **** carpet-
left there so many months ago-
waiting for their owner
to decide their fate-
to either lay its bare foot
upon their thin metal,
creating a river of crimson-
so they may be finished with
their metaphorical life-
thrown in the trash can-
or they could taste the sweetness
of not being crushed-
of having one more day
to become as best as they can be-
to enjoy the soft, scraggily **** carpet-
to be unwanted, unfounded-
to aide in the growth of the now-
by refusing to resurface.
those memories, remembered or not-
are locked behind the purple indents
above the owner’s cheekbones-
below its red, puffy eyes-
violet crescents-
slowly caused by sleeplessness
and lack of nutrition.
—
if the past was not meant
to be consistently remembered,
why does humanity constantly try
to decode the future?
recorded history is meant so
living beings will not
repeat previous mistakes-
the human race is a cycle-
history will repeat itself-
mistakes and all-
the future is completely unknown.
predictions are never certain-
why spend the life one was given
trying to figure out why humanity
exists the way it does-
when in actuality, the researcher
is missing out on humanity as it is.
why try to figure out what happens
when someone’s energy is depleted-
when a mind is laid to rest, dead.
while searching, one is losing out
on actually being alive-
no one knows exactly
what happens when mortals die-
humans have been searching
ever since they developed cognizant
abilities, conscious minds…
the future will happen eventually-
people will experience it when it is time-
it is wasteful to spend one’s life
always looking for the answer-
instead of celebrating, and exploring
the earth that has given humanity
endless opportunities to love.
—
ghosts of creative minds
walking amongst the living-
ghosts encased in flesh
with no memory of their past lives-
their auras radiating-
saturated with ambition and kindness
following different dreams-
floating toward their goals
in a similar manner,
all with the same amount
of vigor and curiosity-
young (old) spirits;
hoping for their fellow
outspoken, anxious specters
to listen, and notice their potential-
to make their words understood-
to show their many points of view-
to let go of their pasts-
to stop worrying about the future-
to live in the present.
intelligent, brightly glowing entities-
the ones with flowing energies,
pigmented with color-
the ones striving for positivity;
the ones who really wish
for just one simple thing-
only for their peers
to consider clarity
as a degree or two on their own,
individual moral compasses.
to love this beautiful world
with no bias, with equality,
with excitement, and with
virtuous appreciation of life
as a common mystery-
one that would end a lot better
if it was left unsolved.
I did this after having writer's block for about two months. One night a few weeks ago around 3 a.m., I started to write and the words just bursted from my fingertips. This is probably the longest poem that I have ever written. (First draft)
