Oh how the mighty have fallen,
Fallen from their self proclaimed heights
Built upon cracked and half crumbling foundations.
And I stand before myself to gawk at the pitiful sight.
A shameful disposition amid the rubble, self admission.
How wise I was before!
How wise was I before?
Beg I ask myself, knowing of course the answer.
Not wise, not wise at all.
But did I see it coming?
Could I predict my own end?
Had I knowledge but chose to pretend?
Perhaps...
Somehow I feel another me.
Beside the Crumbled and the Gawker.
The old, outspoken, grey-bearded me
Stands there and shakes his head.
He knew all along it would come to this, said all along.
And all along I did ignore.
Pretended not to hear, but somehow heard.
Knew he was there, probably right, but I didn't care.
Deep in my subconcious mind did these inner me's converse
In a place outside of time, outside of space.
Somehow I recognise these words I told myself.
The unhealed man should not choose to build upon himself.
Time can not heal the wounds hidden from the light
Hidden out of sight. Left, to be an empty space
Covered over, but not erased. Never erased
But soon forgotten, until the Time of Rumbling
We all have such holes I know.
All have built upon ourselves and forgotten (or ignored)
That lies and misdeads lie beneath us,
Holding us up as we reach always higher.
Because of time, we have no time.
Because of fear, we have such fear!
We choose to build upon ourselves,
Not to heal, not to see whats clear.
But our future has long been spoken of,
By that older, white bearded self
Who, all knowing but outspoken,
Warns us of our doom.
So I urge you, as a crumbled man,
As a man gawking upon his crumbled self,
To tend to your soul, to resolve your wrongs,
Before building once more yourself.
To be healthy in pureness of pure exsistence.
To breath fresh air of honesty and truth honestly,
And to reach for selfless love, self-lovingly.
Then and only then, is it right to build again.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
Oh how the mighty have fallen,
Fallen from their self proclaimed heights
Built upon cracked and half crumbling foundations.
And I stand before myself to gawk at the pitiful sight.
A shameful disposition amid the rubble, self admission.
How wise I was before!
How wise was I before?
Beg I ask myself, knowing of course the answer.
Not wise, not wise at all.
But did I see it coming?
Could I predict my own end?
Had I knowledge but chose to pretend?
Perhaps...
Somehow I feel another me.
Beside the Crumbled and the Gawker.
The old, outspoken, grey-bearded me
Stands there and shakes his head.
He knew all along it would come to this, said all along.
And all along I did ignore.
Pretended not to hear, but somehow heard.
Knew he was there, probably right, but I didn't care.
Deep in my subconcious mind did these inner me's converse
In a place outside of time, outside of space.
Somehow I recognise these words I told myself.
The unhealed man should not choose to build upon himself.
Time can not heal the wounds hidden from the light
Hidden out of sight. Left, to be an empty space
Covered over, but not erased. Never erased
But soon forgotten, until the Time of Rumbling
We all have such holes I know.
All have built upon ourselves and forgotten (or ignored)
That lies and misdeads lie beneath us,
Holding us up as we reach always higher.
Because of time, we have no time.
Because of fear, we have such fear!
We choose to build upon ourselves,
Not to heal, not to see whats clear.
But our future has long been spoken of,
By that older, white bearded self
Who, all knowing but outspoken,
Warns us of our doom.
So I urge you, as a crumbled man,
As a man gawking upon his crumbled self,
To tend to your soul, to resolve your wrongs,
Before building once more yourself.
To be healthy in pureness of pure exsistence.
To breath fresh air of honesty and truth honestly,
And to reach for selfless love, self-lovingly.
Then and only then, is it right to build again.
After I stumble in life I feel like I always knew it was coming. Like a wiser me was foretelling of the impending doom, but somehow not conciously. From so far in the back of my head do these words come that it is easy to believe I didnt hear them.
Request permission to use this poem