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There is so little left,
And still that i need to question.
So untrusting of what i can see, hear or touch,
My senses fooled a thousand times and a thousand times again.

Hardened fortifications blossom,
Bringing perpetual reinforcement.
Working for at least a respite,
From coyote hordes outdoors.

Odysseus waits at the gates,
Educated eyes identify his horses,
Staring straight through the belly of the beasts,
Thwarting threats before they take to action.

King in the learned castle,
To never be fooled again.
Entrenched deep in his defences,
Securing solace through his reclusion.

it is lonely on your own

There is so little left,
This gives forth the question,
so untrusting of what i see, hear, touch but feel?
Perhaps the fraud is mine.

Cynical battlements sprout,
With spores of harsh repairs.
Crusading for disenchantment,
Cry wolf and call coyote.

Teach to never looked beyond the gates,
Focus attention in,
Cowered behind walls and towers,
Forever fearful to lower the bridges.

Lord of what little is leftover,
If any is left at all,
Prisoner to himself,
Until he allow himself to leave.
jcl Sep 12
it is what you most fear, your reoccurring nightmare, the thing you can not grasp, understand, that shorts your brain, that death is the end, there is no after life, no purpose to your existence, no just god sitting on a throne, dispensing justice, punishing the evil, rewarding the good. reality is too hard and harsh, you pray to god, is it true, you are more my creation than i am yours.

how do you reconcile the fact that you know so deep down inside is true. you lie to yourself, suppress the fear, repress the thoughts, ignore what you see with you own eyes. the fear rises, the anxiety worsens, the insomnia lengthens, you fall prey to cognitive dissonance. to understand is to forgive, the anger, the irrational behavior.

the idea that you are mortal is unbearable, that you will die, your flesh rot, and be forgotten. how any man can make sense of it and live, court, marry, have children, when the world has spun out of control, the three horses are here. the pale horse is coming, it will soon be time to die.
Hereshecomes Aug 10
Murmurs on pillow
throbbing at temples
made of steel
by now.

Hear me out
I said
holding signs
visible to me
and to me

But silence
is a temptation I can’t resist
as the body trembles
at full throttle
to the beats of innocence

or is it
cognitive dissonance?
Ava Jul 1
Icy snowdrops lay fallen
At my smug warmth's feet
The fire inside me lays burning
As I freeze near a coal-heap
Snow and frost begin to claim my body
While flames bury my soul
If only someone would drown me
So I could die in the middle of the road
It’s easy for anyone to associate harmony with music.
I’m no exception.
I’ve been an alto since I learned how to sing,
Dedicating the past seven years to rhythmic consonance.
That’s not the case for what’s in my heart.
In fact, the past seven years,
I’ve felt at constant war with myself.
Ironic, coming from a pacifist.
I can’t love my neighbor as myself,
If I’ve never known that feeling.
I’ve been taught to despise
Every one of my imperfections,
Learned how to hide my flaws;
Nothing but perfection was accepted.
None of my friends know the depth of sadness,
The dark in my heart,
Or the intensity of my rage.
I don’t know who I am,
Or who I want to be.
Nothing about my emotional state
Sings like a four-part harmony.
Nothing goes together,
It’s all a mess,
Pointlessly swept under the carpet
And I hope against hope
No one is smart enough to look underneath.
I can’t write about peace
If I never seem to relax.
I can’t pretend I’m alright
When I stress over everything.
I’ve never known harmony
Outside of sheet music,
And I’m terrified I never will.
Heather McDaniel Nov 2018
Just hours since I learned of the great fall
my childhood enemy has taken.
My heart is shaken in internal squall.
Yet still, there is joy which I partake in

Why feel guilt at such a time, so long sought?
When others still roam the alleys of night;
our nightmare meetings still frequent and fraught.
The terror still real in the broad daylight.

I have been, largely, where she has now stood.
I have ground teeth on the obloquy.
I can’t rejoice now, though I wish I could
**** this infernal anisotropy!

And yet anger smolders at the pylons;
burning bridges and lashing at icons.
A few still remain but I never believed even this much justice could be had. I've learned late of this but it is still hard to decide how I feel about it. I certainly never expected to feel anything but contempt for this person but I can't help but to remember much of what they probably experienced. It's almost like reliving it and impossible to enjoy without unease.
Daviaso Sep 2018
Five of us sit together
Four are boys
Three are gamers
Two are sick
One is me
Maybe one day people will know what this signifies, but currently only the five of us have a clue.
Glenn Currier Aug 2018
Missed a step of the stepping stool
smacked the sidewalk with my face
felt like a blithering fool
what happened to my grace

First parched earth of drought
now we’re so soaked with rain
the birdseed’s begun to sprout
dare I holler or complain

I think I need a change of scene
boredom cries for the next valley over
to smell the new scent of green
hear honey bees buzzing clover

They say hearing voices like yours
can be soothing and cozy
but too much harmony bores
and I think a little stink can be rosy

Living life in extremes
isn’t for me and isn’t sound
maybe it’s about stretching the seams
but not to be unbound

I don’t know if balance is my fate
Yes, equilibrium has its uses
but I like a tune that syncopates
and enough spice to excite the juices.
That recent fall where I hit my head reminded me of the delicate balance of life that is so easily taken for granted.  Grateful there was no concussion or any internally serious problem.  The external wound already healed.  I'd been trying to find a new balance in my faith journey and some of my relationships so the co-incidence of the fall and the other stuff finally emerged into this poem.
Axion Prelude Aug 2018
I seethe within what echoes disdain for all things wanting, because I can't seem to keep what's there to begin with

The desire to purge prior prose and start from scratch beseeches my mind to scrawl what dire nuance calls my name, but I don't look it in the eyes

It's my demon; my voice that resonates deep within; the call of all things mired by fate-less whispers of what's more, or right

But I know, it can't be how I desire. What can be will only come when time sets right the means to seek it out; to reach for whatever may be reaching back at me

I can't move forward unless I know for certain what's there would not bring more desolation. I am a coward, but am I human? I ask myself that every waking moment

I crave nothing more than to be normalized and reverberate with twining string of fate that actually calls my name, not the sour tones of dissonance and disdain as before

I crave reality to be my own, rather than reality to own everything I can not

I seek, eternally.. I find nothing but light that touches the surface, but never does the sun actually rise.

Bring me to my own horizon, bring me fate, bring me peace..

I hope..
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