hang yourself
onto the rainbow
and let you glide
down to the juicy meadow

once grounded
take a deep breath
and feel the knife
in your pocket

do hesitate up to ten
before leaning over the parapet
to see the yawning bridge

root into the lemon grove
searching for that corpse
so many escapes devoured

do not forget you've got
no goal at all

Apple or tangerine?

Apple or tangerine?

What should I eat this morning?

Is it important?

Will the wrong choice destroy my day?

Is there a way to tell the difference?

Is there a wrong choice?

Or am I wasting my precious
time casting doubts?

Or is this the path of purpose,
to see one’s choices as if they
matter in the details that make the
fibres and stitching of the grand scheme?

Have I figured it out?

Or is that my ego craving importance?

What if there’s-


Crap, I have to go.

Guess I’ll have the banana.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet

Loading up my black mirror Skinner box to feel connected

Growing in the recesses craft horrors have recollected

Knowing when the tendrils attach more ascend to deck and
Burrow with an aim to enact order and stay infected.

Preying on desire with cracked swords a solemn gesture
spills aboard aloft an impactful throne of sordid fester

None adorn a thwarting reaction as a suit of armor
Gunning for the floor the distraction of a warring vessel.

Thunder isn’t half of the problem pouring ocean water.
Nothing but an echo, the past it seems was scarcely special

Wonder if the grip will relax if I can paddle harder
Sunder every bridge in a gasp for the forgotten nestle

Covered up in plastic, ******* thinks he’s just a farmer
Wonder when the bones in my back will feed the mortar pestle.

Fumble with a weapon enraptured in the frozen water
Doesn’t change the fact that the ******* on another level

This isn't a poem at all, I mean
  seriously,
There is no poem to be viewed here,  
If I was the police I'd be waving you
  on saying
"Please move on, there's nothing to be
  seen here,
No! there are no poems in this
  vicinity,
I'd be holding up a sign "No Poem here, please go elsewhere to view a
  real poem",
But I bet some of you out there are
  nodding your heads thinking
"Hey! This is something different, this
  is really good,  yea! really clever
He's saying there's no poem here
It's a poem about No poems
A poem saying it's not a poem when
  really it is a poem"

But it's not a poem, it's not!!! (the
  author)

But they'd retort "Yea! A poem going
  thru an existential crisis,
A poem that doesn't believe it's a
  poem
A 'ghost' poem, a haunted poem
The poem that never was
Like a ghost ship floating thru
  the mist
Brilliant! I see what you're doing
  here
Man, that's genius, High Art,
This could be the best ****** poem
  you've  ever written!"

But it's not a poem, it's not! It's a
  mistake, an error (the author again)
I was just amending an older poem trying to make it look better on the
  page
When the Site saved it as a new poem
But it wasn't a new poem, it was an
  old poem
So I went in and deleted all the text
  hoping it would delete the poem
It deleted the text of the poem but gave the poem a title called "Untitled",
And then people went in to view the
  poem entitled "Untitled"
And they found nothing there
And then they got onto me informing me that my poem called "Untitled"
Wasn't showing up on my page
And they thought the Site was acting up.
So I had to write this explaining how
  this wasn't a poem at all
But now you probably think  
  it is a poem
You'll be thinking, "Sure when it comes to Poetry anything goes
It's like Shakespeare, "to be or not to
  be
Poem or no Poem, that is the
  question"
The Ying... or the Yang.
But it's not a poem, it's not !!!
But then I bet I'll hear
" O yes it is, don't be modest now
What a great poem!!!
No, it's not! "Yes, it is!"
No! "Yes!" No! "Yes!"
You just can't win can you???

Tell me my purpose
If I was dead before I was born,
And will die when I am dead.

If death is immortal,
Eternal,
Necessary;
Yet life is frail,
Conditional,
Temporary.

Tell me why I am here
In my joy,
My fury,
My agony.

I suffer,
I change.
I am pushed to my limits and beyond
Burdened with freedom and empathy.

Tell me why I feel such emotions
That last
And alas
Here I am
Triumphant.

So
“Give me hell,
Give me heaven,
All your visions of life.”

If existence
is but the fools game
then I play
to become
existential.

I'm on my way
On my way to the hills
Giving me chills
It can all go wrong now...

I will meet you on the top
The top right ahead
I will be dead
When I will get there...

I shall run to you
To you so far away
Please, I'll be your prey
To die for you...

I have slept too many nights
Now you are gone
Everything gone wrong
Right when I'm here...

I'm here for you
On my way
My way to the top
Where are you???

I'm gone too
Who says who?
What is gone when you are gone?
What does it mean to be true?
Is that you?
Can I see through?
Is this wrong?
Sing my song
Hear me rhyme
The end of Time
___________

It's that time of the year where "a prophet isn't welcome in his own land".
Why do we feel alienated in the midst of known faces yet carve out a niche for ourselves in a stranger's land?
Why do the urge to run away always cross our mind as we tend to grow older, leaving all behind?
Was it the scar that hasn't healed yet or the demon to face as soon as you enter the hell.
It's that time of the year again to wear a mask, to prepare onself; face the wrath with a stoical heart, only to die everyday in a confined ivory tower.
The Mask we wear,
The Pain we bear,
Surviving everyday in a world where no one hardly cares.
#RitzWrites ♕