If not any others,
We harbor one advantage,
Our mortal human soul.

So go on,
Let your heart keep beating,
Never accept defeat!

Ascetic are our ways,
But vitalizing, our planet.
A beast of ever-changing,
Host to a home of restless thinkers.
We plan to live, to thrive, to marry, to survive,
But never to accept mortems call.

It is our way, it is our want, we never change, we only taunt,
To continue with the optimum:
To continue to destroy, to hate, to ****,
We claim to evolve, yet remain astray,
Step in sync, we demand,
Join the march of regret.

We cry wolf:
Declare deaths unnatural--
Only proper if they fit our chosen form!

We cry dog:
Condemn those like us, yet not us,
Brand them evil for daring to exist!

We cry human:
Denounce those who dare not follow our rule,
Who betray our command!

To be a person, to be a human, we set limits, we set categories, we set nature,
We dictate what 'right' ought to be,
But who are we to decide what should and shouldn't?
Who are we to assert good and evil,
When nature simply exists--
To neither be right,
To neither be wrong,
Beyond our classifications and laws,
Is to be natural.

But then arises the paradox:
To be truly natural is to be beyond,
To not comprehend anything that lies beneath,
To be truly neutral and never bound,
Is to coat our mural red,
Is to shatter our world as we know it.

So we heal, we steal, we build, we break,
Not for the earth--
Not for the beast who knows no sin or virtue,
But for the world we forged in fire and din,
A world of our design,
A world of human hands.

There is magic
strewn through the mind,
but instead
we stare at screens
believing in artificial light,
supporting distorted needs
only to give up
before we ever try

So I will become a one man army
charging into
silent darkness
asking the forbidden questions
allowed,
“why are we completely remiss?
So imbued in
tranquil doubt
to the point of mass
ignorance?”

“Is there underlying reason
why we are hollow?”
It is hard to retain meaning
in this war without
illuminated arrows,
guiding a way to the finish line
of our self-corrupted
sanities

A mushroom acts
as the only beacon,
showing mercy within chaos,
symbolizing an
unspoken promise
of serenity to be found
if we stop rejecting the world
and listen,
instead of sitting around
expecting everyone else
to make a difference

If the planet woke up,
And we had all disappeared,
Would it mourn our memory?

It depends on the way we go,
Somebody snapping their fingers, we fade away,
Or a blinding ball of light as nuclear weapons implode.

If God revoked our presence today,
What would happen with all the factories,
There's a chance they run until Earth runs out of fuel.

It seems that if that happened,
Then all these countries would sink into the sea,
With our glory and memory.

What if all the chemicals
and screens
disappeared from the earth,
would you crawl
out of your skin
or rise to the task?
it is said that there is no cure
because answers
thrive only in silence
when one learns how to ask

Instead we accelerate
to consume noise
through wild fields of dopamine,
clawing with no poise-
we exploit weakness
for personal gain
until sincerity bleeds
from the picture
and there’s no room left in frame
for an honest work of art
because we’d rather
exhaust the canvas
with moments devoid of heart

Humility is a difficult lesson
most live in reverie
as hollow, floating silhouettes
desperate to equate value
with material progress
until one of two options remain:
convene with the
shaking breaths
or envision a hapless fate

Darkness, it looms
pleading to steer our
attention
to do nothing and sit with grace,
showing a natural way
to create harmony
while sifting through
time and space,
yet we continue to
sit upon ivory towers
ignoring balance
that only succeeds
with the fusion of light,
because in darkness
is the beginning of all life

Culture runs backwards:
strength is weakness,
soft is
empowerment-
dissuade yourself from
this rampant mindset
we've placed upon thrones,
instead find reserve to manifest
and bask in
this well of fluidity
that masculinity
can never hone

Heavy lies the crown,
it is hard
be free with the wind
like a fallen leaf
and you will catch
a safe ride home
from Mother Earth herself-
even though her tread
is unsteady,
she flows

Only when you are
certain
that there is
nowhere to be
except where you are,
will you find exemption
from the urge to shape
or control

The gut
is a compass,
let it guide you to
novelty,
and what lies beneath
the surface: that is where
adventure begins,
it takes one big leap
but you will let go
until there is nothing
left to rescind

i exist in a
vast creation of humans
so just a real life

How cruel is reality,
I loved Truth,
An idol of a speaker,
An intelligent human being.

But maybe not,
Maybe he really was an evil thing,
Maybe they were all right,
The questions just pile up.

Where did he go, why did he leave,
Is he coming back, or gone for certain,
Was he really a good person,
Or was I wrong all along.

Every splash of ink,
Every drag of this pen.

Is another gift in the face of common man,
An honor that is art to the human soul.

For if not for this music,
Spirits would grow old, crumbling in the cold.