Life, a spark in the black of Aeon and All.
Consciousness defining purposelessness
Before wisping insensately for an infinity.
I want a more vast definition
To halt Aeons call of vanishment and dissipation,
To bask in frivolity.
Making meaning for amusement,
Amusement for meaning.
Among fading stars.
All sparks must fade though.
So when that day comes,
I'll see you on the other side of infinity.
Resonating from within the soul,
Music is the only lover I will ever need.
Rhythm and beats matching the heart,
Whether it be fingers upon
Keys or strings.
It blocks out the
Hardships, tears, distraction;
Only bliss and peace.
Tongues forced silent
Project their insight and
With graceful flows
Rocking you lovingly,
Telling you stories of
Truth and false.
Songs are like humans with
Unique taste and opinions,
Yet every note is a spark of faith
Every note is a wish upon a star
Hoping to be heard.
I met a man today;
A strange man by most standards.
You see, he loves to build miniature worlds
Where trains rush past the intricately painted men and women.
He explained how he would continue long into the early hours
Creating whatever his mind would dare to imagine.
And I felt the purest forms of envy I have known.
All I wish is to find that sort of passion
Something to bring me that joy
That I willingly give the hours of my life.
How wonderful it would be
To find what I am searching for.
The angel, Azrael,
came unto me -
he'd been drunk -
and showed me the true meaning of life
was inside of my glass:
"Swirling and burning;
a sour taste
in the back of your throat.
Something to sip wearily,
or gulp down in
in devilish earnest. "
But of all things
the glass would empty
and the angel
would close His book
on us all.
Life, the most widespread joke without a punchline.
We throw ourselves into the playground for amusement, some way to pass the endless stream of time.
We have the power to do many terrible great things but not the will to perform.
We drown in our misunderstanding and want for companionship.
No one wants to meet what comes next alone.
We surround ourselves with the others but are they real or just figments of the great simulation.
Which ones are REAL?
What does it all mean?
We ask repeatedly and distract from the oncoming dread by soaking our brains in pleasure and petty tasks.
When there is none to be found we suffer in nothingness.
Crave the meaning of it all, but fear the truth.
Map the endless universe for an answer but only so far is the reach of a crafted lens.
Sometimes we think we see the solution in the sparkle of another's eyes but love.
Love is but another falsity.
Eventually everything fades, even one's biological function for passion.
Whatever we are, we were meant to seek the answer.
If there is none, we suffer internally eternally.
This is Hell!
What comes next is endless slumber, trapped in the pod of another plain of existence.
Until we dare to amuse ourselves again.
The punchline revealed!
Passing through space
In your glittery tail,
my beloved shooting star,
flying as a matched pair
since the last horizon,
We pass milky nebula.
And to my surprise
I saw a bright star
One I swear I’ve seen before
Speeding through the
Purple space dust.
Words never spoken
We traveled on,
As we always do,
but now I know
my twin star
was never really you.
Burn burn burn
turning around and around in a world
gone mad on illusion,
be glad to scrawl some truth
on the walls of self,
this prison we create for ourselves
endless as the space between things
atomic glances in the glaciers
of arctic reality, alone.
Alone and with you, just you
alone, alone with you, just you.
You don't exist, I am here, alone.
Loneliness the barricaded cliche;
a comfort from the complexity of Pandora cities,
lived network, passing moments, waste,
waste bucket lies and lives -
Cries in the sombre darkness of the city streets
heathens and homeless burning, dying
spice addicted fiend crying in empty
alleyways, and me alone, crying, dying
slowly, in this cage of my own creation,
the only thing that keeps me sane -
creation of hope, "delusion you dope" says
voice inside, burning bright demon.
Burn and fry, mottle and cascade downwards,
find yourself in the dirt of experience
and avert your gaze to the heavens.
What choice do we have?
The alternative burns and haunts my soul.
Burn baby burn.
sometimes i feel like there
is a reason we are here
other times i do not
but never do i know
what the reason might be
it’s a thinly coated secret
sharp on my tongue
it lies within my reach
at night and slips away
with the notions of day
but not impossible
to live with this condition
of losing what you never had
and not having anything worth keeping