Is this life all a fallacy,
People playing make belief,
Stuck in
dillusional false releif.
Lying to themselves,
Saying, "This is my reality,
Do not tell me anything
Of insanity
And intrude on my normality."
A lethal self-imposed ignorance,
Moving,
Tearing through life
Destroying themselves
and everything they come across.
Is this life just a fallacy,
As I watch them
playing make belief,
Falling in love with vanity.
All so superficial,
Shallow,
meaningless,
Full of poisoning emptiness.
Taking loves purity,
Making one belief
It is just a cruel thing.
But true love will conquer,
Shinning brighter than
a million galaxies.
Bringing Light
To this empty
Consuming
Emotionless
World.

Death begins the day the newborn cries
Not its choice, grew up believing
Clinging to futility on death's bed
As if another life brings the dead to life

Affirmed as gods, life stroked, seduced
Painful dissonance yet believing
Chance is king but Will supreme
Striving to the death for one more chance

Failures chastised, pride conceals, boastfully
Offering ashes, gods obliged, believing
Truly only Money matters, Chance *******
Life ransomed too, not today, surely tomorrow

Love or transactional ***, legal or not
Life's answer or preachers' lies believing
Perhaps only masturbatory self love is true
Justified indulgence entirely in one's own hands

Meaninglessness, life’s honest and brave end
Else denial and delusion, make believing
This moment till death has despair to work
Alas many flail cowardly, ironic futility grasping

Will strong, flesh betrays, in hypocrisy
Peter wept, shamelessness hardens believing
Death discerns not its own stench
Life's fragrance repulsive and offends

Life imposed freely from the beginning
Conned and chose to pay for believing
A shadow of what will be but tempted to be
And the Accuser justified and God ******

The most intimate thing you can ask a poet,
Is the meaning behind their poems...

There is no poetry,
There is only a life,
It looks like your dream
Is coming true,
But there comes the question:
Why?

There is no sense,
No meaning, no harmony,
And black ants fly,
But you are not able to ask:
Why?

Two people write each other.
One asks softly: "Do you have
Any time for your hobbies?"
The answer: "Yes, I have a life".
But immediately, this question
comes:
Why?

Why do you have your life?
And: why-why are you rife?
Any strife?

Sleepy bride.
Any guide?
Life's slide.

Bye.
(Sigh.)

My rail tracks seem to have disappeared
Only the red autumn leaves seem to have covered
A cold melancholy in the air hovers
As I look beyond to see what uncovers

But the truth is that it is an endless journey
There’s no special place ahead, no sanctuary
Just the train, and the passing estuary
The destination seems lost, as I realise it was only imaginary.

Now I yearn for meaning.

What is this train journey,
Where is it leading?
Maybe it’s better to just hop off
And enjoy it from the beginning.

If some words you say get censored,
How much meaning do the words have that don't?

When I’m better,
now you want to know me,
if your heart was
as big as your ego.
You’ll be considered as real.
Let me go,
for my soul needs rest
before it’s taken, I’m not
worried about flying,
I’ll be gone anyday.