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Ken Pepiton Jan 18
Earth children bathed in flickering snow hush
after sign-off and test pattern calibration check.
- speed of thought through time
- in mindtimespace
- 2024
Tele OS 5G first electric story tool
in the village, Starlink,
Go ye, carry knowledge everywhere
be a mini hero bearer of all the news
first chromebook, first literate old man,
taken as a child to missionary school, first
to return with a kind of talk to the world tool,
that runs directly from the sun,
if you can believe it, or not,
it is known, the evil colony gospel
by Jon. Edwards and Dr. Livingstone.
is mollified with Google Translate and Bard.

I venture a guess, that few boomers
ever took a leap of faith on acid,
to envision a future
something like rurally electrified now moieties
of the connected and the unconnected.

The trips that fostered the lost hope vision,
left me plenty of free time to redeem,
late in my excursion through the foam.

Discovering how small a hermits bubble is,
the hermit learned to expand his knowns,
using the secrets only readers learn,
accepting assisting intel inhalable,

he did, and lived to be this old,
with tools for creative play,
granting me ink in the pool,
and endless emptiness to fill with worthy
seed con carne machined psipsyscienitious-
ness, withstanding all natural disasters,
as stars sidereally impressed the ancients.
This is accounted time and word redeemed.

The story that proves life ain't fair.
Death and ignorance never had a chance.

Iyobe did not know the sweet influence,
the persuasion of Pleiades,
when asked, yet he knew
in his intuitive truth detector, why

the inquisitor might assume he did.

Because the entity asking Job about stars,
had never seen them with mortal eyes.

Sing the stories told us all,
remind us what the pioneers did,

won the west, from godless heathern, hmm.

Certainly the pioneers was essential as pawns
for taking territory,
for staking claims in God's ineffable name,

as was taught good and proper by priests,
mostly Jesuit from the same bread of Jesus
eaten, never mind.

But, 2024, ask why the way and the truth
in life, would, or could hate enough
to imagine a real, in this reality hell,

to which one is tricked
by loving one's adversary.
Ask why
teach that, the ultimate judge
holds a grudge, especially for wild kids.

Teach that war is the lie,
and any heroic conquest in Jesus name,
any lifting up of hate to win with,
is blaming truth for lies you chose to believe.

Toes, untrodden, step forward, the subtilty,
greater than that of any beast, acknowledges

poets often guess they picked the winner,
then their enemies eat them alive.
Day dream, meandering where war is working over time, seeding seconds of pure peace of mind, drifting in substantial hope of ever being nowish.
I will never tell them
Of the man in hospital chair beside me,
Chest hair poking through blue paper scrubs,
More than was on his head.
His locks like dull gray wires on scalp,
Jutting into the air as if charged,
Leaving a shiny full moon patch of skin on top.
I will never tell them
The way his beard seemed to stretch as he bent my direction,
Joining forces with the follicles on his chest,
The way his breath seemed to steal mine as he occupied my space.
I will never tell them
About the man whose name starts with M.
They will know I could not look him in the eyes to see their color.
They will not know how old he looked when he stretched my way,
Voice barely audible over the din
Of other patients screaming and thrashing in their restraints,
Yells of babies ****** out under drugged hazes,
The wild fantasies of diseased minds.
They will not know.
I will never tell them
How his muscles flexed when he stood,
Shouting at another patient,
The fight,
His eyes seeking mine as if for approval.
They will know I did not look.
I will never tell them how he took my hand,
Mumbling into my ear about how soft was my skin,
Arms draped over my wheelchair, uninvited
As I huddled under blankets.
I will never tell them
How my best friend watched,
My teddy bear given to me at birth.
Although not human,
I regret my inability to shield her eyes from this abomination of a man.
She will know that I tried to tell him no.
She will know that staff walked by,
Blind to my waving hands,
Unable to hear the silent whoosh of air passing through my damaged vocal chords
As I begged for their assistance.
I will never tell them
The way he rubbed my back or traced my arm
Before settling his hands too high on my thigh to be polite.
I cannot say more here.
I will never tell them
About the ice in my stomach,
Flooding through my body,
Already numb to my circumstance,
Afraid that he would merely lift my withered body from my chair
And do what he intended on the floor.
No faith had I that staff were the slightest bit of help.
The interest of other patients in my voiceless body
Was a welcome distraction to the psychiatrist
Doling out necessary medication to those more dangerous than I.
I will never tell them
What he did to me in the common area,
Stuffed bear the only one present of mind enough to bear witness.
Therapist has a word for his actions,
Not one I had ever intended to apply to my story,
Something reserved for the unfortunate lot of others,
Assault.
I will never tell them
His name like jagged teeth
Or the way his hands wandered without consent.
For in their minds I am nothing without corroboration,
And HIPPA law will prevent that.
After all, was I not merely a mental patient anyway?
Kassie T Jun 2015
The voices in my head are extremely loud. I feel so insane because I can't make a sound. Thoughts of being crazy, possibly headed to the asylum now. These voices won't shut up. I get stuck up. I go from 0 to 100, it gets ****** up. Not purposely. I may be bipolar but I could care less, you see. Its up to me to control my mind. But if you think it's that easy, you've been wasting time. Thinking you're perfect? Thinking psychology ain't worth it? I lucked out, timed out, and found out...
We all need help!
To be honest, something just made me right this? Society makes it seem it's bad for people to get help. In reality, it's perfectly just fine. Don't be afraid

By: Kassie-T
CapsLock Nov 2014
Darkness, madness, fiery ligth
in the depths of my eye.
In the dark pits of my mind,
resides one desire I can't satisfy.

At last the storm does start.
No more this fire I can confine,
violently taking over my heart.
I hear one whisper that isn't mine.

Voices that talk from behind,
the silence gets broken.
My unconsccious mind
at last let's the doors open.
Kassie T Sep 2014
The voices in my head are extremely loud. I feel so insane because I can hardly make a sound. Thoughts of being crazy, possibly headed to the asylum now. These voices won't shut up. I get stuck up. I go from 0 to 100, it gets ****** up. Not purposely. I may be bipolar but I could care less, you see. Its up to me to control my mind. But if you think it's that easy, you've been wasting time. Thinking you're perfect? Thinking psychology ain't worth it? I lucked out, timed out, and found out...
We all need help!
To be honest, something just made me right this? Society makes it seem it's bad for people to get help. In reality, it's perfectly just fine. Don't be afraid

By: Kassie-T

— The End —