Someday when I find myself a nameless grave
And people forget that I ever lived
I will be consoled by the singing of the wind and the rain's merciless tears
For soon after these lovely bones are ashes
And ashes were scattered and blown
Flowers shall once again decorate
This lonely earth that once had been my own.

The unsilenced mind.
Drawn by the ideas of time,
Rather felt a burden to it.

Oblivion of what’s been done,
Punished by this enigmatic sadness,
Altered by Melancholy.

This heavy heart,
Wanted death,
But feared the unknown afterlife,
Thus shackled by living without life.

Maintained sanity,
Externally.
Just don’t wonder within my head.

For I have to endure,
Though I’ve already fallen long before it starts anew.

As my conscience told me,
For an unknown reason,
That I’ve done an exceptional worst,
In my previous life.

Must be a King,
Highly of self,
an inconsiderate one.
Surrounded by the sevens.
Realized what's done,
too late,
already end of life.

But must have reminded myself,
Before my end of my past,
Over and over.
Now,
Unknown to mind,
Known by this heavy heart,
This curse made to self,
worst than emptiness,
To be burdened by questions of "why" without answers.
For this life's the sacrifice,
An order to self,
to seek redemption.

Hopeful be forgiven
onto the next.
Clearing the traces',
Of now and yesterday's.

For the unknown afterlife I feared,
Yet I seek.

i gaze into this abyss
she is dark and wide,

her wide black eyes stare back at me
with sadness and longing.

i try to kiss her but when
i lean forward
i find myself falling, falling,
falling.

farther into this cold oblivion,
as the void whispers to me
"she will never love you"

and i say,
"i will always love her",

but this time the abyss does not respond
because she has eaten me whole

and all there is is

darknes.

There's half a bottle of wine the fridge
and a lifetime of worry in my bones.
I'm being dramatic, maybe, surely
when there's all those kids
starving over there in Africa.
My sister studied great whites there
without a college degree.
What did I want when I was eighteen?
We are all so sure, aren't we.
I lost my motivation
as easily as a senile old man loses his shoe.
It is there, somewhere, I know it.
And the longer I look
the more frantic I become.
And there are days when not caring
seems okay.
They shouldn't tell us
we can all become doctors
and home owners, actors,
professional chefs, humanitarians.
I wished for something I didn't know
I didn't want.
And what do I wish for now
but a happiness that exists
at the end of a dog's leash.
Is mindfulness or oblivion a better choice?
The answer is not at the bottom of a bottle
but in this case
it is only half full
so what is the harm.

The dead stare opened eyed
                because they say nothing..

But with open mouths,
                          they scream
                      silently into  oblivion.

I am hoping for oblivion,
The feeling of no control,
The moment before you wake
in a dream about
Falling.
From a cliff face
Or sky high building
I jump
I soar
I plummet.
I join the ground
My soul dissolves.

I am new.

Mankind seems oblivious
To Nature’s pleading cries,
Mankind seems oblivious
When Nature ups and dies,
Mankind seems oblivious
To its carcass filled with flies,
Mankind seems oblivious
To God’s wrath above the skies.

Man can only think of seeking treasure,
Man can only think of funding leisure,
Man can only think of his own pleasure.

Oblivious to Nature’s sighing,
Oblivious to Nature’s crying,
Oblivious to Nature’s dieing ...

Today I pondered Oblivion. If the stars will collapse on themselves, if the nothingness between the asteroids and the dust lining the moons and the inhuman complexity that is Time will all convolute and dissolve into existential chaos, then what is the point? If space time does not have an infinitely stretching edge like an anti gravitational sea eclipsing the earth, then neither does humanity. So Europe and America and Africa are tiny islands in an everlasting ocean; single ants in an interminable universe. So my home is even more exponentially tiny: my state is a mere indention in an all-embracing dirt path so I am a receding footprint in a fossil of human existance. My poems are specks of dust on a planet of amorphous matter.

When the message is spoken
How many of us really listen?
Awareness is everything
But, we sadly live in a oblivion
We search for truth
And yet, we come up empty
Darkness surrounds us
Filled with corruption and misery