World in chaos
life must go on
I planted tomatoes this morning

Optimism can be,
Very much fulfilling, or,
Exhaustingly bland.

Pessimism makes a,
Darkened cloud cover up the,
Shining, blinding Sun.

Cynicism blurs the,
Line between friend or foe 'cause,
Everyone’s corrupt.

Altruism means that,
I should help others without,
Pondering the cost.

it passed me by
only reading about
that cosmic marvel
the morning after
not quite a "once
in a lifetime" event
yet some would say
special enough
significant even
to pause and reflect
on synchronicity
interconnectedness
everything

there was a time
where i might have
been disappointed
to miss a sight
as rare as
they claimed this
occurrence was to be;
seven of our neighbours
visible simultaneously
five with the naked eye
the other two with
the aid of a telescope

but i don't
need to witness
a celestial dance
such as this
pointing uncertainly
with uncertainty
at what might be
one of the planets
to be reminded
that our stars
have already aligned

volatile observation suspended amidst reality and fiction,
subdued voice echoes down a hallway of convictions;
like a despotic fog blurring options for a swarm of insects
who eventually finds way to a lizard's grotesque carcass.

a feeling, in my gravel ribs, this might be a dead end
staring up at the sky, an atheist's hollow vision;
air and venom flowing through wires of flesh,
tired abusive drunkards- returning home a mess.

my dear texts~"what if, it's nothingness which spirals into life?"
I am left in my bathtub with a glass of honey or wine,
and the last ray of optimism, living vicariously through my mind.

You couldn't tell if I was crazy
If you were even any sane!
And you're not.
You couldn't tell if I was sane
If you weren't any crazier!
But you are!

Does it hurt your head to think?
Why, let it stop!
Does it hurt your chest to breathe?
Why, just quit it!

Soemone else can do that for you,
You can just take the credit!
For if the heart should ache
You're better off without it!

But serious-
The cloud tells the rain
What is & is not water.
Do the falling droplets care?
"What are these foreign definitions?"

The destination is the same,
Their own priorities remain,
And perspective is unchanged.

These strange properties,
Words themselves as elements
When strung together by sentence.
Is repentance within a reflection?
Redemption by sight through a drop of liquid?

What grippings within these pensions,
What potential within these tensions,
What whippings within these conventions.

By the accounts of every party attended,
What stern material has been cobbled.
Yet, poverty is worn stronger.
That which itself is as the weather,
I think it closer to trinkles
Than shine & twinkle.

What do the poor pour?
What do the bums toast?
What do the homeless shower?

A buddy of mine
Left really only notes.
Another was a rotten cheater.
I knew one that liked to play with guys,
Knew one that liked masks & needles.
Comes what? What goes? Who knows.

It can't be worse than before,
But that's not something you remember.
Of course, I mean, not someone you know.

people say im idealistic
and that might be true
but its better to think
that there is a window with a better view
than the dreary one your looking through
because where theres room
for growth and change
there is also room
to stay the same.

As days age and sink beneath the Earth,
my friend he walks with confidence in his work.
And we work together, worlds apart,
a mind of methods and honest hearts.
Stood as frame to scenes of wonder
and together we'd press through rain and thunder,
the will of gods and wrath of planets
and together we form constructive habits.

Witness of a world asunder,
and under the impression that there is more to be done
we have fun, on the run from the eyes and the engines
that pursue the constant contention, driven
by the sad ambitions of those around us,
but our friendship will ground us, from mountain to river.
And a unique brand of faith shall deliver
the voice that is still worth hearing,
as the time of rest is nearing,
I hope we can work together on our many optimistic feelings.

I can't quite place my rage
if you can even call it that
angry at your optimism in us,
in what you were capable of
angry with myself for letting you in
angry that I tried, again
only for it to end the same way

So
I couldn’t bring myself to do it
So what?
Love comes around and goes around
High school was never meant to last forever
Four years in hell
Is better than an eternity of being dead
Plus
That wasn’t always my outlook
So what?
People grow and I should be no different
Single on valentines again
For the fourteenth year
Is better than an eternity of being dead