The mind is a septic tank.
Either, you let the filth sit there, stinking,
Or, you get yourself dirty, cleaning.

I've been here before, and probably, will again
my actions open doors, matters of, where and when

I've often wandered, and drifted down the lane
my mind freshly laundered, a now forgotten bane

I've made my philosophical bed, and slept there every day
fuzzy memories of things I've said, and things, I didn't say

History delivers no breaks, as at each and every turn
doomed to repeat the same mistakes, and to never really, learn

Looks like history is not the only thing, with a short memory :)

Oh time, our defining measure,
How you precede history itself,

Oh time, your objectivity,
How you govern all current's of that gushing river of our lives,

Upstream to new horizons, downstream to the forgotten,
our moments lie inescapable of your perpetual conscious,

Oh time, your rampant tests,
Your ability to flourish mere illusions of aspirations,
To build bridges, of solid foundation,
To establish homes, of kindly salvation,

Why must these dreams be a breath of reality all so brief,
To dismantle this world, leaving man only in grief,

Oh time, beneath the murky surface of that river I await,
Whatever is it you are to instil as my impending fate

Wyatt R 13h

No amount of distance
could get me away
from the other part of me
begging me to stay.
I'm teetering on the edge,
I'm sinking into the depths.
I couldn't live my life
submerged underneath
all the things that keep me awake,
the days that haven't yet passed.
I've got this sickening feeling
that my downfall will happen fast.
When I least expect it
I'll meet again with my past.
He'll spit in my face
and disrespect my name.
He'll grab me by the shirt
and expose this awful little game.
I'll lose control and hit the bottom
and I'll never be the same.

I've fallen from the place I used to be.
I've become a blurry version of my name.
I've tortured myself countless nights,
hoping this all wasn't in vain.
Do the most successful
suffer the most
or do the most hopeful
open themselves up for attack?
Can't you see that I
second-guess myself?
I cannot move forward,
that's why I look back.

No amount of distance
could get me away.
I'm in an unfamiliar room
with these words surrounding.
Clouding my mind,
altering who I could be.
I couldn't live my life
with fear taking over
every fiber of me.
I'm inside, I cannot get outside.
That's where all the people are.
The ones who can change my life.
I can't do a thing with this now.
I have nothing called power.
I've scratched and clawed all the way here
and I still can't change a single thing.

BE McComb 16h

some children were raised
feet dug down into sand
dreams washing back and
forth with the saltwater waves

others were raised
with their hands dusty
nails and hearts stained
from red dirt and poverty

but i was raised
with a translucent blue
heart and clean hands
the bottoms of my
feet black from plum wood
that touched the sky
and gray concrete that
sunk below the earth

(for some summer meant
for me it meant
dried grass

for some fall meant
leaf piles
for me it meant
the wind and rain)

in winter i was raised
under white lights
and strings of garland

in spring i was raised
under blood red cloths
of death and resurrection

life cycled on
around and around
while i grew
up and up

(the hardest part
of letting go is
the wondering why
you even bothered
the wondering why
you wasted your time

the hardest part
of growing up is
the learning that no
matter what broke
you nothing is wasted
that shapes you inside)

in the meantime
i was raised
and raised
but a child can
only be raised so far
before they fall

people change but seasons don't
Copyright 4/24/17 by B. E. McComb

Reflecting upon my past
Accepting that I've made mistakes
Wishing to go back
But I've not what it takes
To accept what I've built up to
To see who I am in the now
If I went back to undo
At the very least, I'd do myself proud

In search of the magical falls I left
The falls that washes away our dirty past
No falls did I see, for I got stuck
Stuck in a dimension, not for humans
There's no one here and no way out
With the memories of my past crushing me
I sit here crying, unable to speak or move
With the little strength I have, I ask for death
For death is a blessing in a place so dark
It's death I want, for death is freedom
It's death I want, for it hurts too much
I sit here helpless and crying, waiting for death.

Living in a world with no honest leader.
Every single day comes a new victor,
using the people's heart to paint the picture of fear.

When will we escape the rampant greed running amuck?
Become our own leaders and stop giving a fuck.

When asked questions like these, the defenders only have a mouthful.
The reins of power should be in the hands of the masses,
known as the powerful.

They shake at night with terrors of their past.
They finally understand they have worn a fake mask.

When will we stop eating from a government feeder?
Finally equalize and balance the power teeter.
We must, living in a world with no honest leader.

A walk to a known place,
I cannot help but glimpse the mirage of your face,

Finest of hair and the brightest of eyes,
It's here you caught me by surprise,

Serene moments like these were made to please,
Casted aside was our unease,

Yet, every moment predated,
If only you could have waited.

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