I.
Under new raindrops I see the same sky differently
Second chance for the 5th time
Loneliness will soon creep under
(but my skin will not prevail this time)
I need to love myself more, quietly
A dream at arms reach
I, only, can get me there
The intensity of your eyes does not compare
to the one in my mind
I'm choosing the quiet to listen to its heartbeat
so I can breathe easy for the first time.

II.
I'm here, even if I'm late
Would've made it sooner if I wasn't so poor and depressed
I was scared before
I'm still scared now
But this is fear on purpose this time
Tamed and slow in speed
The only one in the race is me
Same thought on repeat
'Master of myself, and no one else'
I have everything inside my mind
'Actions are the only words we're remembered by'
I say into the dimly lit silence
My longest companion.

III.
Loyalty comes easy to the trustworthy
Who do I blame when I understand everybody?
I don't like the choices you've made
But who do I think I am
When I've only seen myself in reflections

Maybe I'm living this backwards
Doing everything we say we hate
Hating that we can't get away
Making excuses where there never was one
But you're a god, and so am I
You've chosen burdens different than mine
So who do you think you are
When you've only seen yourself in reflections.

I'm everywhere all at once
In my mind I am making love in Chechnya
But I don't call it that
I am writing a speech for my middle school graduation in Texas
Where all I know is brown and white
I listen to the world news in black market USBs
That I got from a guy at a parking lot
Wondering who am I loyal to
My soul or survival
The freed are never free of everything--
No matter where I go
I am still my father’s seed
The way he carried me
I carry his sins
While creating my own breed--
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
It will be Instagrammed

I am an egg
Inside a black hole
I am yet to grow old
Because I am yet to be--
I am here,
But my mind is not
As I lay my head to rest
I raise my hopes to wake up tomorrow
More than I did today

Angels used to fly

Way up high

But now they die

Fall from the sky

Onto the ground



With pain in their eyes

They realize

Their wings burned down



The reason for their misery

Lies within our philosophy

Humanity has lost its faith

Despair made us accept our fate

Faking a smile while dying inside

While the angels are slowly losing their light

The end is near…

Everything’s wrong

No one can save us… god is gone…

Poetry has well thought out a collection of words. To articulate, perhaps the metaphysical essence inside of us all. Short impulse drops of wisdom. To comfort us, as either read or write. That internal voice or maybe a poet is someone with something to say, just no one in their life to tell. Poets are either deep thinkers who cannot write out or simply doesn’t have the patience to write philosophy, romantics without lovers or have, but no soulmate, maybe just physically formed anxiety. Regardless what makes up a poet, where few had any fame and if they have, it’s normally skewed and absurd. Poets had and still do contribute a large part to humanity and have nearly the same duration of history as humanity itself has. Here is a spontaneous stream of thoughts on poetry. For me, in modern times, poetry is a high taste in high art for people in high culture, like the theatre, ballet, and classical music. A snob overtone in terms of the audience. Despite the aesthetics of it all or the poetry for the rebels and the poems full of hatred towards parts of life and humanity, constructing words of resentment, in order to master than mood.

A common trait that I hold in terms of my friends who are interested in poetry, in particular, my male friends. Is that at one point experienced an intense boyish love towards a female they knew or know in their life. It’s normally a strong take to the lust that is veiled as a fairytale. Turning to poetry to have words to say or in hope to impress them. In most cases, it’s failed. And yes, I became interested in poetry for these same reasons. If you asked Bill, ‘It’s better to love and lost than to never had loved at all’, ‘I cried because I was full of dead stars and broken debris, but you still called me beautiful.’ As Catherine Hancock would say. I’m a firm believer as far as my convictions would take me to, that only hopeless romantics die of a broken heart and that true real love that poets make a big deal about, delivers a particular horror to the human soul, devaluing anything earthly. Romance in novels, romance in poetry, love. Seems to be the constant and strongest theme in literature. But it’s an experience most of us desire for. Even in the world of philosophy itself have discussed this. A sentimental fact of mine, I do believe that each of us has a soulmate in this lifetime, that isn’t a deity or character in those romance novels. A particular person that is personalized made for us. A soulmate to experience life and love with, while knowing the meaning is in the other person that brings in contentment. And one’s own destiny lay’s solely in their attention given to you, while a hell of angst, breaking down your soul experiences when their attention is turned away. Know this now that the smile on your face, knowing that you are blessed to be somebody, and that is you are a soulmate yourself for somebody else on this earth. It’s an Angel singing when you know love inside. Brave to follow it through and unforgivable if you don’t.

Poetry is equipment of living for the living, while praises praise for the dead and a craft to help shape genius while they are here. Freedom or an attempt to touch it, poetry is. Comfort for introverts in isolation. Silence in their mouths. While others cannot shut up. Another firm belief I  have in poetry (perhaps all parts of literature), for poets and readers, is that one group of people have something to say, while the others don’t and are happy to listen. In the realm of poetry (and literature) a collection of the lonely.  I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." Or maybe, “All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.” Said by Tahereh Mafi. I hard music is what emotion sounds like, perhaps poetry is what emotion would say if it’s mixed in with thinking. Poetry for comfort in isolation, words as friends and words to cure the physical separation from society while dwelling amongst them all, perhaps poets suffer from such grief in knowing how brief this life is and undergo such a transformation that parts them from everyone. Like the heart of life. Maybe it’s them is unwanted. Pulling up reality and dressing their character with it. Unable to contain it and they vent in words of potent beauty. No one likes the harshness of life and poetry is stranded in that realm. And if I’m dying today, let me die original and society is no service if fails of it’s grappling with those who cannot face away from reality. I’m the younger, ready to put in my time.

Maybe poetry is a way to confront death because we have definitely have sinned, like the monks who follow Buddha, leading the wild ways of the hearts of humanity. It’s a sad life that avoids death. I wish to be in a state crossing over that is in poetically articulated as Atticus wrote, ‘I hope that I arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk’. In the unknown is the fear of death. To inspire me now is in reading Marcus Aurelius, ‘Do not fear death, for it’s definite, fear rather than never beginning to live one’s own life’. In a humanist point of view, perhaps there is no ethical reason to die or on how to. Like in music, poetry is here to ease everything while putting in words in tongues to articulate such fears in dying. A person's metaphysical state lives on after the physical act of dying, in such ways as memory, paintings, photography and reading poems by past poets. So far, the overwhelming held belief in life after death is either peace in Heaven, suffering in Hell or reincarnation. Perhaps resurrection. Heidegger the German philosopher, despite his writings, another point of his fame is in the translations of his works. But in his book, ‘Being & Time’, there is no reference to and of God (yes, the same of Satan). Heidegger’s analysis of death is not concerned with how people feel when they are about to die nor with death as a biological event. Its focus is on the existential significance which this certain ‘yet-to-come’ death has to human life. The use of poetry for death, I’ll leave these words that poetry can be used as a personal statement, like the rapper 2pac, ‘if I shall die before I wake. I hope I died for a purpose.’ Providing one to motivate to live now and live over purpose. Poetry can pay homage to lost ones to death, writing lines on what they meant. And if asked about the sadness of losing peers and family, ‘regret is powerful’. Or perhaps poetry can express hopes to the afterlife, whether it’s in either Heaven or Hell, maybe it is only the bleak numbness of nothingness. But still, poetry bangs out more than street fame. Though death happens, currently it has nothing to do with us, for one will die one day.
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Don't inherent the world by losing yourself,
like Wilde said on how everyone else is taken. To what enlightens the soul depends on who you ask, the philosopher will tell you it’s wisdom, the romantic replies it’s love.
                To I’ve found what awakens me, it had brought my very soul to tears,
I was impatient, suffered anxiety and self-doubt, conflicted
with my interest in everything.
I fell in love easily that includes thunder, to the point I experienced
it beyond poetry.
In a restless fashion feared that I’ll dwell in that state in forever as the same. The moral compass and the part of what determines value always starts from the same place. The individual.
Humanity's greatest strength lays there with their generosity of
sentences about themselves, their fear and ignorance, it is
always on a endless cycle, it’s cools and beautiful, but it’s false
and represents everything we shouldn't be, rather just something
of unfortunate part we must endure.
To sell your soul is the easiest thing to do in this lifetime. And now, I smoke ancient heavenly, converse with my Muse and meet Mystics over tea, saw myth come to reality by potent Monks with tattoos from jailed exile. For I’ve found what’s right for me, not in art or philosophy, my actions to experience life is my outburst of my own soul and became satisfied that everyday I live I’m better than yesterday. Through life’s mystery and it’s madness, my effort beyond my desire, I place my wants in my hands and dealt with any fear, I strive for illumination and only found myself in final form and surprised that limitation isn’t the result but only freedom here in reality before death.
If I knew at the start that my soul only belongs to my soulmate, I would of never wrote any poetry for this dying world.
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Sitting down
Investigating the dimmed glow of my golden soul
A hint of apathy darkened my mind and caused my psyche to cease to grow
Maybe it was because of all the weight that I agreed to hold
In order to further expand the frame of my enlightened mind
I delve into the depths of my thousands of manifested sides
Leaving my mark through those that I connect with
Mortality and eternity coincide

Honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

Never mind please don't say because some things are better left a mystery.

Burning fossil fuels,
can’t really call myself an Environmentalist,
because actions speak louder than words,
& though I’ve written a lot about saving the world I haven’t done a thing,

I mean,
I've given to various charities,
but the conundrum is the more I give,
the more I see how much more needs to be done,

& in comparison to the Big Picture & I haven't done a thing,
at least not to help the environment or the humans that dwell in it,

a hypocritical hippy ,
like Hippocrates under The Tree of Science,
but instead of a Plain Tree on an island in Greece,
I’m on a plane the sun is the tree & poetry is my science,

so I'm more a funky Aristotle clutching an absinthe bottle,
philosophizing with the aristocrats at The Platonic Academy in 343 BC,
than I am a shy Hippocrates,
spending his days as disturbed hermit whittling away under a tree,

no alliance,
solo & so high at the same time conflicted except without violence,
here have some thoughts from my mind to yours,
you can have mine because I don’t need my mind anymore,

I don’t mind,
so I pay no mind but still pay it forward,
forward upward onward we’re on one,
I ride proud with my vibe out I'm too loud to be ignored quick,

make my statements then I'm gone,

on a whim out on a limb with other Explorers,
going overboard disobeying orders by mortal men to serve a higher purpose,
which is okay anyways because we know the way of these wavy waters,
plus we swim good like Frank Ocean or an important porpoise,

vibe so pure you,
could bottle it & import it,
cut it a few times put it in a few lines,
& most folks still will snort it,

told you before it's,
intuitive music mixed with just the right melody,
see the irony is we make the pain feel good,
like a Shakespearean play or a Comedic Greek Tragedy,

so much love we even find a way to help the Haters not feel so lonely,

because usually Haters are just hating,
because they’re trapped in the Matrix pacing while inside panicking,
& once we slow down to show them a bit of freedom,
they usually start calming down stop hating & start congratulating,

anyways where were we at & what was the point I was supposedly making?

Oh yeah I remember now,
Honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

Next stop Lisbon,
earlier today Barcelona Olympic Stadium,
on stage with Beyonce & Jay Z,
last week in Budapest in a thermal bath with a beautiful babe,

no rest for the wicked let’s kick it if you're with it,
if you’ve got the time I’ll get the tickets,

wicked,
in the best possible way,
not good not bad,
not mediocre not okay,

always on all the way all day,

it's all as simple or complicated as you make it,
it's all simply absolute brilliant magnificence,
not maleficent as the plane descends I'm about to touch down in Lisbon,
there’s a guy that wants to see me there,
there’s girls that want to see me there,
both for very different reasons the common link being love,

in this metallic dove,
descending upon this most western Western European city,
to see what’s to be seen here where mostly they’ll be seeing me,
see I am the epitome of the embodiment of what one would call free,

even though honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Volume 2: Mandalas
available worldwide now here: www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158