The shattered world vanishes beneath thee,
the emptiness, now pervading within me.
I see what was once there before,
now ceasing to be there at all.
What I once called,
my life and my family,
the cornerstones of my very identity,
turning into dust, a part of my memory.
Even this, ceases to be,
what was "forever", now just a "could be"
time erodes all that I deem,
important to no one, except me.
Yet this breaking,
deconstruction of worlds,
changes my perception,
for good or for ill,
into something beyond,
into a part of something, new it may be.
My ideas begin to break,
my thoughts begin to shatter.
What was important, now doesn't even matter.
I recall a time, things were important to me,
now no different than the dust beneath me.
I then pay attention, to what is void and apparent.
The unchanging past, and the future in development.
I see what was broken, will be made anew,
and that there is nothing that won't be so.
Breaking my mind, breaking my soul,
breaking the heart that tears me so.
Overwhelming the part constituting this "me",
what then dies, is now reborn to see.
Of a time once past,
of a future yet to be.
Of a wholly new perspective,
rich as can be.
Our lives are such,
a deconstruction of the past,
to make a better future,
for every one of us.
The echoes of the mind,
reverberate like bells,
across the empty, endless halls.
The corridors of memory,
containing pain and ecstasy,
pervade the emptiness,
within the noiseless forest.
An unending passage,
an unceasing path.
The uneasy silence that accompanies us.
Thus we thrive in noise,
dance and song,
never once remembering,
where it went wrong.
Occupying our minds,
with past and future things,
wasting the present and all that is,
what's left is nothing, simply this.
We cry in pain,
we cry in sorrow.
We feel the anguish that comes with tomorrow.
We feel the sadness and pent up regret,
and all the things that we left repressed.
Alone with nothing but thoughts in mind,
we forget the peace that's within our mind.
Between what's familiar and what is unknown,
we neglect the latter for a pain well known.
So what is the meaning, what is the point,
of choosing a noise, for which none would rejoice?
I empty my mind, I abandon my wish,
I simply relax, in what simply is.
For within noise is silence, within darkness a day,
hidden behind a curtain which may,
conceal a truth, or reveal a light.
It is your choice, will you stand and fight?
Thoughts of the future,
Visions of the past.
The present moment,
simply does not last.
Time is spent,
on speculation and niceties.
The self-deception plaguing oneself,
The unceasing banter regarding wealth.
What is left, to truly spend,
is an echo, a fraction, of what we truly have.
Paying attention to useless things,
occupying the mind with countless daydreams.
Imaginings of futures never coming-to-be,
Recollections of a past causing hurt to me,
What is left is but a bare fraction,
the actual time that is spent on the present.
Wasting away the gifts of time,
we squander the present, however benign,
on the past and future, or thoughts of the present.
Rather than seeing what is truly inherent,
the very impermanence that defines the present,
We miss our chance,
the biggest chance there is,
to shape our future, however bleak it is.
As with countless drops one can fill a pot,
day by day we can always walk.
For the path of a thousand miles begins with a step,
with the beginning at hand, the end we will beget,
the very future, we will seek to protect.
I'm losing colors in my waters.
The fog in my brain is thickening
and I'm afraid there is a monster.
My breath is steady quickening,
what if I think I'm the imposter?
The thought of it is sickening,
but up there is a higher place
of not racing in thinking things.
With my back against an old tree,
I hope no one can find me.
If they don't understand
what's going on with me
then I can't withstand
the barriers of my sensitivity,
and the sea of regret
comes rushing rapidly.
I'm prone in the force of my zone.
I knew something was altered
when I felt it in my bones.
Stay committed and I fit in
where the normal don't belong.
There's a black sheep in my home.
It's funny how I always feel alone,
even with familiar faces
smiling through the phone.
You've felt it before,
but that'll change when I'm gone
and the mic is on the floor.
I️ am a lonely faucet
crying crocodile tears.
Bound to the fear
of facing my fears.
What I see ahead of me
is darkness beheading me;
any future is dead to me.
I am a zombie,
I slipped like I'm wasted
and feeling sloppy.
Currents take me to the flood
to drown me in tsunami
with my senses left behind me;
everything is dead around me.
Life can be a hex,
The moon will call
and after all,
the colony recalls.
Better on and better off.
What is the body,
but a pile of meat?
seeking only to eat?
What makes us human,
what makes us strong?
What is it that pulls us along?
Do we have a soul?
Or just a mind?
Do we have an identity,
beyond what we can define?
What exactly lasts,
what thing underlies,
our very existence,
whose meaning is undefined?
Some call it "soul",
others simply "mind,
yet there are others,
who call it not "mine".
The first sees an eventual, heavenly life,
borne from the sacrifice of a holy Christ,
or the forgiveness and judgement of a heavenly being,
or the results of past actions, coming into being.
The second sees the mind,
a product of the brain.
No different from nature,
which never ceases or begins.
Having existed since beginningless time,
what comes to be, eventually declines,
and one is returned, to the darkness underlined.
The 3rd is one, who does not distinguish,
he sees the body and mind,
not as one who would wish,
for a lasting identity, or an eternal peace,
nor does he see it, as one who just is.
Instead he sees things, unlikely as it may,
the aggregates of consciousness and body, clear as day.
He does not deceive himself, thinking of meaning,
nor does he lie, thinking himself as "body".
He separates the speculation of a soulless man,
as he does the thought of a mind separate from man.
He overcomes the dualities which we normally comprehend,
With a sight that sees, what is simply at hand.
The truth that this body, its aggregates and mind,
are all but products of our imaginary mind,
which projects and creates,
in an endless thought-pattern,
a speculation that is ceaseless,
an identity to be had.
Instead he deconstructs,
he sees the body as it is,
an aggregate of thoughts, perceptions and things.
He overcomes the idea of "suffering" that exists,
and does not cling to the idea of "pleasure" for bliss.
He rests in the nature that is rightfully so,
not overthinking, whether he has a soul.
Because such things, are deceptions coming to be,
by the ever-thinking mind, always deceiving thee.
until the morning
there’ll be times
the world seems out of control.
days will come that make you feel
you never can be whole.
until the morning
“happy” may be
your greatest challenge faced.
little smiles come painfully
and every effort is waste.
until the morning
yes, you will cry.
the tears will flow (with reason):
maybe you won’t feel any love
or love will change with season.
there will be mourning.
and sometimes, dear,
you won’t know why you do it.
you’ll weep and weep into the night
and won’t see reason to it.
until the morning
you won’t find
the purpose to keep going.
you’ll cower when the light fades out,
when the darkness starts its showing.
but then comes morning.
and, ah! the sun-
it will burst in through your cracks.
your lungs will fill with air again
and you’ll finally relax.
dear, until the morning
there will always
be my hand to hold.
now close your eyes; the hour is passing
and night will soon grow cold.
The freedom to choose,
for good or for ill,
the happiness of the world,
or the destruction of its ilk.
The very choices we make,
shape the essence of our mind.
Who we eventually become,
is what we come to define:
As our identity and purpose,
our goals and will,
the energy to strive for,
What we deem to be real.
We all seek happiness,
and avoid the rest.
Undermining the cause,
of our happiness at best.
At worst it collapses,
our goals and its means.
It denies us the happiness,
which we all seek.
So what we choose to express,
should be all that we can.
Yet we must always be mindful,
of exactly when.
For there are those who judge,
and others who whisper,
People who stab you,
without hearing you whimper.
However hard this path may be,
undeniably, it brings true peace.
Expressing yourself as full as can be,
eventually you find, a purpose to live.
Be it a true friend,
or a partner for life.
Being simply true,
will lead others to find,
that happiness and sadness are but one thing.
And that true peace always lies, underneath this.