I've thought deep and true for an idea,
Of a topic I can center my poem on.
There was none that surfaced,
So none shall it be.

No weight of subject to anchor us down,
No limits to hinder, no thoughts to drown.
In the vast expanse where stillness is known,
The heart of nothingness is brightly shown.

Akin to the sound of one hand clapping,
Like raging winds in the eye of the storm,
Let us contemplate on nothing,
Let us define the absence of form.

A blank canvas for something to exist,
The absence for the heart to grow fond,
It is a silence so deep, where echoes are drawn,
The root of the void where all things are gone.

Without, none, nothing, doesn't exist,
Synonyms, or a sentence wrongly punctuated.
One thing is for certain: this poem's been fun.
A topic to discuss, indeed I have... none.

Today I met someone I knew before.
We talked for a while, shared memories and more.
Then I realized, we can only meet the same person once,
For experience asks, and change is our response.

Static we can't be, unless life's flame
Is snuffed out, and we're just a name.
In every encounter, new experiences we obtain;
Our paths have shifted, though echoes remain.

Time's gentle passage had left its mark,
On hearts once familiar, now slightly stark.
Contrast of past and present, like a shifting dream,
Each conversation weaves new threads in the seam.

After our meeting, I closed my eyes,
Remembering what once was, under the skies.
In quiet reflection, I found a trace
Of the past intertwined with the present’s embrace.

I'm a demolitions expert of renown
Star of the show, the talk of the town
A destroyer of worlds they say
Or at the very least a destroyer of one

Voices rang inside my head
When things were good in my life
The urge to sabotage, the want to destroy
The desire to go off-course, the desire to stop

It has been there for as long as I can remember
Guiding me to the dark path
More often winning than being ignored
It was something I blamed for the way things are

But that was just me, my subconscious, my insecurity
Molding my decisions to be as suboptimal as possible
I need to accept, and got to learn accountability
Face the consequences, and fix the broken crucible

I want to destroy no more, for destruction is already here
Already suffering for the mess I have made
What I thought I deserved, I definitely do not
Now I have to make do with what little I have left

Let it stand as a lesson, let it stay as a warning
Beware when you light the fuse and watch the sparks
They may shine beautifully, but they are searing to the eyes
And if you do continue, give the big boom my regards

"What is your aim in Philosophy?”

“To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle”
(Philosophical Investigations) – Wittgenstein
--------------------
Tell them that I lived as long as I could,
then I died, thinking this was all new to me.

If they line up at the portal from then to now,
tell them to remember, any fly can find its way.

Go on, thinking that said it all.
Go on, knowing it said nothing new now.

The way into the bottle is the way out,
flies all know that naturally…
kitchen windows, though,
those can cause fly insanity.

Look at the streets crumble,
They were just fine.

Now look at you,
The cracks in your face tell me
You can't hold it together,
One more time.

Savage world,
Bitter truth,
It'll do no good to whine.

But it'll do no good to pretend
You're fine.

So you found that
Life isn't fair,
It's full of secrets and truth,
A hidden lair,

That I could still never hide from you
Because it was always there.

Love had its affairs,
And you had it all,
The bitter truth reveals a broken man,
Trying to stand tall.

Trying not to bend,
Or break, or fail,
A man doing his best
Not to crumble like the streets,

And continue to lose it all.

I wish I had the time to sit down
to contemplate my life and figure out how
I became who I am today

sometimes I find myself thinking
of all the choices I made believing I was right
but maybe I was wrong and then

how can I fix the mess that has been done?
to me
by me

it's easy to love who you are now
when you've stepped on traps in the past
looking for the right path
but making it somehow

truth is there's no use
in falling into the trap of hating yourself in the old days
you didn’t know best, we all make a mess
in this endless chase for happiness

she will always be me
but I'm not her anymore
she will never be me
but I'll always be her

I see my life through plexiglass
Trying to bulletproof the past,
Nostalgia? No, but I recall
That rising up precedes the fall.
But the films I watch inside my mind
Are missing parts I cannot find
So I fill the blanks with what I see,
I fill it up with what I need.

Now is it truth, or is it lie?
I like to think that I am right,
But I’m not the well-oiled machine
I used to think I used to be.