We are connected You and I
like silver thread spanning memories.
Time wafts across those razor paths
In spiral waves of spiders planning.
With mundane approach we collide and stride
The ways of countless others.
Some we fix, and some go broke,
knocked about by alley cat whims.
to open ones heart
we must first close our eyes.
Finally, we just might see
that our lives were never really about
the mirror, the pocket, the haircut, or the scales
but the starry breath that's given outwards
subtly illuminating the forgotten spaces
between the marks on the rule of life.
Counted simply in smiles, lost and lonely.
And who should stumble upon this
wisdom so battered and worn?
So old that the language it was first written in
has almost evaporated wholly,
bathed in the fires of what we have become.
Only the humble, the found,
the owl minded fool may tell.
If only my words had
of their own.
They'd fly free flowing like open arms
our celestial song.
If only my thoughts
bellowing from my soul.
your heart's drum beat,
a harmonic hummm.
If only my love could burn through
your closed mind.
Oh, the treasure to find!
Books bound in leather,
Bunnies breeze by.
floating like paper trees.
On the cover,
and the man of my dreams.
Light as a feather
whispy little wings,
If only my words had
of their own.
They would harmonize
with yours in cosmic song.
Someone has misheard:
-Are you some kinda perv?
-I struck some kinda nerve?
Who will be the first
to change the topic,
pitch of talking?
Can this be reversed?
It was just an impulse.
Yes, it is that simple
when it's not rehearsed.
Who's that good with words?
Smile and let's move on.
Let us not be dull.
Moods will come and go
so on the go we learn.
The howl of slumber calls to me.
Moonbeams creep in through the window and lick my face.
I wipe the disgust from my face and try to find the glass half full,
But the cup is dirty, the phrase fairly ambiguous.
In all reality you, Agathist, that glass may as well be filled with water but rimmed with poison.
And yet you have tainted this glass yourself.
Yesteryear’s remnants of giggles and glimmer clog my pores.
This infection itches and I fill my body with whatever caffeine I can scavenge to numb the biting pain.
As I decipher what this catastrophic hell is that I’ve been living, I find the broken shovel from a grave I dug myself.
How could a static world become so post-apocalyptic in the bat of an eyelash.
These gruesome horrors I live each day are pure irony,
for I’ve never had an adventure this vivid when my life was sane.
Nor have I never dared take that leap into the canyon, and I’ve waited too long –
My parachute is ripped, but there’s no going back.
My sides ache and I am bleeding inside.
They don’t notice.
My injuries are within and they don’t bother asking.
Funny thing is you will be blamed.
It is your fault.
You can change.
They’ll tell you it’s not real and it’s all in your head.
The monster gnawing at your bones?
Brush it off.
Your heart shatters, you don’t think you can go on.
Sweeping it all into a dustpan you carry your remains.
You near the trash and start dumping it. All of it.
Hoping to ease your pain
Among these burdens something catches your eye.
You almost missed it.
You stop and rummage through the pieces.
Your hands get cut in the process but you succeed.
Holding it up against the shining sun, I see exactly what I have come across:
I was not asked to bare a cross
I carry a mantle instead
Of woven dreams
With hope spun seems
In a salty loveloss red.
I was not asked to speak aloud
But I shall do it anyway
As hand grenades
Or sweet cascades
Like an actor's last of days
I was not asked to know this fire
So I will feed it with my coal
Until it drowns
With in the bounds
Of my mighty roaring soul
I was not asked to sit here still
And breathe the colors of the sky
These clouds of mine
Go astray in time
Releasing the arcane eye
Too many people have asked me
The same question,
So many times:
“What do you want to do when you grow up?”
I always respond:
“I don’t know”
This is what I do know.
When I write,
I feel free.
I love the feeling
I can write
I can write
What cannot be spoken,
What cannot be imagined.
Its like a rudder,
It leads me to different worlds,
Worlds where I find
Where I find myself.
It all goes away.
When my pencil
Kisses my paper,
It feels like magic.
I don’t know its gender
She is my friend.
He is my friend.
I don’t know much,
But this is what I do know;
I want to keep writing.
Until words cannot be written,
Until words cannot be spoken,
Until words cannot be sang,
Until words cannot be pronounced,
Until words cannot be spelled.
I will always keep writing.
Help me, find myself
Help me understand
Don't leave me
Oh don't leave me
Yeah, I know things were difficult between us, I understand
I made mistakes, I'm not a god, just a simple man.
And there were times in which I acted like a spoiled child
Cause things were a mess, everything was going wild
So, I told myself I'd fake it, til we make it
And things between us, there was nothing that could shake it
Or so I thought
You left in the middle of the night, when I least expected
And to try to move on and get drunk all of my friends suggested
But I didn't, cause I was hopeful
Hopeful, you'd come back and we'd forget about it all
Hopeful, through our struggles
We'd fight and not fall
And you know, I ain't never been good at writing rhymes
So I'll keep at repeating these same old lines.
Life, in a mannerism, they proclaim
Is fragile, untouchable, limitless, rather a chain
Life, the folks sing, as delightful and indescribable as it is, is only here to stay
I do not know where, I do not know why
But thoughts mingling within my nerves apply
A paradox of significance within the definition
Of the purposeful journey we call life
Albeit the good, we choose to focus rather unwisely
Precisely of course, over delusional mastery
Understanding only comes in hand when necessary
When it threatens our existence, calling Bravery
You see, humans as smart as we are perceived to be
Might as well be a laughing stock to the rest of the scene
What we value, we fail to pursue, what we preach, we fail to reach
Would it hurt to let go of Prejudice?
An individual who has been imagined by generations beforehand, woven by bits of uncertainty and; well, where is he?
Hold on, here comes another
Violence and Destruction stand on the porch
Should we let them in? Should we not?
They are there, ready, ready anytime temptation hits now
Humanity degrades what she has created
Humiliates what she has achieved, and criticizes her dignity
Worth has lost its value, hence wonder
What have we done to help save her?
Sense has lost all contact
With wicked games being played, selfish pact
Response no longer yearns for Suffering
Such that, we deceive our own sect
Where is Understanding when we need her?
A few doors down the street, go ahead and wake her
She has not heard from us for a while now
Last time we spoke, I reckon, was when our own path was in danger