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I walk the land of my fathers Which is the land of the dead. They are dead in this land, They are not alive nor do they speak. And then I see the ashes of cigarettes Flying in the air And smoke from my lungs Exhale any destiny. Do I live for them now? To live as an example for dead men? Shall I make a world they do not see, A destiny set forth by corpses? If I should not need a reason to live, But to define myself based on A man's lost wishes for the son To fulfill his unfulfilling dream, Then I shall erase all heritage And find some other destiny. Even the living, Those whom I know to leave me Behind and turn away like a memory, And if they looked at me truly Would not recognize me, Would I base my reasons to validate My existing the way I choose? Perhaps if I carried my gun Like some madman's projection Waiting for the justice to take me down? Even more so, The men who carry guns with a justified Perception and rake Killing fields, Would this bring ultimately the truth Behind an existence of self? No. The sad fact is that humanity Does not have enough humanity In consciousness to redeem history. Maybe if all would become idealistically Precise in a view of moralistic richness? Change the course of men and women, Change the animal inside us? But this is our battle, The battle itself - again- We come to the struggle based on The concept of ethical standards set Forth by dead men and women. So then, after this, Do we put God at the front of Our malice, change what we All have done in the silence? Don't feel so special, Don't feel sk miserable, Cry a thousand times and smile At the moments rarely recognised, Its all the same, you and me And them and everybody. We are here now, Superfluousness nature and emotional Animalistic definitions of a raindrop In time. No one is here, Only in your perception, Which by all accounts Is as needy as mine.
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Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
dedpoet
From Me To You To Everybody
I walk the land of my fathers Which is the land of the dead. They are dead in this land, They are not alive nor do they speak. And then I see the ashes of cigarettes Flying in the air And smoke from my lungs Exhale any destiny. Do I live for them now? To live as an example for dead men? Shall I make a world they do not see, A destiny set forth by corpses? If I should not need a reason to live, But to define myself based on A man's lost wishes for the son To fulfill his unfulfilling dream, Then I shall erase all heritage And find some other destiny. Even the living, Those whom I know to leave me Behind and turn away like a memory, And if they looked at me truly Would not recognize me, Would I base my reasons to validate My existing the way I choose? Perhaps if I carried my gun Like some madman's projection Waiting for the justice to take me down? Even more so, The men who carry guns with a justified Perception and rake Killing fields, Would this bring ultimately the truth Behind an existence of self? No. The sad fact is that humanity Does not have enough humanity In consciousness to redeem history. Maybe if all would become idealistically Precise in a view of moralistic richness? Change the course of men and women, Change the animal inside us? But this is our battle, The battle itself - again- We come to the struggle based on The concept of ethical standards set Forth by dead men and women. So then, after this, Do we put God at the front of Our malice, change what we All have done in the silence? Don't feel so special, Don't feel sk miserable, Cry a thousand times and smile At the moments rarely recognised, Its all the same, you and me And them and everybody. We are here now, Superfluousness nature and emotional Animalistic definitions of a raindrop In time. No one is here, Only in your perception, Which by all accounts Is as needy as mine.
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64
Woman forms, beastly forms, Crystallized forms of memory, Vague but fluid, luminous forms And a knife at the alter.... Forms of Poet Saints in a mist Of wandering brilliance, The beauty and the sorrow Of bloodstained carnations. Transcendental harmonies On lips of Virgins, Dawn's hesitant light, Sobbing in the psalms. Ethereal emotional spirits Scattered among the tombstones, Suspended hearts in memory As a Mystery says goodbye. And the verse of the light In the final stanza reveals all Purity and chastity of the soul, Saying goodbye to a fellow light.
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Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
dedpoet
Requiem For The Sun in Light's Pain
Woman forms, beastly forms, Crystallized forms of memory, Vague but fluid, luminous forms And a knife at the alter.... Forms of Poet Saints in a mist Of wandering brilliance, The beauty and the sorrow Of bloodstained carnations. Transcendental harmonies On lips of Virgins, Dawn's hesitant light, Sobbing in the psalms. Ethereal emotional spirits Scattered among the tombstones, Suspended hearts in memory As a Mystery says goodbye. And the verse of the light In the final stanza reveals all Purity and chastity of the soul, Saying goodbye to a fellow light.
Continue reading...
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