#philisophical
I don’t think about you much
Did killing the pain feel like a civil war?
It’s easy to miss you, but hard to miss your touch
Sometimes I had a feeling death was knocking on your door
I wish I had your eyes, but they soon began to change
Too many ways to say I love you; not enough for you to stay
Holding on to the tragedies and possibilities unexplained
Your voice a fading star, burning into yesterday
It could take eternities to accept that you’re gone
Is this void in my heart replaceable?
How hard it is to say goodbye to a relationship that’s never been dawned
Still I carry your past, something indelible
Now that you have found your place in the stars
I’ll pick up the broken pieces and heal the scars.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 12:19 AM UTC
Wind carries whispers arrayed,
But never is it screaming.
The wisp that calls, lives betrayed,
Unheard is its true meaning.
Bound to its fateful flowing forever.
Its flowing has never failed.
A sacred truth is buried within.
Within what? It never can tell.
Mountainous structures stand strong,
These relics are deemed eternal,
As time passes, the layers form masses.
They keep record of nature’s journal.
The bitter truth is etched in stone.
Carved deep in their being,
Yet tethered to fate, to constantly wait.
Cursed with never leaving.
Like the ocean’s mighty sway,
That never truly moves.
Seemingly more boundless than me,
It's built to traverse in set grooves.
Violent waves displaying a mask,
For It rises only to recoil.
An infinite realm of life contained,
To never feel the soil.
The sun will rise, set, then rise.
A fate with no fate at all.
It treads a path to live and last,
It will not and can never fall.
It soars above, an ode freedom,
Yet a slave to this deception,
For in its path, it’s truly shackled,
To this common misconception.
The grand clock's, a steady unwinding,
That's never completely unwound.
Delaying or pausing is not an option,
Losing every minute it passes.
The hands of time that hold the scroll,
Unallowed to write its own plot,
Emotions within its constant tick tock,
Expressing a purpose that's wrought.
As metaphysical body's walk.
They think, they feel, the react.
Emotions lay open, demand to be spoken,
As our minds expand to retract.
My conscious holds a truth, untrue.
For a lie is so deeply instilled.
We breathe to consume, from cradle to tomb,
In this cage that we've named "Free Will."
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 9:14 AM UTC
I want to hold the moon, in the stillness.
As a newly healed being, forgetting his illness.
With transcendent secrets, long lost, and unheard.
Converge with the earth, my body returned.
It's not just the glow that my soul truly seeks-
But the calling of a gnosis, at its brilliant peak.
The kind that would nurture without word or touch.
With pulses divine, surging through me in flux.
I want to push oceans, form the tides Mighty sway.
As nova's light the way, even brighter than the day.
Not where I am dying, but drifting sublime.
Through a cosmic stimulation of emotions and mind.
To hold the moon is to be as the dark,
The Infinite void with no ending or start.
To weave through galaxies in quantum ascent.
To be untethered, unmeasured, and unbent.
For there's a place where echoes of gnosis still call.
Where darkness is divine, as it stands without fall.
For when all existence comes to end, as we know it.
Darkness not only lives but will thrive by the moment.
The stars told a secret, the divine know our depths.
Our intentions are gold. We're not at fault for our steps.
I want to walk where quantum waves ebb and flow,
And merge with the calm, only the moon has ever shown.
To hold the moon is to live as the night.
No longer chasing myths of a misguiding light.
To rest with the shadows, unobserved in their allure.
My failing charred heart, reborn by the nights cure.
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 3:52 AM UTC
“I was happy just then,” thought the girl by the sea
“For a moment I did not recall -
That there is the ache of existence in me,
When the voice in my head went so small.”
“Just a minute ago, when the raindrops began,
The weight on my heart swam away.
The voices and figures, they bustled and ran,
So the showering silence could stay”
“With the first bursts of thundering, thoughtless relent,
The fever of life was relieved.
As were the teardrops, the tremors, the torment.
A flawed absolution achieved”
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC