Via Moore: Poems

419 · Oct 2017

Via Moore Oct 2017

Tomorrow is like being on death row.

The idea of Tomorrow is intended to be hopeful,
But Tomorrow can bring the moment that ends
Life as you know it.

We cannot anticipate a tragedy.
When we awaken from a slumped slumber,
We don’t expect our future sorrow.

Every day filled with ruthless tears
Could have been a routine day,
And every routine day
Could vaporize in a millisecond.

We will forever be unaware
Of our fate --
Unaware of what will come Tomorrow,
Today,
Or ten minutes from now.

So savor every ignorant moment:
You never know when life
Will happen.

Embrace your ignorance when life seems too good, and remember you'll return to happiness as time heals your wounds.

329 · Jan 2018

Make Your Own Absurd World

Via Moore Jan 2018

Make Your Own Absurd World

When the world became absurd,
I never viewed it the same.
My body is just
My brain;
My brain is just
A thing
In a world of things.

Before I became conscious,
I only existed.
When everything is important,
Nothing is real.
Lies become cruel truths
At the site of
Consciousness.
What rises to matter is nothing--
In a sense:

If you accept the absurd world
For what it is,
You can make
Anything real.
Decide what makes
You happy,
What makes you
Love,
And embrace it.
We have to make our lives
Mean something,
Or they never will.

So, love everything but nothing,
And make your
Absurd world
Real.

Inspired by Albert Camus's "The Myth of Sisyphus." One of my favorite quotes:
"Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them." -Camus

309 · Nov 2017

8 Months

Via Moore Nov 2017

8 Months

8 months
          of my childhood remain;
        of laughter,
      protection,
and little to no pain.

8 months
  of the lovely life I've known;
      of carelessness,
        carefulness,
            and the honest love that's grown.

8 months
          till I trial a new profile;
        till my life becomes a mess,
      I think it's for the best,
and I simply pretend to smile.

8 months
  till I leave it all behind;
      till I only see strange faces,
          drown in fear of changes,
and slowly lose my mind.

Shorter than a pregnancy, but I'll still feel like a helpless baby in a new, cruel world.

273 · Dec 2017

All My Home

Via Moore Dec 2017

All My Home

The hills,
Dusted with motherly oak trees
And invasive weeds,
Roll beneath my feet
Until they sink into the
Depths of the shimmering bay.
The gracious murmurs of the waves
Caress the sweet land I love while
Spreading outward till my vision can't
Encapsulate it.
I transport into its glittering kingdom
For as long as my moment lasts.
I blink back to my stake atop my hills,
Gazing over the expanse of my home
As if through a portal of the
Map I authored
Or which authored me.
With the cool breeze in the
Golden-streaked clouds
Against a darkening sky,
I watch my home melt away
Into a new beginning.

Why would I ever leave this place? Sadly, my new beginning commences somewhere else.

237 · Oct 2017

The True Colors Sting

Via Moore Oct 2017

The True Colors Sting

The human soul is blind
    To any a malevolent heart;
It sees through a hopeful and trusting lens
    Only to be shattered into betrayed shards.

A seemingly respectable honeybee
    Wears a mask to hide
The nasty, stinging, pitch black mud dauber
   That broods on the inside.

The world’s magical colors
    Begin to fade away,
For the true colors were uncloaked at last,
    And all that was left was gray.

It's only a matter of time before the innocent world we know unveils its true self...

204 · Oct 2017

Reforget

Via Moore Oct 2017

Reforget

If only I didn't need
To forget;

If only I didn't yearn
For my innocence, and
It'd never left me;

If only I didn't crave solace
Because nothing was dim;

If only I couldn't realize
My life's unsolicited depreciation;

If only I solely felt physical pain;

If only I didn't need
To reforget.

Our emotions make us human, but it's hell. Experiences reveal how the world really works, and I'd rather feel the pain of reality than nothing at all. But I sometimes wish I didn't know as much as I do; if only everything that's deteriorating around me wasn't apparent anymore.

177 · Jan 2018

Tree Who Rules Earth

Via Moore Jan 2018

Tree Who Rules Earth

Delicate flowerettes spine
From your prosperous branches,
The lively twigs
Which may become
Only a snap
Under one's foot.

You hold generations
In your rings,
Yet you hide your knowledge
Beneath bark,
Knots, sap, and
Silence.

You graze taller heights
Than I,
Soaking in the massive life
Surrounding from above,
Yet I treat you like
An enemy.

You deserve better,
For this symbiotic relationship
Has turned toxic,
And only I am
To blame.

Such beauty lies within the trees which raise us every day, but we diminish them into paper to wipe our *****. Funny how that works out...

173 · Jan 2018

Who Are You?

Via Moore Jan 2018

Who Are You?

Do you want this pain?
    No.
Do you want to be you?
    Yes.
Which matters more?
    I don't know.
So, what are you going to do?
    I. Don't. Know.

So, now you have no pain?
    Yeah...
What's next?
    The chicken or the egg?
No, who are you?
    Am I the chicken or the egg?
        You tell Me.

What goes on in my head sometimes. Make of it what you will as it applies to you.

165 · Jan 2018

Everything

Via Moore Jan 2018

Everything

No Brain,
No Headache.

No Brain,
No Knowledge.

No Brain,
No Fear.

No Brain,
No Brain.

No Brain,
No Nothing.

Poetry.

147 · Jan 2019

War Against Corn

Via Moore Jan 2019

War Against Corn

Sweet and salty kettlecorn shrapnel
Scatters a falsely ocean-colored carpetscape;
Heavy corn casualties at 0100 over Indianan waters.
I could dive through
One of the murky stains and
Chip the rest of my fingernails
Along the portal away from persecution.
At least I'm not biting them from fear,
But fingernails should hold their
**** keratin when
You're trying to wind each neural pathway
Back to where they were six months ago.
I'll try to scrape as much oddness out
As I can with these jagged edges
And consume sweet and salt
In my scattered, corn-filled ocean mirage.

One night of free Boom Chicka Pop later...

133 · Jan 2019

Watercolor Garden

Via Moore Jan 2019

Watercolor Garden

Faded pink petals lift
From my eyes,
Swirling the air and
Wafting peonies
Through my skin.

Ethereal citrus blossoms comb
My rumbling waves,
Gently intertwined with
Your heartbeat.

Your smile
Embroiders light along my skin,
Draped around my hips and shoulders,
******* darkness
From my side.

Every ice and umber pigment in
Your eyes,
Cashmere ripple of
Your touch,
And tender brushstroke of
Your voice
Paint me home.

When someone you love visits you for the first time in your exile, their colorfully-flowered light brings you home.

125 · Jan 2019

Brick Bubble

Via Moore Jan 2019

Brick Bubble

Squint.
My gaze traces the aluminum falcon's trail;
I catch it blink me out of existence.
Breathe.
Rotting flesh lingers in the humid air.
The natives are accustomed,
But my lungs repulse it.
Silence.
The inmates file into their brick asylums--
Not required, but exiled forever if they don't.
Bite, Chew, Swallow.
Trays of fat steam in rows--
Replenishes inmates for daily duties.
Salt seasons but my soul.
Soak.
Loneliness bathes me as
The Simulation infects others.
I am Blind, Deaf, Numb
To the mildewed hospitality of their "home."
Shackled to the bubble of my Exile,
I work within the Devil's reign,
Floating, waiting
Till I reach the edge and
Burst.

An ode to University which I used to hate -- still wonder sometimes why I have committed myself like this.

122 · Jan 2019

Rations of Time

Via Moore Jan 2019

Rations of Time

The damask-tipped needle
Gently glides past the marker
Of a time to which none will return,
Trapped in a
Carved mahogany tower which
Encases our memories of
Needles and gliding
In one-way glass.

This divine, embezzled box
Torturously mocks our lives,
But if not for this cruel mirage,
How would we know where the
Time goes?

Sacred blackmail of a grandfather clock

— The End —