"delusively" poems
he took my life right out of my hands
remodeled my hopes, redesigned my plans
and I cannot resent him this
because that incompetence is something I will not miss
this rope is woven with intellect
I view it now as impossible to neglect
but with knowledge comes pain
and suddenly all he made me do was in vain
watching him walk away
I lose my position of being his clay
and I'm unable to model myself as I hoped
but with faked vanity I still grip this rope
I just want to understand
to have my apprehension expand
the world presents itself as so dark
that alone has left its mark
I need to weave in this rope myself
because he cast me to the emptiest corner in hell
all this that haunts my mind
the answers I delusively search to find
he only gave me a taste of this insight
and left me with a curiousity I refuse to fight
I need to find out more about me
maybe then I'll make him see
but no matter how many words I said
my modeler never figured out my head
the artist who couldn't make sense of his creation
this rope is here to destroy our relation
so he can move across the nation
and I'll sit here and try to perceive
all the things that drove him to leave
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:40 PM UTC
Is what I see through these eyes of mine really what’s in front of me?
Would anyone agree or reply instead, on the contrary.
Some things look so real but lack the fiber that’s required to being.
Allusion turned illusion, translation delusively believed.
Truth rejected, blatantly refused involuntarily due to brainwash of mainstream.
Maintaining distorted beliefs perpetuated by erratic theory.
When did it all turn upside down?
Like an hourglass it won’t last but an hour now.
How much longer will it be until justice is found?
Anyone dare object?
The Fowler should proceed with caution.
Where are the uncorrupt are they anywhere to be found?
It isn’t right that we truly have no rights.
Injustice profound.
Appropriation of our Constitution.
Can we turn this around?
Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 5:36 PM UTC
to reach a conclusion, to reach an understanding of one man's prohibition
it's such an affront for the multiverse, made up by him, the curious man
so i sink under the illumination from the moon, bounced lights of curiosity
a glass, made of ice, however clefted, it swings around on the water
i call it an effort, the ice, a reflection of a pessimistic mind, sinking
underneath the moonlight's sonata slowly hums the inquisitive melodies
the ocean... is not made of salty water. those are tears for a concerto
in A flat, those icy reflections delusively broadcast your whole life
and to reach its own: any prohibition has been infringed, it's gone
everyone could reach for the understanding, even for the universal ones
the curious man, yet fallen down, he already knew how weak and fake he is
the melody is a cacophony of his past life, the life of the curious man
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC