i love how i can be Polish
and, literally, have no opinion worthy
of a media outpouring worth
admitting to...
at being: the said ethnicity.
i mean, i could be given cameo
roles in the global narrative,
but i'm shunned...
after enough time passes: i'll come
to embrace being shunned,
i'll learn to evolve into a dislodged
congregation,
            i'll learn to be a people
worthy of no myth.,.. i'll hardly be
japanese when i should have cited shinto...
i should have been scandinavian and
have cited the kept secret of the runes...
or arabic and told to kneel and scrub
my forehead before the koran...
       i come from a pauper's nation
if all the above things are true...
              i am what might be called
a north african spotting me in Amsterdam
and walking away tearful...
       i might have just found heroism once more,
if not in action, then not begun in
thought, and taken upward to the Valhalla
of straining the hawk's dive sound into a ****,
or a kestrel high-minded to perch and not
hollow out the hush...
            music!            music!
if there is anything more edible worthy of kings
it's the **** of sound! sounds can overpower
the mind like sights, if not more!
why, do we: pestle and mortar the whole affair!
we are lumber-jacks unable to make
a single tree fall, and like a graveyard cadle
hushes toward turning dim... say:
            adieu vent...
             sooner addressing a ******* **** than
a myth of the wind playing: the ******* flute!
      peasants! peasants! peasants everywhere,
and i don't mean greengrocers, i mean
marxist peasants, social inhibitors and counter-culturalists!
   why is trans-gender so rampant in western
society and so nodded to, when it's clearly bonkers?
        when the world turns *******
i think of what awaits chinese society and the heresy
of living an agricultural life, long bond with the past
fathers...
                it's a bit like seeing ash turn into graven
images of solidifying masonary of phlegmatised stone...
and then seeing the dutiful kneel before a
                scandal's worth of altar...
        there they all seem to be altar pieces...
     lambs before the slaughter...
   competing crucifixes with ellaborate squiggles of
koranic hand written stances...
                       there's no shame in seeing a *******
these days... there's more shamble verse in
claiming that such a specimen could ever
     guard you against clinging to a cross...
                      as i have not done so...
there's clarity in claiming that a Pontius Pilate
resides in each of us, than there be a crucifix ladden
offering, if not for the Golgotha crowd, then
for the paparazzi ****** hard-on.
                       what dicta are we to hear from a nation
that heard no Mongolian stampede?
heard no burning of libraries, or of churches?
                heard no Mongol settle in the Ukraine and
be called Tartar, as a steak might be called
when served, raw?
what are we to make of these arguments?
        suddenly Britain turned to isle-bound escapism,
and created a polarised scoot-land...
                    was it because objectivity was
objectivity because of the numbers?
                      and when the numbers were cited
objectivity could no longer be respected,
and each citation upon citation was held up
with disbelief?
                                     i can't but see objectivity as a
talk of numbers, but also see how quickly enough
numbers can be turned into propagandist material,
how easily, given enough numbers,
  the numbers cave in...
                and when one objectivity said:
1,000,000 ought to be enough to dilute our message
and give us respectability...
  sooner or later subjectivity said:
1 ought to be enough to concentrate our message
and give us accountability...
   sooner or later the two cited a numbers' convergence...
  objectivity with its 1,000,000
     was as worthwhile as subjectivity and its 1...
        opinion-making behaved as it usually behaved
with enough chaotic organisation:
   there's a plateau of opportunity on the other side...
i never could stomach this,
that objecitivty was governed by
the fact that 1,000,000 could congest a space,
  and be nodding with approval to a unanimous
        claim for a censo est
                 non censo, ergo veto: supra omni:
                            regina stasus quo...
and that subjectivity was governed by
the fact that 1 would invoke a space,
and be disawoved and dismissed outrightly
as bringing up the concern...
                in the first place...
      if the matter is so simple as to call it
objectivity = 1,000,000
           and subjectivity = 1...
                then whatever arithmetic one discloses,
makes no sense on the rigidity of the given, original
number... the two will continually parallel each other,
and never concentrate at wanting a discourse,
and forever will dialectics be a shunned example of
convergence of the two...
                  forever at odds will be the ratio
of **** aexemplum (man, an example)
   at odds with - ex aexemplum (from an example),
  to no discredit of man or god...
                                     for the ex aexemplum condition
states: there is neither man, or god
to state an example... non **** ex deus (no
man from god) / non deus ex man (no god from man) -
          (if i didn't listen to dramatical music,
these words would sound better congested
into a a soaked ****) -
       but given they're worded to a glory-futile score of
music... i'd love to dedicate these past seconds to
   the sound of a dog telling a: knock-knock joke
with: woof-woof! who's there? howl!

the day when you feel so lost
so unwanted
so undeserving
so....wrong
that day began
or more over
has begun
for many
atleast once
i never understood
why i'm here
why i'm there
why i live
what can i do
but breathe
and stay
because
to call this living
that would be the greatest lie
i don't want to be here
at this point
but i am
i can never seem to change that
i see things everyday
things that shouldn't be seen
shouldn't be done
shouldn't be known
yet i see them
and i go through them
i try to help
but i fear i am lost
for i can't make a difference
i am put down
beaten
i am bruised
i can't stay
in this place
and they lie
cause it's called
LIFE
yet i could think to call it different
"time"
"place"
"evil"
"pain"
"sorrow"
"remorse"
and so much negativity
for this i'm seen as a pessimist
then tell me
tell me of what i should be optimistic about
look in my life
and you'll find you crossed a border
you walked straight into hell
you probably thought it wasn't real
that it was made up
well here it is
it's my home
my unfotunate home, it's true
because i not only have it
it has me
and i'm slowly burning
but i can't/don't/won't show the pain
the bs i go through
i try to save others from it
to ultimately save them from me
i try to hide
to stay away
to try to keep good in this place
but i'm not the only guest at this masquerade
i'm just one of the plainer masked
my mask is black and gray
yet it's not half and half
it is subtly mixed
you can't tell how mixed
until you are close enough to kiss that mask
the mask which i use to hide my pain
to hide my sorrow
to hide..... everything
i see the other guests
some more ellaborate than others
with their bright hues, feathers, jewels...
anything to sparkle and shine
but i'm comfortable to hide
to go into a corner
deep, dark, and far away
my mask is flimsy
so i don't push the limits
if i am ever put into the spot light
my mask will surly slip
it'll break
and i will have to leave the masquerade
so before that happens
if it ever does
i will be the first to say
welcome to the
Masquerade

There is a brightened light within us all

In radiant sight through its weary decor
A pivotal call to look ahead
The more you sow the less you shed
An armchair memorial onto its beckoning call

In the great distance through its coral light

A brightened spot where a light house piers bright
Through foolish dreams that may shake in flight
An anchor now holds to forget the night
Outside in caged fury as a lantern inside

In fallen leaves asunder which then run away & hide

Just as we know that the sun may rise
Without fail every dawn
We can essentially fully trust in God
In moments of blackened darkness

Yet the light house still stands as a lasting reminder

To always think positive amidst adversity
Through uncertain times leading to caged fury
When the whole entire world seems to be a bit crazy
Quite in a bit in a hurry

The light house still continues to stand

~

In Ardent Meadows

Fallen dew on the ground in ellaborate form
To subside in timeless appease a call
To delve in the ambiance of its elaborate form
Silence has a clear motive as a delicate appreciation to form;

Silence has a very conclave yet clear motive
As an appreciation to its form
In Ardent Meadows
Some may lay helpless as in a caged fury

Others ponder its forbidden resolution as in some societal social outcast...

Yet service has been negated in its twisted formation
Gone our all the days to frolic in a haze
Being stuck in a hole as a mouse is in its maze
We chase after things as in sifted wheat in the wind

Strong holds approach in its visible light

We have given into evil compromise ungrateful taste
In swollen features in a covered face
Our logic in its tainted form
To appease the solution from its plausible norm

Some may even curse the day they were actually born
To summon a sweltering demise as in a viable solution
A viable taunt within mediocre resolution
In vegetation will reach its nost curious solution

~
Romancing The Stone

Wandering as in a nomadic tribe blnded eyes

Within its swollen asps in taunt to fear
To carry on in its plausible tear
In reluctant demise one word to its wise
With chosen asps we have such a strong hold of shame

Yet who our we to blame

An army of desolate yet angry men
A given chance at which to humbly depend
Within sweltering heat the blood shed in our street
These are violent times

We then evoke tempers with fire to soothe our desire

Still the story unfolds as the pages are turned
For one heart will soar while the other is soon to burn
In passion or intellect as in its caged fury to fire
A warm desire in logic nor that in heavy fear

For I had shed a single tear to numb it's inner pain

Just not having her in my arms was driving me insane
Romancing the stone never leave a poor heart alone
Every night & every day are troubles are slipping away;

~

Today I Can See

Today I can see beyond the hidden pain in a dream

In virtual sadness leaving man totally insane
Today I can see a very narrow way
Reflective in a given sense to wallow in a dream
With reflective solemn moments in silent stream

Gone our all the days we used to social frolic in a haze

Today I can see a given sense of pride inside
Yet to negate in its initial humility
A barrage of faint whispers amidst timeless chatter
Today I can see a new monastic way of existence matter

Today I can fully understand the approach that a novice will take;

Some may even stand in horror instead of filled cheer
Today I can visibly see a vision that will accept equality
Many our in the game yet where are the even playing,
Today I can see nobody questions anymore

There is no mutual freedom as it once was before

Others negate biblical truth for what is based in a lie
Today I can see a promise rather the turning of the tide
Where as others simply equate logical persuasion
By which to humbly run away & hide;

Today I can visibly see a totally different story
Some have emmersed in fatal toxic caged fury
Others contemplate the jest or that of some hung jury.

But if you do, if you happen to see my shadow when you close your eyes
Will you hear my call, will you remember my laughter
Clear enough to miss me, strong enough to seek me
If I am lost, will you come save me
If all my ellaborate pieces shatter, stuck in between the further
Disappear with me
I was brave, I was bold, now I am crippled
And all I have are words, and echoes, and wind, and light
The wind carries the echoes of my words
Listen, leave and find a life worth living
Bask in the light, buring until we're both ashes
Carried over by our wind, echoed all over
Everything all at once, and nothing altogether