"endpoint" poems
She is like a dandelion on the edge of a cliff
Next to the sea.
The wind-encouraged rapture brings her to her knees as she’s taken
From the rocks into the deadly blue sea.
(She is stronger than she thinks,
I know, that’s why she left me.)
Before the endpoint, the gusting breeze
Meets its end,
So the dandelion plummets into the sandy beach instead.
(No matter what brings her down, she shall always stand up.
It’s the way she is; the dandelion is tough.)
So comfortable now, her stem is stuck
In this thick warm surface,
The tide seems to be interested in this dandelion’s purpose.
(I tried to **** her into me with my love.
She didn’t give me a chance because
I wasn’t enough.)
The tide erupts upon the scene within the lively flower’s green,
And yanks it from the sand to bring her colors to the sea.
(He stole her from me,
she accepted his hand
There was no chance for me)
To the ocean, the flower seemed different from the others;
The dandelion seemed to be tougher.
She has always been strong, my little dandelion,
Even from day one,
(But like I said, I wasn’t good enough)
Nothing could destroy her pride, nothing could be done.
(She told me nothing of her
feelings and left my concerns in the dark)
She brought her roots down within the oceans depths,
And ****** the sea dry until there was nothing left.
And then came the rain.
(She left the door open on the way out,
I was so shattered,
I couldn’t even cry.)
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
What is the dream,
the diary I keep with notes etched to the seam?
What is the goal,
the endpoint at which I determine my role?
The world only skims off the top it seems,
loving only the cream of the crop.
Lost am I,
having strayed from the path,
a world split down the middle,
cut and dry,
and if so,
where can I live,
who can abide my wayward soul?
A soul assembled from the ashes of Descartes and Kant,
a contradiction in continuity,
can I or can't I,
change the hand that I've got?
Listen to the song,
the siren's polyphony,
the refrain rate familiar,
the color tone wrong,
discern for yourself,
what is the bane of the crown?
Stifle your fear and strike at the root,
with shovel in hand bury your sin,
always striving for truth,
rend the tree at both ends.
Yes,
I am a pariah,
***** in purpose and soul,
the wayfarer's failure,
refusing to pay the pathfinder's toll,
and although my map is imperfect,
all roads lead to Rome.
Retreatist,
rebel,
jester,
fool,
gladly I'll claim the whole lot,
each title a badge,
a step towards my goal,
this society is sick and refuses to see,
each individual is a person,
gay,
gypsy,
Muslim,
Jew.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
Everything is running fast
you cannot match the speed
you think you have lost
circumstances make u believe
you are losing hope at last
cannot take a proper breath
your curiosity become last
negativity pull you behind
life is at the endpoint
no new hope has seen
Someone comes as a light
glow up your thought
pull you from the night
show you the new roads
lead you to the bright
you find yourself then
meet with your object
everything is cheerful
someone saw your pavement
put you on that path
someone is no one but thou
which enlighten after dark
Darkness always ends in light.
as it is temporary, not permanent.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
this is a poem
about Nothing
but in being about Nothing
it is about Something
this is a person
walking Nowhere
by walking Nowhere
their endpoint will be Somewhere
this is a child
with No One
once this child outgrows No One
they will find Someone
everyone in this world
gets caught up in the Now
in the Nothing
but what people need to see
is that if you look a little deeper
a little in the future
there will always be Something
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
the passage through time is quite uneasy
imbedded in concrete; consciousness dreamy
faces skewing, anemic monsters
intricate patterns, enhances, obscures
repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition,
incomprehension, incomprehension
i can't continue, can't vacate
i'm only human, my souls to take
i discovered what it means to be
when you can truly see
the epiphany of heavenly monstrosity
visions of a black hole theory
i've seen all of time in one moment
the future, the past, times of atonement
lucid and frightful
enlightening and grateful
heartbeat steadies
i think i'm ready
to explore the world from a different standpoint
and fully know this is not an endpoint
it's forever changing
and we're made for adapting
our primal nature's to live
i will never be held captive
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:33 AM UTC
Last night communing with the,
much more than anything,
but still not quite,
echoing in worlds beyond this one,
if it pierces,
empties out carefully
What is it that is never quite,
intact or playfully,
ask the sages to reconsider,
paths to the sun,
Wonderful it will be to reach,
apexed or transcedent,
finger tips dusty or removed,
which is the endpoint subtracted,
faces that are familiar,
but are no more,
bottle green,
they are everything but sad,
dowsed in caffeine again,
heart is drowning in,
stolen courage,
the day passes away,
lost and fragmented.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
It's surface is darkest as it shrinks into an endpoint
with no recess but the last fold.
See, I've no way to confirm that which you see,
and you may say the same about my acoustics of memory.
I've already embarked into my curvilinear home, perhaps
hoping to find there a material of permanent memory,
gone to sleep within a Fibonaccian trace.
Always preferring to follow the pink of a surface
till it's impossible to see.
You might not think it a good thing,
but I quietly must disagree.
Begin by touch: smallness is all
For the world is hungry passively,
wanting so bad to oxidize
the interior of us.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
My thoughts are all jumbled and my head remains spinning
Another round is over with neither side winning
It always seems to come from the blind side without warning
And causes an uneasy silence until later the next morning.
Two people who years ago gave life to me
Watch as I regress to a toddler when we disagree
Never physically or intentionally, let me quickly point out
But my voice and pitch grows exponentially as I begin to shout.
They have been there in times of sadness and will continue without fail
No matter how choppy the water gets as I try to set my own sail
I was raised to be independent; to decide what’s right for me
But sometimes it’s hard to tell; is it the chair or me they see?
Independence is what they say like it’s the endpoint on a map
But sometimes I feel stuck, like a golfer’s ball in a sand trap
Decades of difference affect our worldview
They think I am too negative, and yes that might be true.
Oftentimes when these different ideas are spoken aloud
It feels like my perspective is lost and never truly found
Close friends and others understand how my feelings rise
But exclaiming them in every instance really isn’t wise.
In fairness to them, I haven’t made things a snap
My time under their roof really should be at a wrap
These are supposed to be empty nest years
Not for overreacting to everything that I hear.
And in most ways things are good; better than they have ever been
Aides come and assist me; the situation is win-win
We celebrate each other’s success, laugh and joke when we can
Each continuously vowing not to let the whirlpool start again.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Everything must come to an end
Rain, happiness, peace and even life
There are no exceptions
Every story has its ending
Every birth has its death
And every road has an endpoint
Forever does exist
Yet it doesn't happen
And it will never be
So no matter how hard we run
No matter how far we go
Every race has its finish line
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
Inside all of us there lies something to be discovered
and I think the spark you put at the bottom of my lungs might be enough
to remember mine
you are a fire and I am ash
brand new, I feel sorry for eventually suffocating you
I hate cities
I hate people
but I love persons
I would get on a train right now just to watch
people spill like water into the underground
seemingly searching for something within the tunnels
some simply a way out
others a way in
some just to sleep
I saw a man with an airport under his skin once
and a woman next to him with clouds brushing lips with her fingers
they were holding hands
and I swear I heard the boarding call faintly as they exited
I hope he remembers to breathe
sometimes it rains on the subway
and sometimes you can't keep the sun out
people are always rushing to some
unknown endpoint
I'll sit in the corner and ride the blue line until they kick me off
far enough away so they can't touch me
but I can touch them
sometimes I'll close my eyes
imagine that this train is taking me home
imagine going down a snowy hill at 80
looking next to me, there you are
so I put on the brakes
"I only want to **** myself, I don't want to **** you"
I'll open my eyes
and see the life around me
maybe
I can
stay just a little longer
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Floating upon a never ending stream.
It guides me to a destination I could never dream.
Thoughts of change are woven into place.
Tied to nothing, not even a base.
Other streams criss-cross my path.
Streams of thoughts and dreams.
Streams of hate and love.
Streams of happiness and sorrow.
All flowing to their endpoints.
Could of. Would of. Should of.
Ridden the Stream of Dreams.
But change was what I needed.
When will it reach its endpoint, I don't know.
I'll ride until I reach that endpoint, that change.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 9:33 AM UTC
It will start slowly, the way these things often do
It won’t feel slow; in fact, it will seem sudden.. you’ll wake up and look over at the space next to you and think that something must have snapped in the night.
But it didn’t happen there. It couldn’t have
You’ve long since abandoned the possibility that anything could happen in your sleep.
It will happen in the absence, in the nights they spent with their friends and you with yours. It’s good for you, you’ll rationalize. Everyone needs to spend some time apart.
But time apart can tear you apart if you’re not careful, and slowly you will forget how to stitch yourself back together, how to return at the end of the day and fit yourself back into the crook of their neck, into the space between their arm and body like you never even left.
The hole you once occupied will close up slowly as you take more and more time to yourself, and it will begin to feel uncomfortable and tight and strange.
But we’re only human and we pick at wounds and scabs, and see wet paint and feel the irresistible need to touch it. Because we’re curious. Because we can’t leave well enough alone. Because when we see friction, we want to see the reaction.
When we fall in love, we don’t do it with an endpoint in mind, no expiration date on the horizon. To fall in love is to do the impossible, to promise the one thing you can’t really promise.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
BUCKLEY BOY
Caressing half-sounds
Stumbling your stories
Under star-snake glories
Round the flickered embers
Did silence shake you
And tear you apart
As desperate loss
Tracked endless plains?
Dying in your dreams
When the cord tightens
Did your execution
Proceed as seemed it must?
How many atrocities
Were buried in the sand
And laid aside
Then brought to hand?
Years without kindred
Did you lose control
Find communion dead
And cease expression
Traversing the empty spaces
In dark companion?
Did you long for traces
Of what was told?
In the waste and fever
Did regret ride high
Chaffing the leaver
Chiding the loser why
So many roads were tried
Through trackless wastes
Where stream beds lied
And haste led back?
Walking on the edge
Of no escape
Left on hillsides
By your last mistake
When the dark broke in
Was an icy flaw
The token endpoint
Holding a wider line?
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
It's a bad habit I've picked up,
that when I start getting confused
about life I panic, want to run.
You see, it just seems infinitely
easier to leave it all behind,
let the chaos remain while I go
somewhere
unknown and begin anew.
I've seen it time and again,
bore witness to the pattern
as my mom loaded us up and fled.
As a child I hated being forced
to pick up my entire life to go
along
for a ride I never wanted.
As an adult though, I understand,
more completely than I would ever
have thought possible. And now
is one of those pivotal times
I'm stuck contemplating
the way
out of the mess I've created.
I know the routine all too well:
sell all, keep only what fits
in the back of the car. All else
is extraneous, replaceable.
Drive without purpose until
I've lost
all semblance of an endpoint.
Where I end up is where I go.
Some try to tell me that this
method of coping is unhealthy,
but how can I fight its allure?
When my mind becomes madness
and I can't figure my life out,
what's a better solution than
running, flight over fight,
no one to complicate things, only
myself.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Always running it seems a race with no finish line, just stop at every checkpoint last minute desperate attempts for what I don't know, maybe just someone to call mine. A brief moment I'm caught in your eyes, you see me, a certain truth in this moment I can't disguise. In the morning it's over your gone it's all but truth only beautiful lies. The circle unending I reach such highs, only vain attempts to comfort the unbearable lows, a constant internal struggle the only resemblance in between that just I feel the blows. I need to fly the way you lift me up just one more time, to feel in bliss things about myself things unseen but oh so real with you when I feel your kiss. Only ever attracting the company I keep not my good friends, just broken demons that fester within me. I look in your eyes but I can't find you, your face always changing, the consistency is just in the end myself I'm left blaming. In a desperate attempt at feeling whole, to feel like I'm breathing, I lose more of myself every time I let you grab hold, for I know now nothing can ever stay if it's made of gold. May I never finish this race, for now in the endpoint, I'm afraid alone I'll only ever find my place. Until then again in the familiarity of strangers I'll weaken as I grasp tighter for my own reality I can't embrace. Right now I'm broken and it seems for some time this won't change hard to feel supported when your shadow doesn't even want to stay.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 3:55 AM UTC
There is a certain illusion
that arrivals and departures are different,
that ways are just obstacles that, in the end,
lead us to an endpoint.
They just lead us into new ways.
My ways feel the weight of my feet, my wheels,
of cars and buses and trucks and tanks;
they feel the weight of heavy conscience, of tears and of guilts.
And, in return, they lead us to who knows where.
We spend our entire lives building ways in forms of
bridges, roads, tunnels, trails and rails.
Leveling, tearing, drilling, exploding some ****** land
in order to get somewhere.
I walk through roads in neighborhoods
through books and program codes,
through notes in songs,
through colors in the sky,
through dreams and imaginations,
because life is the ultimate way:
from birth to death.
It would be unwise to believe that the way is not important
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Be by my side,
In every changes of tide.
Come with me,
We could survive the night,
With laughs and tears,
Of our distinctive minds,
Sharing our thoughts,
Spreading the canvas out,
Professionally.
I like the words
In your poems,
As much as I like,
The thought of you in my mind.
Alright, alright,
Thankfully it is the endpoint,
And I'm sure volition and desirelessness will collide.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
It is 7:30 in Appleton a Monday
wet with two straight days of rain,
of course it is 2012 but I can't quite get
on my feet when this blanket is so warm
and the 8:30 class is so cold but there
is usually a 8:20 urge and a 8:25 surge
and what do you know, it feels like fall
I have arrived at the crosswalk, this time
with grace and style but also with a thought
that I should one day run full sprint in
the wrong direction to see where I end up
but there are flashing yellow lights so
anyway its rather foggy and I will
have to cut across the frosty grass with
all its leaves because I need to ***
and there is a restroom next door
but hold it because my phone says
8:31 I am a whole minute late, run?
what’s a minute but a mint and a nut
Elevated into Evanescence by Elixir Endpoint,
because that class was quick plus I have
Philosophy today but I forgot to print my
essay so I walk to LANCE HALL and
walk up stairs to my door and there is my
Click-Click, with Song-Song and Look-Look
still on upon waking and I a few seconds
later close those and print but it is slow and
there is a spinning rainbow wheel with a
dreamscape reel and a time warp feel
but that happens so I go downstairs
and double-click twice and hear noise!
Fear strikes as TONER LOW appears
and a red light blinks for ATTENTION
however the pages come out and
I staple them with careful ordering of course
and after I place it in the mailbox it is
lunch time, or cool-down-mindful-now
I sit down with food ready and a PACKERS
victory staring at me enthusiastically from paper
I begin to eat with Time coming around
the corner in a tilbury rolling his wheels to
11:07 and my name is called by a friend
who comes and we talk and we talk
and we -
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Everyone searches
never everyone finds
Everyone fights
never everyone survives
This was not never ending
Cause we're both too young
To give into forever
Trying to fit a larger than life figure.
You surely are mistaken
You've never felt love
Let me tell you why
It's just a fantasy
You're running on empty
And empty is all you can give.
I never belonged in you
I'm just a chapter that's about to end
Or maybe not a chapter at all
Leaving the hurt behind
But you are a closed chapter
The book I could not complete.
Your invisible care left me cold
Closed to the universe around you
Begging to be seen through your eyes
Yet your eyes remained closed
As did your heart.
For I am nothing and so is my heart
Feeling the emptiness' burst
In almost every moment
Leaving me in broken peace
Shattered the master piece
Take my heart
For it was not mine anymore
Let me be just empty
Cold, dark, numb and closed.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
own the title, and perhaps
what follows, but,
“it,”
came & went,
like so many desires,
moments to momentarily,
only to retreat to unreachable
recesses,
shelves in my mind,
for Without Witchcrafon Steam,
no ladder exists
for them be cleansed
or reached,
except when my dreams bleed
it is almost unfair that time is
not
on my side,
that I am eaten alive
by insiders, no
that self~kerrects,
to mere acquaintances,
more or lessened to
NOR
does the peculiar rain’s
that exists in my brain,
permits the razors
not
to go undulled, unsullied,
no,
they are scathed to
unshaven , un-sharpened,
where &
when I search for a
bon mot, invariably
the answer is a 503.
gateway closed to thee/me,
by virtue of your lack of
virtues
nor
is the motif,
my scrappy pieces
of no resistance
for all are closing rapid,
and that’s an endpoint
of sordid…
now the brain bleeds
persistent
no contented to wait
for just dreams,
the rain is hard at work
24/7
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 9:09 AM UTC
leverage question
what will the day bring
life here this
steps into the unknown is throw
request is a dream
attractive like a face
get lost in the maelstrom
never can't understand
puts a hand endpoint
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC