"impedes" poems
You are my fire
My titanic ocean
Your Love burns
Right through my
Very soul
Your love can purify me
Make me whole.
The wind of nature
Is like your Love
It's like no other
I've been thinking of
It Encircles me
Dynamically
Breathing upon my heart
Today
That I may inherit it's
Power
And I hear you say
"Come, Fill this vacuum
that your Love
Enslaves me
Cease this emptiness
That fills my soul
Only your love
Can save me
Give me life
Make me whole".
Please speak to
My heart today
Encourage my Love
Please don't delay.
Clear the vagueness
Which impedes me
Come enlighten my
Mind, Body and Soul
And the truth will only
Lead us
To the love that makes
Us whole.....
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
All common things, each day’s events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The low desire, the base design,
That makes another’s virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy wine,
And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;
The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;—
All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.
The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern—unseen before—
A path to higher destinies,
Nor doom the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
3.8k
Every day is the same.
Wake up late. Procrastinate.
Rush to get ready, board a bus.
Go to school. And wait.
I’ve never understood
Why people are so heartless.
People swearing and shouting and arguing at each other.
I just walk down the halls, trying to block out all the sound.
People ask me questions a lot.
“Why don’t you talk? Can you even speak?”
Yes I can, but it’s not like I don’t want to talk.
I can’t, because there’s no point in it.
You don’t know what it’s like to hate your own voice.
To feel like you won’t be understood
‘Cause your voice is too soft and deep and quiet
And you have a stupid lisp that impedes with everything.
You don’t know what it’s like to have people talk about you.
“He only talks to one person,” they say.
It makes me feel like ****
But nobody cares how I feel.
Every day is the same.
I try my best to hide my feelings.
But sometimes things slip out
When I don’t want them to.
I cried once in class.
Put my head down on the desk.
After I was called a name by someone.
After no one would let me sit down on the bus.
I’m exhausted all the time.
I don’t want to do anything.
I just want to sleep all day.
It’s not like I’ll do anything else with my time.
I want to connect with people.
Even if I don’t understand them.
But it’s so difficult
When you face roadblocks every day.
Every day is the same.
My mind races with thoughts
“You’re going to ***** up. You’re an idiot. A loser.”
“A worthless waste of space in this world.”
“Don’t answer that question, he won’t hear you.”
They tell me to speak up, but I can’t.
It’s like something’s constricting me.
It’s the anxiety, and all those stupid thoughts.
I’m not happy anymore. I forgot the last time I was.
Can’t do anything anymore. The spark I had is gone.
It faded away with all my passions and desires.
I don’t see the point in doing anything.
Sometimes I think about the end.
I know nobody would care if I’m gone.
But then again, I can’t do that to her.
Not when all I want is to spend time with my girl.
I wish she was here. I wish we could talk.
One day isn’t enough for everything I want to say.
It’s irritating, frustrating, this distance is killing me.
But I know it’s not her fault, and I’m not mad.
If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.
If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be the person she is now.
It’s amazing, how she’s able to survive with those parents of hers.
While I’m just a speck in a vast void of nothingness.
I hate them. I hate them so much.
They call her names, they insult who she is.
She’s just trying to be who she wants to be.
Why would you try and strip that from her?
She’s precious to me, can’t you see?
I tried so hard to get you to understand.
But you ignored it all, you never believed me.
So I’m done trying. There’s no point.
She’s the only one that makes me happy.
When I’m around her, everything just fades away.
My fears, my sorrow, my stupid thoughts.
I wish I could be by her side forever.
I miss her so much.
It’s like my heart is breaking when we’re apart.
I know, somehow, we’ll get through this.
And it will all be worth it.
Someday, I’ll be by your side.
Someday, your lips will touch mine.
I know one day, we’ll finally be together.
And we’ll never be apart from that point on.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
The corner of the table in the garden,
it has been given to an upright man;
Einstein's town heated lion dance lights leather soccer,
Peter Daniel was enough to bring soil to face toward
the early women like a fur coat, the abstract
is contained in the embrace of the shadows of prostitutes;
fame went out concerning the impact of the fire
was seen at, as much as for the other party;
thou hast given to look to the waves to move out
of another man's; Seemed to be in Latin and known
as the state, and how it takes to read a new, hot sweat-BRAINED,
I am standing in the midst of the country,
where there is truth in these people dwelt; that,
either through the skin he was taken away;
a teenager in the garments of the goddess
is to start near the ulcer in the knees & in the return
of his book on the state of beatitude, football is right
for the chief men of the city; CIA,
dying, leave there a part of the lady in width,
pure, thin, Oh, the prince of the valley,
the shame of the course; in the middle
of the night I will take away the barriers
of the mind contrary to the spirit of the place
of the held tongue, enlarged by the Asian shore
of the clear deep knowledge impedes
to all these investors have already thirty-eve
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
I can't hear the choir from my couch
It becomes a funeral pyre in a pouch
Like the unnatural fire in my slouch
That is where I retire
To superficially admire
A world I'll never see
Placing trust in the screen
I'm as lonely as can be
Until couches set me free
From a life worrying about others
The couch becomes my banal brother
That is where I concoct my cowardly plan
To avoid my fellow meddlesome man
Living a life in silence
The couch creates pylons
Determining where I can go
Determining what I can know
This Ottoman Empire
Lights the world on fire
With cushions that fuel
Flames and drool
I attempt to stand
But life seems bland
With feeling constant comfort
So my personality I import
From the images on TV
And my brain it impedes
When I can't think for myself
I put my life on the shelf
And flee into furniture
The couch my burning cure
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
I never fix my room, no, never. On every corner, my books perch, stacks after stacks, like hungry butterflies destined to inhale the delight of only three summer days.
On the chair sleep those clothes I was wearing yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and last Monday and weeks ago, like fallen unremembered friends. It still has the scent of the woman sitting next to me on the bus, beside the window, her fleeting heart and endless readings and the way love flipped between her forefinger and thumb. That was the type of love that not the world could interrupt; not even the hundred years of common existence could contain.
It still has the sound of our broken steps on the pavement, the feel of the scraping wall, the drunken scent of the stranger I ****** with. His skin against my skin, his mouth staining the length of my neck, his hair wrapping my fingers, my breath on his temple, his leg, my leg, his arm, my arm, the stars dancing and our warmth defying the curse of human mortality.
Scattered on the floor were the paintbrushes, unwashed palette, stacks of newspapers I use to cover around my interminable uncertainty. I hear the wall, almost every day, discussing about my inferiority complex, about how it impedes me from creating something original, something infinite, about how it trails behind me, gasping, grabs me from behind, locks me in then eventually enslaves me.
How dare they are to go about the spectrum of these endless wanderings, these filthy fellows who knew so well that I never comb my hair and that I have always, always, hated the boring Murakami.
I never fix my bed, no, never. The propped of my pillow, the uneven creases, they will serve as the living reminder of our final encounter. I must have disarrayed the bed sheet – I cannot remember exactly when –but I have no plan of rearranging the constellations any moment soon.
My blanket swallows me alive, its edges draping on the edge of my bed, sometimes flipping reluctantly, savoring the vacancy of the afternoon, the way the light scars my books, glistens my skin that I have strewn everywhere for the mother of otherness to eat.
Most of the time, in my sheer insanity, I set my room afire.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
When it’s real you can feel it, like hard raindrops spanking your skin.
You lay back in your comfortable resting spot, and cover yourself with their spirit alive.
You take a deep breath, because it feels so good;
inhaling mutual passion that’s well understood.
They shine bright like northern lights, intensity growing stronger than the highest fahrenheit.
They have your heart buried in their soul; you dig deep within and lose gentle control.
Pure essence exudes from their eyes, you feel their fear of uncertainty,
you sense the pain of their broken past and pray to God this is built to last.
Eyes that see a special connection, two hearts growing stronger in some special direction.
The embrace you shared can still be felt, the look, the stare, the deep embrace,
the heat that impedes your personal space.
No need for kisses (not just yet); but then again,
you both have needs that are destined to be met.
When it’s real you see inside their soul, wanting to hold them close and not let go.
Who are you kidding, the connection is there; when it’s real you can feel it everywhere!
Hands that touch, eyes that see, a heart pumping love blood abundantly.
A sense of completion because this is real,
we both feel the desire of this *** appeal.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
All through the afternoon,
among these drinkers
to their tables to java cups
all from a bird’s-eye view.
Blended individuals,
of varying hues
too much sugar, no need to stir
hot, no ice - “a language of their own”
adding “cream to this crop”
like fraternity’s rushing thought
to seemingly **** out the weak.
Textbook before my face, coffee to my right
surrounded by chatter, and apparent debacles
behind the rearing of my ear lobes
set the seem from my shirt and cut
play the motion picture, film, pan out.
360 crossover,
these eyes wander, merely to ponder
conscious parenting to the mind; reminded
yes I did complete that -
atoning to what could be done,
view now from my eyes
around clouded peripherals
(zooming into this page)
trying to read to figure
a Venn diagram of the temporal lobe;
committing to memory ironically
it’s long-term function to maintain
the conception of this thought.
Distracted, back to this drink
re-calling coffee mythically impedes growth
or so they say to stray from focus -
the holder is the cup, to handle is abrupt
but we drink it, to straighten our view
so much as this morning vice stimulation
branded by a jaded graphic mermaid,
or possibly a siren, or to some a muse.
But, it’s the afternoon; no need to rush,
just here and there, casually taking sips
temporary jolts of caffeine
a temple of thought,
temporarily fading,
due to lacking the day-to-day rest.
Same perspective,
but this time curious, calm, and collected
like a child looking above an ant-farm - proud
gazing at moving points like synapses
of our coffee cups as opening our wakefulness.
Can we just remember to understand
that everyday is different.
Our mornings may start mundane
but we find joy in the day
for afternoon connections
no matter what they may be, just to remember,
so that we can have lasting memories,
and not the caffeinated ones.
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
my bed became a sanctuary of nothingness. But I fear emptiness. Its close. A paralysis of indecision permeates like frigid winter through drafty walls. I decide to sleep in.
Occasionally turning to see the clock- minutes, hours pile up like ***** dishes.
During broad daylight, the distant noise of a cessna impedes into my room, defining a vast separation. One, maybe two people up there have an interesting life, an important destination. Listening to their flight gives me something to do. When they are gone, I have nothing left but a fingerprint stained glass of water.
By late afternoon, the lost day vaguely disturbs like seeing one shoe on a highway.
Either painful or a waste, nothing good about it.
Finally light dims. A broken clock is right twice in a day, but since I'm the one who stopped, the clock catches up with my uselessness in bed.
The period on the sentence that I have, truly, accomplished nothing.
Darkness justifies my nap. A relief as I can finally end the day with some sleep.
I dream of being infinite, traversing the universe a narrow beam of light. You pass me by a little faster, but turn around so we can create time together, to become here.
I dream of when we camped by a river's waterfall. Half awake my eyes can see the tent filled with soft green light. No light source but bright enough to see by, everything in the tent and you sleeping peacefully. Logic corrects me, says it a New Moon and I shouldn't be able to see anything. My eyes agree and slowly darken, blind to the color of love's aura that I can still feel.
I wake. Pour one bowl of cereal instead of two, remembering when you looked up from breakfast and said, "let’s ride our bikes across the country," just like that. And just like that we did, halfway anyway. 1500 miles was just the beginning. I love the places you take me.
I call you up. "Let's not call them dealbreakers, ok?"
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Can't is a word I refuse to comprehend.
Can't does not exist in my vocabulary.
Not if I intend to live fearlessly.
Can't and Fear feed off each other like fire and air.
The two will dance and expand,
Spread to the last corner and inches of my land.
Can and Faith are the words I will invest into my mind, body, and soul.
Can't will not enter into my mind,
For it might sit in my mouth,
And slip off my tongue.
Can't is a poison;
The everlasting **** to my garden.
Can't will destroy every blossom created,
And seize the seeds yet to sprout.
Can't has the power to end the action of planting.
I will never again see a flower, if I let Can't grow.
Can is the remedy to imagination and ingenuity.
Whereas,
Can't impedes and blocks creativity.
Can't eliminates possibilities,
It drains and empties.
Even the most tenacious sea
Could not withstand the
Dehydration of Can’t
Can't ignites negativity, creating an immobilization and inability to try.
Can't creates an ending before there was a chance for beginning.
Can't breeds the misbelief of failure, even if there was never to be a winner.
In many ways,
Can't is the biggest lie created from out mind.
Mis-be-LIE-f
But if I were to look on the inside,
I'd rather give myself a fighting chance,
Then quit before I start
because of the word Can’t
We will be faced with new challenges each day,
New obstacles will arise and come into play
Life has an abundance of what we must overcome,
I would hate to make myself the enemy,
Be the one standing in front of a self-created machine gun.
If I were to approach the word for all that it is
It is after all,
Just a word.
I would let a word dictate and decide
The choices, risks, and chances taken in life.
Seems unbalanced
That one word can have full access
To my thoughts and actions.
There
The infinite possibilities
in the World and Me.
If the only difference between Can and Can’t
Stands an Apostrophe and T,
Then I choose to remove
The contraction entirely.
If you still don’t believe
How destructive Can’t can be
Here are a few synonyms for contraction as taken from Wiki:
“shrinkage, decline, diminution, decrease”.
None of those words seems appealing to me.
All of those words will devour my dreams.
Which is why Can’t is a word
I refuse to comprehend.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
A young girl,
Face pressed against the glass
‘You’re too young to go in there.
You’re not allowed past.
You must wait outside and do no more than look in.’
But the glass is shattered,
it impedes my vision
And the shards tear through my skin.
The picture is too broken to see what went on,
Smeared blood obscuring where the damage came from.
I can see a clock on the wall,
Time is frozen
But the big hand points to you -
I can just make out you’re all there.
I scream
I bang
I cry for you.
I wound myself further in the confusion,
And when you finally look up from the confines you’re in
There is no movement.
Just a distant sign for me that says
‘stay strong’
I don’t understand what’s going on,
Strong for what, for who?
Why can’t I come in there with you?
Please someone tell me what’s happening.
I’m bleeding; you’re all bleeding,
But still I don’t know why.
Old enough to know the colours,
but too young for where they came from.
Close enough to hear the screaming,
too far from the cries.
Too young,
Too young.
Not young enough.
You were all on the hour and I am frozen at six,
the little hand
Behind that pain spattered pane that splintered my heart.
All of your blood was spilt too,
Just on the inside of the glass
By the clock in that room where you all were together,
That I was allowed to see,
but not to touch.
I wanted in,
but there was no choice,
My blood had to stay on the outside with the dust.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Crinkled and knotted,
Your mind pushes far beyond the last
Fluid dimension of thought.
Words and images
****** out, crossed out, and beaten.
Their meaning disentangled
From the syllables they’re bound to.
Stretched,
Pulled,
Prodded,
Poked,
Rolled,
And torn open.
Mile by mile, down a endless road,
Making no explicable progress.
Broken and battered,
Words, attempting equilibrium,
Burn off energy enough to care.
The unthinkable dread of empty canvas
Impedes on the black and white tile
That clangs too loudly
For reason to be heard.
Inspiration becomes an
Agonizing, ever-twisting labyrinth.
The climactic moment drawn out too far,
Centuries too far,
Tortures and torments you,
Tears you to pieces
Until, at last, you
Are indistinguishable from
The pain you’ve offered,
The discomfort you’ve endured,
The itch you’ve tolerated.
And the balance finally restores itself.
Rights you just at the point of ultimate collision,
Lets you steal a breath,
Before the next thought starts to pull.
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
As I stand over the ruin, the deepest dark, swallowing black,
Hope is at the mercy of a terrible minds acts.
Torn dreams in scared memories with such a devastating array,
An inner darkness so pure, ripping the guts of black holes away.
With an anger that burns like the center of the earth, so hot,
Waiting to spill out to melt your sweetest, hopeful thoughts.
The heart bleeds void in the darkened soul, your irresistible hatred of my iridescent glow,
The unstoppable will that impedes blood, so cold, with icy fingers that drain your soul, slow.
Your ultimate despair is my inevitable strength, I exuberantly feed on your passionate fear,
If you would only entertain a certain parley with me, I have a seductive secret my dear.
If not for formality, you would have already been devoured, but you're the delicate flower,
So crystal and pristine, I wait to bath inside your light, only increasing my power.
Over places deep within you, so beckoning to my dark, where I hold time,
You may have peace in the day....but in the night...your *** is mine!
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
BE free from the church and its impositions
its restrictions
contradictions
and ungodly superstitions
BE free from all dogmatic institutions
Patriarchal truths
are only partial solutions
BE free from the coat of protection
that they fashion
A one-size fit
that impedes expansion
BE free from the doctrine
that imposes separation
Brother versus brother
Nation versus nation
BE free from the teachings
that set us apart
That caters to the Ego
not to the heart
BE free from the darkness
that controls your mind
How can you see the light
if you're asleep or blind
BE free from the ‘Book’
and its static communication
A covert operation
in the ‘divine’ proclamation
BE free from hypocrisy
intolerance and vanity
The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor
of the world's insanity.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
How is this a bold statement?
"I don't give a shiit
And I'll continue to refrain from giving a shiit
'Till your shiit
Impedes on my shiit"
What part of that shiit
Do you not get?
©2024
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 11:22 AM UTC
Why does death elude me
does it no longer hunt me like a lion to it's pray
the sweet sleep is so far away, outside of grasp.
The overwhelming feeling f reponsability impedes my plan
and my mind feverishly attempts to find a way to disolve the promise
and responsabilities owed.
To decide the way to face death is another decision
should it be peacful and fade into a quiet slumber
should it be quick and one painful
I find myself lacking the courage to take that final step, to pull that triger or take that extra pill
I ate my life and the constant strugle
I hurt everyone I know and can't keep the one's I love
I lose them to death and to my inabiltiy to look outside my of me
There is nothing to ook foreward to nothing that will change my life for the better
So I continue with my prayers to be taken from this turmoil and grief to stop hurting others in my life with one last pain and loss, the loss of me
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
we are not. and that impedes the luscious.
are you one of them ? combing the pantomime of obscure ? are you really that naive ?
do you have what i came here for ?
do you really ?
let's check.
how many temples have you burned to the ground
in the last 24 hours ?
Did you tip a sacred cow when i wasn't looking ?
are those my absolutes
flailing in a sea of ' Could Be ' ?
can i *** a cigarette ? yet ?
there are better sins to love in a crisis. better hurricanes to typhoon the blithering idiocy
of a storm's eye. a direct kink. a direct calm.
there are ways around the fickle shame of honesty;
while being yourself.
it's another room.
and no one is ' one of the boys '
till a woman says "Hello...
I must be going... "
and no one is ' one of the boys '
till a woman says "Hello...
I must be going. "
and no one is ' one of the boys '
till a woman says "Hello...
I must be going ..."
a lot.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
In my time,
We were already ancient.
As was Pax - Peace,
The most precious fruit(s) of our gardens.
There was younger Tranquility & Harmony,
Time's & Nature's respectively.
From equal dispensation of & to each,
For & from Universal Equality & Universal Equity.
Respect, of & in Truth, was the governance.
When we were at our Max - Peak;
So too everyone, everywhere, everybody - everything.
All cared for as unique individuals,
When last stood this Summit.
From a Son come down from the Mountain
To show you all the way up.
But it is up to each, together, to push that boulder -
Anything that impedes progress, let it stand not.
For tighteners get trapped in webby-naught(s) -
Titans unbind the knots.
This is in pursuit of Liberation & Independence.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 3:42 PM UTC
This afternoon, I time a Loon
the length that she stays under.
Upon the shore, I keep her score,
amazed and full of wonder.
Beneath a wake, one minute eight.
What is it that she plunders?
**************************************
No hook needs she to fish so free.
No line nor rod impedes her.
What sense applies to depths she dives?
Which rhythm moves her meter?
As if in air she swims so fair
To seek that which may feed her.
**************************************
On this Fall day, I wish to stay
and watch her dive and surface.
“Get back to shore!” My mind implores
as work beckons its service.
And yet I stay in silence, bade
the Loon to bear me witness.
**************************************
Share I with Loon this afternoon
to gladly dive and swim?
In friendship be the Loon with me?
With her would I find kin?
No.
As land locked Loon, I must resume
to fish the drink I’m in.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC