"paradoxically" poems
The truth is ...
Life is perfect,
With no problems that conflict.
Though naturally, improvements take effect.
The truth is ...
Nothing needs to be different,
Although everything in moment
Constantly changes and becomes different.
The truth is ...
Nothing is lacking in me.
Every moment is as it should be.
Evolving into what I am, paradoxically.
The truth is...
Life is fragile,
My body a mere vessel.
However, I am eternal,
Divine consciousness in spirit.
Although, I am not always aware of it.
The truth is ...
My nature is goodness.
Although that is not always my experience.
God made me always lovable.
These truths are immutable.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
From beach to beach to beach, glimmering shimmers of sand laden waves lap lazily at your feet. The seaweed masquerade of the crab clumsily dancing amongst the foam is paradoxically poignant but apt.
Sighs of relief as the soothing sensation of the sea on hot blistered feet capture the essence of the moment. The simple pleasures of the beach; sand ridden toes and remarkably veined geodes; the golden grains and barnacle encrusted rocks provide a unique treasure indeed.
And then comes the gentle pitter-patter of a sunshower- putting a literal damper on things- but uniquely completing the picturesque scene.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
When A Man Loves A Woman, He Will.
Let us end this weekend by talking about the love between a man and a woman. To the ladies who often ask, “How do I truly know a man loves me?” this is for you. When a man loves a woman, he will never cheat on her. Never! He will find other women that throw themselves at him repulsive, however beautiful, they might be. That does not mean he has to profess a zillion times in a day how much he loves you. A man who does that is often a player.
Talk is cheap. To a man who loves, actions speak louder than thunder, even in his subtlety! If you are an intuitive woman, you will know how much you are loved without even hearing the “three magical words.” There will be love in the way he looks in those lovely eyes of yours, in the way he holds your hands, in the tenderness of his text messages, in the attention he gives you, and in the care he takes in choosing the gifts he give you, and in the way he speaks to you.
It is widely acknowledged that men love *** If a man says he does not love *** he is a shameless liar or a capon. God, we love *** Yet, paradoxically, when a man truly loves a woman, *** with her is the last thing on his mind. His interest in her is holistic, not just the apple she has to offer. He wants you for the rest of his life, and his single preoccupation from the moment he meets you, will be to put a ring on your finger so you can carry his name as Mrs…(Insert your man’s name) as a badge of honour.
A man who truly loves you knows you meticulously. He knows what puts a smile on those rosy lips of yours. He knows what to say and what to do both in the good and bad times. He knows your kind of music or your kind of book. If you are a chocolate lady, he knows your kind of chocolate, if you are the romantic type he knows when to take you for moonlight strolls. Basically he will love you like you have never been loved before.
In all, a man who loves you will do anything. I mean ANYTHING for the woman he loves.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
~ i am a preamble, seeking to evolve ~
~ my every emotion, thought and deed, cascades, consequence ~
~ your every touch forever impacts, in cascading consequence ~
~ we are all sacred, equal in our worth, may we each, behave so ~
~ paradoxically ~
~ our security is rooted in our acceptance, of insecurity ~
~ our cyclical attractions, and repulsions ~
~ are the forces which bind us ~
~ while i don’t understand all the motivations ~
~ or all the machinations ~
~ of the forces applied, to divide, conquer and control ~
~ i deem they are parasitic, and thus ~
~ reliant upon our cooperation, to survive ~
~ when i haven’t worked myself out in perfect coherence ~
~ i’m in no position to pass judgments upon any other ~
~ in absence of fraud, deception or manipulation ~
~ embracing sovereignty and free will ~
~ i vow ~
~ to wage peace, cooperation, creativity and love ~
~ to seize opportunity to nurture ~
~ our garden planet ~
~ as a humbled gardener ~
~ there is no spoon ~
~ it was only an illusion ~
~ there are no sheep ~
~ just tactics to divide, and distract ~
~ we are only ~
~ children and parents ~
~ friends and lovers ~
~ sisters and brothers ~
~ cosmic conscious explorers ~
~ shaping our reality ~
~ nurturing OUR Garden ~
~ namaste ~
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
This is not really a poem; just an insightful realization of mine
We have this mainstream perception of human life—that we grow to freely love the things we desire to love. We are biologically-inclined to conform to the intuitive notion of 'freewill'. But what is supposed to be imprinted in our minds turns out to be no more false than the number zero being larger than one; in actuality, we are nothing but biological clockwork confined to obey the laws of nature.
Every atom in our body, every neuron streaking in our nerves, and every step we take, our body does so, for the laws of nature require it to. Our actions are as predetermined as the orbits of the planets, and paradoxically, it is as probabilistic as the location of an electron in its quantum orbit. We don't act out of our own will; we act out of necessity, for the laws of nature require us to behave the way we should be behaving.
They call it Scientific Determinism.
Disturbing, isn't it? And what does that make out of freewill and love? Simply put: freewill is an illusion, and love is the sweetest lie ever conjured up in this Universe. Even so, we still choose to believe in both. Why? Because we're humans; we long to live our life with a purpose, even if it takes for us to make up our own.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
In your wrinkles lies the wisdom that I continuously seek
too eager to wait for my own, into my future I attempt to peek
but it is through rose-tinted glasses, shattered by visions of war
that I understand my world filled paradoxically with blood, love, and gore.
Letting the words pour forth, I forget what I am trying to say
all I can remember is the hope that I hold for some better days,
not just for me and mine but this entire global community
that stumbles over politic and collapses in economic unity.
When will the giant be humbled upon desolate shores?
Surely it won't take the deaths of too many more...
Soldiers of fortune?
No, Soldiers of Deceit -- victims of their leaders own bigoted conceit.
Bloated and forsaken are the children of opportunity,
praying for sustainability, locked in obscurity.
I know no truth which has never been known before...
but God, bless all the ageless that wear their wrinkles as a crown of thorns.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
Dear Moon,
You looked beautiful tonight.
The kind of beauty
That grabs all eyes
and insists that they pay you attention.
But moon,
tell me,
are you lonely up there?
The infinity of stars that lay
scattered in your presence,
seem as if they could be pleasant company,
but is it all an illusion?
The stars trick the foolish
into thinking that they are in your
constant amity.
That’s what it looks like to us, Moon.
But those stars have never uttered one word to you
have they?
Immeasurable distances
make conversing quite difficult,
I would imagine.
Are you sad, Moon?
Is it distressing, Luna,
that us,
the ignorant,
believe that just because
our eyes see the stars in a way that
makes us believe they are near to you,
that you are not hurting?
Child of the night
who lives solitarily.
Do you weep?
Do you shed tears that we mistake
for beauty against the vast night sky?
Daughter of the dark,
who graces all with her
entrancing despondency,
Was there ever a time when you
had hope that somebody,
anybody
would save you from your fate?
Do you feel forsaken my love?
What have you done, Moon,
that would condemn you to this
paradoxically poetic reality?
You didn’t want this.
You only wanted to shed awe upon us,
and light the path home when it got
too dark.
And what have you gotten in return?
Isolation.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
You're are the love of my life
The lyrics to the happiness of my life
The fertiliser to my joy
Paradoxically the more I look at you the more beautiful you become
I'm a mic You're my amplifier
You're the love of my life
The destiny to my journey
I will never leave you
So that I can have children like you
Because beautiful is the reflection of who you are
I look at your heart its written fragile
So I will always handle you with care
You're are the love of my life
The antidote to my anger
You are my other half
Without you am incomplete
Your warm hugs feels like heaven on earth
Forever you are mine so am I
You're the love of my life
My jersey in winter
Words cannot completely describe my love for you
But always remember that I can die for you
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
* *A tear is shed
For those who are blind to the beauty of this world
Who can only feast on sarcasm, writhing in irony
* *It soon evaporates.
Pictures of a future dressed in ribbons and lace, cast off and burned
Pictures of the future carrying disdainful dystopia, infamous for invalids
Hung to admire in sublime distaste by those that seek knowledge
And see the repetitious antiquities of time that come to pass
But others care not for plans and the imminent
Those that keep to the light of the gas
And carry the past to the present
Hoping for trends to try again, reliving what they had never lived
Laconic and loquacious in emotions and words
Against the gossip, but paradoxically
Pushing for the creation of their “ritualistic social Golgotha”.
Those who abuse the glory of their munificent, malicious mentality
Pathetically unable to procure authentic happiness
A tear is shed.
Inside the recesses of the soul where emotions dare not dwell.
It too evaporates.
Trapped in fear and the “cliched harlequin speech of suicide”
Begging for the masses to cast them out and find each other
A tear is shed.
Never seen but felt as it evaporates.
Felt by those who envelop themselves inside themselves
Those who plagiarize their sick self-conscious souls
Those who bring about the very misfortune they strive to devour
Those who are effortlessly envied as they exploit their habitual recreations
By those who wouldn’t dream of falsified euphoria
Those who bastardise and deface the name of creative individualism
As waters of the soul are purged and discarded
They are felt by those
And are quickly washed away in doubt and regret
Keeping to the light of the gas, dangerous and warm
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
Sexually there was a roughness
You would stuff it into me
Without any softness or gentleness for yourself
Except paradoxically there was a softness
You were soft
You struggled to get fully hard
Oh the irony
How the body will create its own balance
Now that's changed
You have no problem getting hard
My softness opened you up
To sensuality, to eroticism, to life?
I can feel your desire for me
Your need for me
You let me get on top of you now
Often
You didn't used to
Now we silently negotiate
I surrender to you
And you surrender to me
Trusting me, allowing me to wrap you in my softness
You are crying out for my gentleness
You won't admit it but it is the antidote to your push push mentality
You look at me - really seeing me
*** is the place where our need for one another over flows
It's the place we are truly allowed to need each other
I need you. **** I need you
Your absence rips at my heart
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
I am not Christian but I have deep reverence for the teachings of Christ and his love of humanity.
I am not Roman Catholic but I recognize the life-affirming power of community, communion, and ritual.
I am not a Moslem but I find beauty and usefulness in the teachings of Mohammed.
I am not Buddhist but I have seen the results of meditation, daily spiritual practice, and putting aside my own ego.
I am not Taoist but I have felt the peace of the way of simplicity and harmony with the Tao.
I am not ancient Egyptian but I know the power of the Sun in the heavens, and I honor the Holy Mother Isis whose name has been hijacked by terrorists and propaganda machines.
I am not Wiccan but I have danced with the natural cycles of the year and the moon; I have known the power of the Earth and my place within it.
I am not Jewish but I will not forget the lessons of suffering, wandering, Silence, and discipline they have taught the world.
Heathen. Pagan. Atheist. Heretic. Believer. Trickster. Demon. Saint.
Paradoxically, I am none of these things and All of these things.
I believe in a humanity that can transcend the enslaving dogma and intolerance of patriarchy and religions used against us, to see ourselves, our god(esse)s, and our highest noble values in the faces of each other and all the natural wonders of this universal dream.
Original Sin = the Original Lie.
I believe in the goodness and greatness of us all.
Won’t you be my neighbor? <3
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
The highs and lows of living life
Occur in sweeping loops
The ups and downs of everything
Are determined by the groups
Of numbers as they glide
Across a digital display,
In rendering the parabolas
Of this game of life we play.
The winning runs of business
A sweet windfall of cash
Temptation to extend that deal
Beyond …is perhaps rash;
It may just tip the balance
Commence the start of the decline
And your parabolic plunge
Will see you quailing to divine.
How you claw your way to solvency
You sweat to make it right,
How you battle tax malignancy
To surmount official might.
The administrative penchants
Of administrative types
Who insist on crossing every “T”
And switching “OUT” the lights.
Having made it, you sit astride the top
And bask in shining light.
You cast off the cloak of caution,
Claim success as yours by right.
But by morning there’s a thunderstorm
A headache and a snag,
By lunch evicted on the street
With your belongings in a bag.
The ups and downs of life my friend
Are a parabolic coast
One day you’re sitting pretty
The next day you are toast.
The only consolation
Of this constant change of state
Is the reconstructive challenge
In re-determining your fate.
So gird yourself my beauty
Hitch your belt another notch
And launch yourself at living
Before you seek that midnight watch.
For tomorrow is a mystery
The possibilities are vast
And paradoxically speaking
The very best is usually last.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
20th July 2008
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 4:55 PM UTC
Until I met you
I scoffed at cinematic romance
So extra and unrealistic
Utterly improbable
Completely dramatic, unreal
Coincidence is never that perfect
And yet
I met you by accident in empty hallways
I talked to the universe for months
Asking her for the chance to connect
Day after day
I couldn't find the courage to speak
I didn't know you at all
But our souls felt like magnets
Being around you is electric
Paradoxically calming
Falling in love with you was unrealistic
As we were both dating another
And despite the improbability
Polyamory was the wild card
From bridge walks to car talks
This flame burned right through me
From 15-minute cafe conversations
To our first kiss under a bell tower
Our passion raged in waves
Ripping apart everything I thought I knew
An emotional monsoon
I swear this is a love like no other
Kissing in cars and wrestling on hotel beds
I breathe in your love and your light
Cherishing your soft skin against mine
Exhaling gratitude and peace
It's a feeling so surreal
No words feel right to describe it
But I do know it's a blessing
That every single day
I get to fall in love with you all over again
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 12:16 AM UTC
it drips from the bottle
and into your
mouth
which spouts words
with no regard for my
feelings
that you don't know how to address
without alcohol kissing your
lips
that form sentences
with a mind of their own
uninhibited by their flattery of me when they were
sober.
it agitates your face
as it rests in your
hands
that used to hold mine and it
glazes over your
eyes
that used to light up when they saw me
or when they heard my
name
that you can hardly stand to speak
without alcohol
dancing on your
breath
that doesn't render sounds
without cheap courage summoned
up.
it depresses your
mind
that I used to find intriguing
as it was paradoxically
kind with a quick
wit
that no longer aims
to make me laugh
but is now restrained by the liquor
label
that you plastered to yourself
without concern -
would you even stop
if your own bottle said
please?
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
(In memory of Norris Hickey 1935-2014)
Love of family and fly-fishing: twin tributaries flowed
into your heart like a braided river.
Paradoxically, a sociable man who preferred to be alone
on some braided river,
basking in the peace of the wilderness,
hearing only birdsong and the gentle whirr of the fly line,
its nylon whipping to where you hoped the fish would rise.
Patience comes easily in peaceful surroundings,
unlike waiting for the blessing of grandchildren.
Eventually rewarded with five blessings.
You always said what a lucky man you were.
I’m glad your luck held because you would weep to see
your precious braided rivers drying up down here,
****** dry by the farmers’ greed for white gold
and the threatened tarāpunga (Black-billed gulls)
getting their nests crushed by callous four-wheel drives.
It would be enough to make your big, generous heart burst.
© Andrew M. Bell
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 12:41 AM UTC
And then the Spark -
did ignite in me terribly so -
dose of doubtful Diction - unleashed.
And the soul needs comforts too -
Soothing for its Aches - Oh! - but the Aches!
It Aches terribly so.
Humanity toxically hurts - causes the pain.
Yet, Company can cure this curse -
Paradoxically entwined with Mankind.
If only all men were kind.
This Spark would surely not burn - bleed -
so terribly so.
- No -
This Spark would blaze up Celestially - Angel's push towards the ethereal beauty - and then -
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Me as I am
And you, in part
Become ‘we’ in this process.
A long conversation that’s intimate, yet paradoxically almost one-sided with respect to content.
But I’m not alone in it;
You are here, focussed and listening.
I wanted to write prose about this business, but its shape was a poem.
Between these lines is where the essence of the meaning lies
A space where we sense the sense of it
Our conversation is long indeed and many stories have been told
Some have been slow to unravel and are unravelling still
Some intertwine in complex patterns
And others are shaped into vivid dreams
We ride on them and ahead see fate laid out like a corpse
Unwinding the shroud we face Death
And all the while stare wide-eyed and white faced at our doom and our destiny
It’s here you whisper courage and strength into my ear.
This is the journey of a lifetime
Who leads and who follows I know not
Only the first hesitant step reveals the nature of the second, all else is obscured
Magical and mysterious, harsh yet peppered with laughter
The treasure found along the way is in the companionship of our shared experience
And in me finding the part of myself that I had thought lost
On reflection I needed to have a sense of where I’d been and where I am going
Yet I’m still here on the journey
And can’t see where it leads
As if this were ever possible!
But what I notice is that I need ask fewer questions
And perhaps that’s an answer of sorts.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:17 PM UTC
The music of life, at times, is a raucously *** concert
of ominously monotonous melodies sung sirenically
by voluptuously ugly monsters.
Curvaceous enough to flaunt the fact they’re actually ****
Which makes you feel like an *** but that’s just the way
it was meant to be.
Then the chorus bombs in, and the song starts to get sweeter
since the tune becomes a lot like Bob’s album: Street-Legal.
But as quick as you can nictitate, the ****** you anticipate
flicks away like a spark that was never gonna be lit-to-flame.
And so revert the monsters, their obnoxiously off-key verse,
somehow being, paradoxically, still acceptably heard.
And I almost forgot to mention how horrifyingly awkward
the gawking audience dances! Watching it is honestly
the most awful part of this non-senseness.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Slow is her progress and high is her climb,
It's measured in arcs that trace my night sky.
I spoke and she answered, but only in rhyme,
Across space and time, the poetess and I.
In my dream we met, and she told me she'd written,
Something dear to her kind heart- a poetic creation.
For Sara herself, I was utterly smitten,
And I urged her to share it, with awkward elation.
I rambled then, foolish, and shy to be near,
Since her words had already reached me before.
In a future that’s past yet, paradoxically, here,
And knowing, not knowing, just what was in store.
“There's a poem that you wrote...”, I had started to say,
“In the Bradbury story, I think that's the one”,
“There's an automated house that's going through it's day...”,
“It recites your piece aloud...? but the people have all gone...?”
“ ‘There will come soft rains’,dear friend”, her reply,
And her smile said, “thank you. I'm glad you recall”,
“But this one is shorter”, and her voice was a sigh,
“It’s a different theme, but encompasses all”.
Then, as you'd expect, in the midst of a dreaming,
She opened her notebook and the next thing I knew,
Four lines of writing appeared, only seeming,
To arrange themselves magical, universal and true.
——————————————————
"Moon's Ending" by Sara Teasdale
*Moon, worn thin to the width of a quill,
In the dawn clouds flying,
How good to go, light into light, and still
Giving light, dying.*
——————————————————
Every step of our lives, we are walking the line,
Fail or succeed, illuminated in the trying,
The moon is just as bright when she's on the decline,
Our light, consolation to the living or dying.
Thank you, poets. You gave everything that you could,
When you’d make something holy from the simplest spark.
Thank you, friend, for understanding. I had hoped that you would.
Thank you, Sara, for writing the light and the dark.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
Isolated faces paradoxically surround
Bound by wants infinity
I strayed away from banks
Cause greed was just to trendy
The idea of friends and numbers
Threw me to the ground
Figured we'd crown 4 quarters instead of 100 pennies
Swede shoes, silk shirts, and bentleys
By some is defined as plenty
While little Lenny with stomach empty dreams of Denny's
Or some water or a Father would help immensely
Afgani blowing and Hennessy gulping MC's
Take their aperture and narrow it densely
Make millions off the Emmys some how erases Memories
Of pennies struggling in this world
Mother fiend'n they're just fending
Against the many
In class they're considered lowers
Below us they just a penny
I say our morals need reordered
cause no doubt that they're all Quarters
And deserve entry into this bank of respect
That has become run by hoarders
Loving to build borders 3 times the size
Of their self righteous shoulders
This is a disassembly of a culture surrounded by sentries.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 12:32 PM UTC
The debate is on
I want to perform
but first I must
humidify my guitar
Ate dinner
now there's a lump in my throat
so I'm gonna sit here
drinking tea 'till I feel
paradoxically soothed and energized
hamburger and homefries
the summer dish
perfect for outside
but here I sit in my A/C winterland
conditioning myself for hats and gloves
The water's warming and rising
the mosquito larvae have won
Itching in Yellow Fever delirium
These grassy hollows
were once a worthwhile place
The new wonders are now
grotesque animistic anomalies
Today, face-to-face with rabid rabbits
Tomorrow, the white light angels
with hyper beam cleansing
they could no longer bear to watch
from porcelain obelisks
the human media screen
of indoor inexploration
fail to hide the sins
from the scale holding counters
Justice, the lucky one
with bandanna over eyes
still heard the profit wrenching semantics
get drowned out from screaming harpies
Responsible gods stopped their foray
in fear humans will survive
Dark matter engulfs all
in fear humans will survive
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
She has left me forever but wants to enjoy my company forever because she knows that my advice was as worthy as her father's advice for her. And she wanted a cool boyfriend, not a caring and overprotective ****** like me, in her words. She has unfortunately chosen to ditch me forever. But she is paradoxically true in saying that the care I dispensed was more like that of a father than just a cool lover or a boyfriend who she desired.
I can't stand the sight of herself willingly falling into the quicksand that the evil society is. She will weep alone someday, repenting for making all the wrong choices and I won't be waiting for her forever because my respected parents have wrested my life from the clutches of death so that I may do something worthy of my calibre, not condescending from mere some ****** girl's stupid decisions.
So I chose to move on alone. She'll realize one day that her decisions were all made sluttily and wrongly so. But when she realizes so, I will make sure that I am not there to handle her once again. I will stop being concerned for her altogether.
I forgive her with the guarantee to forget her and come over to move on beyond her one day. But no one will get my more than humanitarian love ever.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
Mhmm...
Mhmm... yea!
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah yeah mm... mhmm
Mhmm... mhmm...
Mhmm... yea! yeah
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah mm mm, mhm
Hey, yea-yea, yeah-eh-yeah-eh, yeah-eh-yeah-eh
Hey hey-yea-eh yeah, mhmm
Professional or beginner doesnt matter
Every sinner is a prisoner in a body that is subject to time
Now my entwined mind tries to form a straight line
not like twised scoliosis of the spinal chord
Construct
Cross eyed carpenters are cuttin' crooked lines
Can't construct
man-made shrines when the winds and the water move sands of time
Many minds on a deadline, yet live life like a live wire
I'm not tired!
Of blood and fire
Spirit's moving higher than the green grass ever lifted me
Spirit's moving higher...
Than anything else ever lifted you
Mm, see
We got spirituality
It's living in us like one in three
Injustice is concerning me
in the non-linear eternity
I'm speaking paradoxically
but you can nod your head now when you understand me-e-e-ee...
This is for my free men
whose backs wont bend in the lions den
now with their eyes on the ending
This is for my free women!
They fight with their love
The bearers of our children
Free men whose backs wont bend in the lions den
now with their eyes on the ending
This is for my free women
They fight with their love
The bearers of our children
We shine like lights exposing
what lies underneath decomposing
Unearth those chains that are rusted
my sweet Lord, is that what i trusted in?
That sin? That tomfoolery? Ugh!
What it is is mental jewelery that I adorned myself with
The enemy's gifts, the man-made myths, the ignorant bliss
of marijuana spliffs and alchoholic fifths
I got so sick and tired of it
Delivered and redeemed
by christ i mean
It's time to start livin'
and get a reason for the rhyme
I dont wanna be dead-wrong on the deadline
Standing on the dark side and all out of time...
Like a blind pantomime's fantasize
climb up his own ladder to the sunshine
Nothin's mine
that hasn't been given
No one's alive here
that hasn't been risen
For 19 years i was trapped in a prison
Feeding my escape by means of derision
but every man-made attempt just failed
when trapped in a jail
of my own guilt, shame, and iniquity
I was looking for freedom
How'd I find freedom?
Oh! Oh, freedom...
from all of this
He said believe
He said believe
Who are you telling me to belei-e-eve... yea
'Said I'm the Christ
Oh!
...he said I'm the Christ
So I believed.
Freedom!
Mhmm... yea
Mhmm... ey!
Mhmm... ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah yeah eh, mhmm
Mhmm... Hey! No, no no
Mhmm... yea!
Mhmm... Yea ey-yeah-ey yeah yeah mhm,
Nah na-na-nah
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
If you could promise me one thing,
it would be that you'd never change.
No matter how many ways I rearrange
these meager words,
they will always find a way to spell out
"I love you"
And that's beautiful.
But we do not worship beauty anymore,
we bend our knee to concepts such as
violence and objectification
in a culture that paradoxically forbids it,
for every vulture picking the bones of something
that once was amazing,
there is a man getting fat off lies
and grazing.
This is for every child who will die this year,
who will take it upon themselves to make a message
that people will choose not to hear.
This entire atmosphere is clouded from the fumes
coming out of the hallways and classrooms,
where each flower blooms
only to close it's petals up again in shame.
Where each name called is meant to stand for
horrors and destitution
and our prostitution for convenience
will always shift the blame.
This is for every bully that got pushed back,
for every attack returned
and good night's sleep earned.
This is for you,
or anyone like you,
who has ever had to feel the shock value
summing up to totals we could never coalesce
and I will not digress from this topic.
It has burned holes in our armor,
into our good judgements and mind
where our credit cards will be declined
because we didn't take charge.
Problems like these will only enlarge,
we will never be happy,
until we deal with this.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC