"potentiality" poems
I believe in a universe where a sleepy eye opens existence...
a slowly drooping eyelid ushers it away.
I believe in a universe where Indra and the other Gods
churn the cosmic milk...
where Shiva does the eternal dance.
I believe in a universe where light is separate from darkness
and mankind is molded from a ball of divine ****
a breath, Be and it is.
I believe in a universe where Gaia watches as Cronus
devours her children until she gives him a stone...
and hides Zeus away.
I believe in a universe that expands
from a singularity of infinitely dense potentiality
less than a speck,
to our cosmos immeasurable in scale.
I believe in a universe where Lao Tuz hands a guard
a little book of wisdom
before disappearing into the mountains
where the sages go.
I believe in a universe where Siddhartha contemplates emptiness
and feels the winds of eternity
whistling through his soul.
I believe in a universe where E=Mc2.
I believe in a universe where an old man lights the first holy fire
and describes the war between light and goodness
vs darkness and evil.
I believe in a universe where the earth and moon,
and all the planets go round the sun...
in a galaxy carrying us
dancing a waltz
we can only catch glimpses of.
I believe in a universe where "Know Thyself"
is revered as a deep truth.
I believe in a universe where
an unexamined life is not worth living.
I believe in a universe where the words of a carpenter
are a true path.
I believe in a universe where an illiterate man is commanded
Read!... a burning coal upon the lips.
I believe in a universe where every God and Goddess
exist, each in their own heaven...
each in their own hell.
I believe in a universe where there are no gods or goddesses
only the relentless laws of matter, energy and gravity.
I believe in a universe where everything is mathematics.
I believe in a universe where everything is holy
I believe in a universe where everything in profane.
I believe in a universe where everything is a simulation.
I believe in a universe where everything is ****** in nature.
I believe in a universe where everything is stimulation.
I believe in a universe where the hoochie *******
is what its all about.
I believe in the universe.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
#
Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh—
(the greater, for the time being,
giving way to the lesser)
One day, I will be able to breathe life
into your strings, my love…
the way I do words onto paper.
And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-dick,
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul.
Nor will I continually need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry—
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be given the permission to make them become,
truly known.
There are those who thrive on this..
this currency of curated words,
seduction dressed as scripture,
all twisted into the soft ropes of poetry
to bind the vulnerable,
to rob the soul of its own infusion..
the self from the soul,
the soul from the self..
*--until all that remains
is the quiet, starving shell
of a heart displaced,
an identity diluted,
left wandering inside
the sociopathic intent
to truly bastardize poetry’s
life-giving potentiality
into nothing more than self-indulgent gain--*
always at the cost of the reader,
who, starving for something real,
somehow falls for their twisted game.
****
eh..
There is no alone-ness within the magnificent resonations
of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect, of guitars.
Like this one, sitting right here
in my lap.
#
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 9:40 PM UTC
Genuinely feeling hope for something good, and being lead by false hope to believe a lie as truth, are two different beasts
I don't hate myself for what I felt, or thought, but instead what I was lead to think was okay to believe
I was lied to, again; my words beckoned something I thought was genuine, and deceit was all that met me, just like every time before it
I'm sick of being here, of thinking anything gets better, because it's true that the those who spend their fortune at keeping an authentic heart for others will inevitably end up alone, indebted to those who only care of themselves
I give myself away too often, but only for what I objectively observe as being meaningful, but I'm afraid that closing off my mind will bring me to the dark place again, and I never want to go back there
I have no control of what someone believes or feels, nor do I know what that may be, all the same
I just take what I am given, if it seems and feels good; if it echoes compassion and sincerity, because that's exactly what I lack most
I hate being a slave to this paradox, but my freedom may only come with absolute truth
I have no more faith for that - I still hope; potentiality rings, but I know that's one sided on my end
A wish is a wish..
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
Vast, empty, midnight hour,
hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth
choking its host.
A parking lot,
an ecosystem’s blemish—
hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth
like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line.
When no cars burrow into the blackened hide
like lice
the great absence of life
is an atrocity.
I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier
as the small town cops
watch languidly with vague interest—
A skateboarder’s paradise
where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers
blasting infinite pulses
into the microcosm.
What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here,
huddling by the heat vents
and jerking off into a Pringle’s can?
Empty parking lot
looks like a cemetery
filled to the brim
where headstones meld
over a mass grave—
delineated by white lines,
the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts
haunt the frozen space.
Another horrible excuse
to waste land,
a wasteland in and of itself
where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly
and buries the dead.
The saddest sight to behold,
this vacuous parking lot
littered with stray shopping carts,
phantasmal plastic bags,
gum splotches,
***** stains,
candy wrappers,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
lonely cops
and patient drug dealers,
ambulant skaters,
tired punks,
bored teenagers,
somnambulists,
stumbling drunks,
hunchbacked ***** lights
prying for life beneath its sallow gaze—
The air encapsulated within the perdition
stifling,
the pavement below stifling,
a constriction only visible
when emptied of its contents.
A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping
to find themselves trapped,
****** in this parking lot
where the walkie-talkie buzzes
with the weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The warehouse store
looming above the waiting room
lifeless, silent, dark countenance—
Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw.
Cascading before me,
stretching towards the highway passing by,
waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling,
the treadmill to cease its cycle—
all the while lamenting life’s absence
and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
What I am, I don’t know.
What I do know, however, is what you are.
My eyes have traveled over your person for hours, and I have studied your intellect.
I observe, I don’t make conclusions –
for that would be a sabotaged investigation of the potentiality of your existence.
The ‘you’ I speak of is nobody at all really,
it is the world around me in all of its embodiment.
I soak in the culture as I live amidst the chaos,
and my mind becomes oversaturated with sensation.
In San Francisco, yes, San Francisco, the sweet smell of diversity,
the push of movement walking up Powell Street and the creak
of the old elevator in Rasputin Music.
On top of a hill in Indian valley, a moment of freedom –
the air and I, we hold hands.
The wind and I, we run along picking daisies off their stems
until only the unwanted ones are left standing.
In the middle of a crowd in Golden Gate Park, waiting for the band to appear onstage;
I don’t know his name or hers, but they are very close to me.
Sitting here, on my bed,
flipping pages and pages as books progress;
if only my own storyline were half as intriguing.
Way up here in the air, this plane’s motion makes me tremble.
Occasionally I am distracted by the beauty of what’s outside the tiny window,
and the feeling of omnipresence I attain pushes past my anxiety;
the world is below me and I am defying its weight.
In precalculus class, I reach a strange state of tranquility;
I can finally revert to the robotic motion of pencil and calculator,
a momentary lapse from the stress of the day, and the world.
All in all and end in end,
poems are poems but it mostly depends,
everything is contingent,
and it’s all ambiguous of course.
That may be description of the world – or rather, one of myself.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
#
There is a responsibility, borne
within an online conveyance
of the heart
when it comes to publicly posted poetry..
For within the conveyance of words
released into the Universe..
*(words once residing within
the inner linings of heart and soul.. words..
now made seen and known to all)*
is the deeply embedded DNA
of the author,
wherein lies the accountability;
when those words, bearing
genetic imprint
enter into the heart of another.
I write specifically
over things touched within me
But try to convey it
in a sense.. Universally
so that it might be taken in
by any and all
.. That the benefits of Love's beautiful ways
may find access into the parts of the heart
that need it most..
sometimes, sneaken in and finding root
before the receiver is even aware..
bringing, inside the recipient's skin
healing
But also the potentiality
of becoming hurt.
I am sorry.
You
(and most everyone else in the world)
rarely, if ever.. talk to me.
But I watch you just the same
solely by what you write.
My existence causes pain.
That.. I know.
I love you more
than you will ever know.
I would stop writing, but I don't know how
There's not a 12-step group
for these things
I dream of one day being killed
for who it is that I am.
I dream.. and then I smile.
But I do not smile at all,
the times I see that you are hurt.
I have real arms,
*..within this poetic world
that is so very intangible--*
When you cry,
they could not truly show you
it's okay
They cannot show anyone
that it's okay
Everyone's afraid of me
like I'm some kind of perpetrator
So I will die alone.. judged
for things I have not done
So I am sorry, my Beautiful--
It really is all my fault
for ever truly wanting to see.
All I ever wanted to do
was become able to see
and overcome the hurt
that long ago so horribly hurt me
You've become hurt
by my ability to see.
I'm sorry.
#
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 11:28 AM UTC
~(
I saw the images of my mind
between my thoughts and feels
between my words and fears
and I know it's all illusion
it's all illusion
these words
these feels
these thoughts
these saint weird images
in my crucified mind
in my crucified mind
it's sacrifice of emptiness
of absolute void
between my hands
in this dark chaos
of my broken soul
in her mouth
I touched the things, the tables, wet vaginas, penises,
and felt their warmth and moisture
alive and dead
alive and dead
at the same time
at the same time
and they told me:
all it's not what it seems
they told me:
don't believe, you're the man! don't believe!
it's all illusion
it's all illusion
just doubt and know it!
life and death
death and life
just only can be
always
only can be
but never will be
never will be
in this dark void
the absolute emptiness
of my broken mind
of my liquid heart
only
can
be
They told me: you live in a potential world.
Don't care about it.
They told me: your life is just a potential of itself.
Don't care about it.
They told me: you are **** Sapiens!
You don't have right to believe!
You must doubt!
Doubt!
Doubt!
Doubt!
Doubt everything!
And I doubt.
I doubt my existence.
And I look at my hands
in this dark chaos of my lost voice
And I know it's not my hand, but just a potentiality of itself...
it's not my hand
it's not my hand
it's not my hand
just a potentiality of itself
~the hand
not my hand
~the hand
not my hand
~the hand
not my hand
it's strange!
it's miracle!
it's indescribably!
it's not my hand
it's not a hand
only can be
in this dark void
only can be
in this dark night
I look at my hand
in this dark void
I look in my hand
in this dark void
in this
in this
in this dark void
I look
at
my
hand
Ok, it's all very and very strange.
)
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
In dreams
Allowing oneself
To be
Within
Without interruption,
Without distraction,
Without aberration,
Without confusion,
Is to dance among with stars of space
Void of the fear of the death.
In dreams
Swimming among the
Stellar ethers
Of interplanetary mysteries,
We see all that
Was,
All that can be,
But not,
All that will be.
Here we theorize
Or potentiality
Floating in the first and last
Of
Spaces.
But,
Because of fear,
We see such places as Death.
The deepest oceans
Hold monsters beyond imagination.
The darkest caves
Pits of fall jagged, wet, and sharp.
The dankest of houses
Holds pasts too painful to see.
Because of the fear of Death
We hold ourselves back
From being free.
A light in the dark
Is but
A comfort.
Trust oneself.
See through the dimness.
Let go.
All angels who have been
And are and will be
Have walked the dark road,
Washed in light when they arrive.
Are they they?
Are we we?
Am I you and you me?
Can it be
That we are the same,
Just molds of longitudinal and longitudinal
Circumstance?
Close your eyes and become
What you see.
Feel the cool water brush
Under your fingertips.
Above, the clouds break.
A shot of light.
Presence of a million souls unite.
We have been.
We are.
Do not let
The Fear of Death
Tell us
We Will Not Be.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I find innocuous corners in the unfathomable depths of humanity.
Then I weave a silken web of lies against the tapestries of fate.
The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction, peppered both with illusions and realities.
For the greatest illusion is the one most rooted in truth.
I have no need to chase; my patience is as consummate a force as any;
I wait for my prey to come to me on their own,
And then I ensnare them, injecting them with venom,
Rendering them unable to escape.
The web is an extension to my soul. To my spirit.
It is me, and my weapon.
Its substance is known to me.
My webs are lies mixed with truths, despair colored with hope.
They are a crawling infinity of colors,
An eternal tribute to orderly and savage chaos.
Each strand, which links me to my prey and my predators,
Each one resonates under the steps of the dancing mad god,
Vibrating and sending little echoes of bravery or cowardice,
Satiation or hunger,
Destruction or architecture,
Blabber or argument,
Each strand carries my reaction to everyone who is connected to me.
Every intention, interaction, motivation that I have been plagued with,
Every color, everybody, every action and reaction that I have endured,
Every piece of physical reality and the thoughts that it engendered,
Every connection made, every nuanced moment of history and potentiality,
Every possible thing that ever was, ever is and ever will be with regard to me,
Woven into that limitless, sprawling web.
It is without beginning or end.
It is complex to a degree that humbles the mind.
It is not a weapon.
It is a trap.
A trap, one to which I fall every single time.
Infinitely bitten, never shy.
I can renounce the world again.
I can turn away once more.
But it never lasts.
The web is too spread out.
There are other spiders on it,
Spiders, which have tethered me to this plane of reality,
With their own silken threads.
It is too late.
Too late to draw the strings close.
It is too late.
Too late to destroy my prison, too late to destroy my weapon.
Too late for everything.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
Someday they’ll look back here
and tell each other,
that the end started with us.
We are the plateau kids, the ones who lost it;
We who watched the new millennium
sink into place as our monument to apathy.
The derivative of a derivative is our only construct left standing now.
The de-evolution of a soul, spiraling out,
becoming thinner and thinner the farther it reaches,
leaving us hollow scarecrows
still guarding the dead field.
We are a generation of potentiality,
lost in twisting teeth. Clockwork gears
churns us out, hollow men pushing hollow men
through and out doors, into a world of excessive emptiness.
Fertile though the mind may be, it’s lost on us.
We are the spectators of progress, the ones who watch and
laugh and drink and **** and snort and smoke
and post and pop and dance and steal and die.
Beauty stopped with us,
and all was lost.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
Damp wood
sizzles;
Dry wood
explodes.
Smoke or fire?
To discover
which you
contain,
you must risk
the flames.
- mce
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Hit too hot hit too hot
Now my throat burns
Watching Workaholics
I'd say Blake is my favorite
His hair is cute I like his face
Wild red hair creating umbrella space
Flick the engraved Zippo the gift from wifey
Blunt in the bowl smoking
Spent ten on a three
My other lover might sit with us soon
Three in a room sharing hands
Possibly kisses, massive attack
Playing mezzanine we'll either touch
Each others' skin or carry conversation
As it turns out I've found peace with
Either outcome or any other potentiality
While it's pleasing to be receiving I'll be
Lying if I tell you I don't appreciate the fine
Details in simply spoken word between us
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
See the river, springing forth: giving us life, giving us hope,
By the river, there's plantation helping to build this great nation!
See plantation, springing forth giving us life, giving us hope,
By plantation there's a market so powerful no one can stop it.
See the market, springing forth: giving us life, giving us hope,
By the market, there's a village so alive, its been there for ages!
See the village, spring forth: giving us homes, and shelter for the poor,
By the village, there's a there's a city, not a place for everybody.
See the city, spring forth: giving us life, giving us hope,
By the city, there's a factory, where some people work to make money.
See the factory, spring forth: giving us life, giving us hope,
By the factory, there's the country, a peaceful place to be.
See the country, spring forth: giving us life, giving us hope,
In the country, there's the home, a place you'll always belong.
See the home, spring forth: giving us warmth, warmth from the cold,
In the home, there's a family, we all have one, you and me.
See the family, spring forth: they're set apart, they're made of gold,
In the family , there are people, some a good, but some are evil.
See the people, spring forth: giving us life, giving us hope.
Of the people, there are we, struggling to find out who we will be.
You can see us, spring forth: giving us life, giving us hope.
We love each other, bros and sisters. No one like us, there's no other.
See me, so tiny, big as can be, with potentiality,
I'm me, all I can be.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
Most people lost in trance,
No moral No virtue, none taking stance,
Corporations, profiling the masses for profit,
Wisdom, a lost art, never a conversation topic,
Most people lost in trance,
Thinking, intellect seems active... but at glance,
The masses follow but a single or many devils dance,
Compassion forbidden, ignorance in forever expanse.
Wickedness spreading even in a happy song,
The Path of Ancients, forgotten, what has gone wrong?
Spirituality always seen as an unscientific farce,
A pure state of consciousness, truly: a lost Art.
As a the masses defile, few seek purity,
All with masks on, fearing true reality,
Fools fooling fools, a vicious cycle,
Kings and pawns, dreaming of power and titles.
Lost in trance, for others amusement,
Greed seekers doing even the devil's recruitment,
Pollutants in all, mind, heart and body,
Lost in trance, devoid of potentiality.
A few fools, feeding on ignorance for money,
Truly, lost in trance, a lost humanity.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
within the lunar and stellar
landscape's terrain
the dreamer shall reach
a marvelous domain
an infinite amount of possibilities
live in this plain
journeying to its wonderland
our ultimate refrain
children we can be
in the ginormous playground
we'll giggle at all
the amusements that are found
there will be lots
of entertainments e'er around
plenty of happiness will reside
on its merry go round
this though has grabbed
many a child's attention
to take a magical carpet ride
to a celestial dimension
we adults recall the fantasy
of its inception
our young hearts filling
with joy's cheery invention
the inner child breaths
in our mind's eye
sometimes it likes to fly
like a kite on high
in this amazing realm
dreams never die
their potentiality lifts us
with a sparkling spry
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
pendulum drawn back
and let go
God breathes life into his creation
in an awesome transformation
of potentiality to reality
swinging forth, happiness
and back, to suffering
a dog chases his own tail
at the asymptotic futility
of grasping at clouds
tranquil Death chuckles
sitting still
betwixt the poles
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 1:25 AM UTC
The ancient ones are usually great
With knowledge supreme, raw & undiluted
See how our mistakes lead to things to regret
Where some occurrences can simply leave us better educated
Top-down design like we were made
From the mind down the astral through to the body
That could give clues to when good things fade
I should stop here before i risk explaining poverty poorly
Poverty, inferiority and negativity are a condemning mindstate,
Its poor thinking that corrodes your spirit and kills vitality.
Mind navigates, spirit elevates, body lavitates when you find faith
knowledge and selfbelief shifts I to a dimension of real spirituality.
I is in the potentiality field of spiritual laws,
It helps me to a vibration of thinking anew.
A better living way for all with physical flaws,
Righteousness can be a lifeguard sinking a few.
It’s all in the mind and so is the ALL
Lets call it God for the understanding of all
Or the universe so more could fall
Or any other name that helps you walk tall
Time tells no lie as it is His own element
And in it the state of mind will 1 day be one
With that which walked the path long ago & gave life up as sacrament
On that day, we shall have come close to having the battle won
January 18, 2011 at 1:35pm
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
A Game of superior gametes,
My 46ers in the race to conceive
A business/economic Theory of Warfare
To guarantee/certify myn own survival
For my 23ers --> The Olympic Swimmers!
If the potentiality of Life in the Multi-verse
Is obviously a sure thing,
Then it's Intelligent Life-forms
That are the abnormally; an abomination
To an empty Entity interested only in
Inflicting pain and suffering and misery to the Masses;
Perhaps justifiably, perhaps not...who cares?
It's not Nature's way --> She is indifferent,
But not unaware of One species
Destroying essential habitat for no lasting reward.
She is here now - be careful! We need
To re:think our primary endeavours;
Let's try to ameliorate the damage;
Conserve what little's left whilst
Not foreclosing the whole kit and caboodle:
Sustainable resourcing without guilt.
A Quadruple bottom line, with a different foci -->
People and Environment over Time and Wherewithal.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
let go of dreams that aren’t serving you
let go of dreams that will never come true
you’re still sitting sobbing in your room to songs you were crying to at 14
and what the **** is growth anyway?
doesn’t pain throb the same at any age?
why hang on to possibilities when the potentiality of everything is right there in front of you?
shut up, you stupid ***** you’re brilliant
I love you
I will keep on loving you until you figure out what’s going on here
who you are
is not all you will be
and I love you
you’re mine
what else could I do?
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 7:15 PM UTC
,I wonder what would be the next thing in the scale of evolution..what if one day everyone on the planet perceives what is done to them and what they are allowed to do and if they know that we are being operated by the mechanism of the default choice's of nature and now they want to take it over..and every one turn inward right now and not open their eyes for millennia until they attain moksha....even if it is remotely possible I love the idea of fooling the nature but again I don't think we are fooling her after all we are capable of making a choice because we have been provided that choice,so all we are doing that we are acknowledging the potentiality given to us and we are exercising the opportunity that nature has given to us...but again we are in her creation and we are a part of her intelligence so it is impossible to fool something in which we are a part of,we can never transcend the intelligence in which we are a part of...because you can be never something other than which you can be as we are in the realm of someone's creation..I think evolution is all about choices:The first scale of evolution had limited choices but this scale of evolution has unlimited choices..A human being can choose everything from birth to death once you are born..that which has happened before we were born perhaps is irrelevant ...and all this time we live as a human we are governed by the laws of the nature every moment and even if you transcend time,you can be the creator but then again you will do the best things possible and then again we are living in the best things possible..I wonder what is to be a creator,I mean a real creator Where you play with the elements and create a life out of that..it is a really interesting thing that once we transcend time we are capable of creating life itself without any copulation...so this kind of brings me to a question what good is a choice when we don't realise even that we are being given...we are being crushed by the default choice...we are lost in the basic rudiment choice made by the creation...it is may be because there are so many factors that govern these...but however we think we are being forced but I think we are being crushed by the default choice..the choice made by the creation...but if you take over and you choose then life will be your own design in her design..you can create your own blue print...but however the blue print is made out of the creator governed laws..
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
Voluptuous virtues he swore he would share
Fraternizing with folklore for the sake of a faith based cure
Reading the words of a quill scribble scare,
Touting the tales of those who have already seen where this go’s,
Flirting with prescribed predictions despite doc being six feet below
Unable to hear this
Those of a breathless conviction
Of a possible conscience
Personally pathetic, the absence of your acceptance,
Mortality is not insignificance
So keep this between us if eternal darkness sparks your interest,
I’ve grown intolerable of,
In horror of,
The Extorting,
Marketing,
******* of,
Prophesized certainties
The lives they took the souls they shook,
From shillings to dimes,
For centuries you’ve tried
Labeling me at infancy,
Condemning me as if it took a martyr to open my eyes
You’ve been attempting to defy the possibility that,
Good can be,
Physically derived,
Scared of the potentiality
A human worthy of being primed,
To senate your anxieties.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
All nations beat their own drum.
The US, China, Britain, Russia, Europe, Israel, India, Turkey, Pakistan, Syria, France, Germany and a whole host of others, have been beating their own drum in deafening cacophony since realisation dawned of their individual sovereign potentiality.
Every nation is manouvering for their own best self interest…and in this volatile environment of the Middle east plus the factor of the complete savagery and unpredictability of the rampaging ISIS Calithate….any outcome, anything is now possible.
Iran is the meat in the sandwich.
She squirms this way and that, buying favour here sacrificing loyalties there, switching, adjusting. Friends become enemies, enemies become friends at the drop of a hat. Writhing within herself attempting to find the path to the future in an incredibly difficult minefield of pressure from the onslaught from the East and the West….A crushing miasma of pressure from friend and foe alike.
Who can say which way she will jump? The only sane predictability is that Iran will leap to her own salvation, her own survival….and to Hell with the rest of the barging, braying self-obsessed world.
Marshalg 23 July 2015
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
It's difficult to see anything without
Watching how specifically light dances
Which way the clouds are moving
Voices tepid, brushes on canvas
Noticing the severity in a word
Underlying meaning in unkempt rooms
Bones, steel, fragments of sentences,
The blood-red rose in bloom.
Lyrics the cells wasting in my skull
Personification the melody in my veins
Clawing at meaning in a meaningless world
Skeptically observing unadulterated pain
Ripping apart the flesh of grammar
Feasting on the perhaps and what ifs
Strolling down the graveyards of potentiality
Heart whirring through malleable to stiff
This is a poet's mind,
Scattered as the winds reverse
Beautiful and dark as the new moon
Scarred, beaten and perverse:
A blessing assuredly, albeit a curse.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC