Palpating the empty cavernous realm of intellect and morality,
I find a restricting noose constructed of the finest strands of insecurity, but it's more proportionally comprised of self-doubt. Each fiber's soaked in a vat of social restraint, the ineffective capability of people to deny injustice. Choosing instead the intoxicating mirage that hereditary lies has handed down throughout the centuries.

Helping the constructors of irrationalism build their platform upon supports of popular opinion.
Equipping it with the ingenious trap door many a potential scholar of entropy and fatalism has fallen through. Snapped necks they suffocate on the breath of pseudo-liberty; as the French have, and Americans still do.

Hands bound behind their backs by indecision, latent anger, the belief in a system far from progressive. Where morals and codes of conduct are tempered, and deliberately shaped into devices of torture sugar coated, and worn pridefully without knowing the restrictions nor the pain, any form of progressive thought is absent. The mass majority select intellectual stagnance over the enlightening evolution of attempting to understand the human condition.

They are not to blame.
For shame and resentment are left for frugal debates over each new candidate, sheered from the same wormwood poisoning the stream of consciousness ****** by a nationalistic fervor full of flavor, no long lasting integrity, only iron clad walls of discretion and misrepresentation.

Traveling great distances, shoulders encumbered with regret, apathy, and triviality; the phantom that is a patriot has left his burden laden tracks for the next poor sap to find his way far from freedom, closer to slavery. The yoke fits loosely but unlike the bumbling oxen his purpose is indiscernable, his capacity to think of a way to escape is neutralized by the bag of oats and blinders he himself accepts; by abhorring what he’ll call disrespect and irreverence toward a slave driving body masked by the right to live fruitfully, albeit sedentary.

The joy of complacency is not holding responsibility, not feeling accountable for any choice where the dangers of rational thinking may awaken the bitter, savage realization that he is merely a by-product, a cog in a larger scheme to keep freedom a longer journey than it is according to the whip holder’s theory. The excruciating knot is pulled tightly together by hunger, so the worker satisfies this hunger with more intricately designed knots. His concentration isn’t in untying it, it’s merely compounding it with greater enigmas he’ll leave for the omniscient to decipher, and untangle.

He’ll wash his hands of the assignment and swallow what he deems nourishment, but the hole is never plugged. The hole grows and the abyss growls, the sounds of thousands of souls in constant traction, but this man of many fantasies can have no distractions. His focus remains selectively aimed upon projects the future will later ruin, yet without foresight the ambition has no name so the cycle remains the same.

His lifeless body now swings to and fro above gallows where the omnipotent applaud the writhing spirit of free will convulsing violently; gyrating while the sedated world of the executed continues being recreated to disguise the sincerest, deepest pain he’ll never know, because knowledge is will and the power struggle is one of isolation and possible destitution. So only when he wakes after his fate has been sealed will free spirit, and free will assault his no longer inebriated body, showing no mercy and reminding him of every time they tried to save him.

He’ll scream in utter agony placing his voiceless soul amongst those bellowing from the abyss he never tried to close. What’s more, choosing to ignore such an enormous expanse of nothing, makes the punishment perfectly sufficient, and succinct with every bit of skepticism he had that such a void of expression, virility, and endless suffering even existed. The twisting twine that holds this wretched, still body of reason securely above the wastelands of awareness makes the most insidious noise. It’s like rubbing famine and pestilent ridden bodies together; the crunching sound of bones absent of mass, riddled with brittle chip marks where the consciously aware soldiers of misfortune have attempted to shape spearheads of vindication, but are then left where they were found because even the potential tools of warfare are less sturdy and strong than the flesh bound mind of sterility from whence they came.

So there is nothing this heap of biological ingenuity and imagination can offer, but to swing in each gusting breeze like a sign posted “No Loitering,” “No Trespassing” would when pushed by the conglomerate gales of assembled hundreds. Ignorance prevails, those who fight are made to accept this evil mantra not out of doubt, but hope that once one awakes before his/her spirit and will has been completely removed, they’ll feel the refreshing irony of those who prayed silently that their army of insolent rewriters of justice has grown by one more.

Still breathing, within a masked struggle fought on separate planes of reality, behind curtains weaved of Kevlar, lead, and iron, many perverts of theory co-opt covertly in absolute anonymity fashioning plans: the plans of liberty, freedom, and prosperity.

They’re his only means of acquittal. Slashing the ropes and allowing those long since dead to die in peace, and those whose breath still has a bit of resistance to fight; the chance to view in full honesty and tragedy the gallows where weary travelers of theory are beaten by conviction and moral restrictions.

Hey moonlight move with patience,
My darling doll is now asleep...
Come listen to me - let us talk it over,
Flirt whatsoever to delay the sun..
Though my angel is not so delicate,
But let her catch some sleep pridefully.

Hindi - the original language of my poem.
मेरी परी सो रही है

देख चाँदनी धीरे गुज़रना,
मेरी गुड़िया सो रही है।।।
चल ज़रा बात सुन मेरी,
सूरज को भी ज़रा पटा ले।।
नाज़ुक तो नहीं है मेरी परी,
मगर थोड़ा नाज़ से सो तो ले।

...And as we move,
so too does the mind.
Shaped by divergence.
Rendering the oncoming landscape
for our poor pathetic little mind's
to comprehend, whilst true,
natural fertility is shed,
dropped to the ground,
recognized as little more than
detritus, lost to the process
of reconstitution.

As interpretation seems to be prone
to spinning, so too does our willingness
to become dizzy. Blaming disorientation,
never lack of focus.

Only what's in front of us can
slow the onset of nausea;
instead we choose to consume
the calamity, pridefully ignoring
its immensity.
Finding ourselves bent over,
heaving up what's left of the carcass
we're all devouring.
Giving back to that which we all spurn,
the nutrients of survival.

I can't stand the made up plight of man.
The maladies we allow to
overwhelm us daily, simply because
the grind, the acceptance is better
then the stand, the resistance.

All I see anymore are walking effigies,
doing as they're told, becoming exactly
what they were cast to be.
Succumbing to the malevolence
of playwrights whose power
only exists because you've given it
to them.
You're becoming their form of social
interaction.
Now you're stuck between two cameras,
but you can't be bi-focal.

"Faith needs no form of refuge."

I am lonely, as I so often seem to be
My mind flips over and under endlessly.
I think myself to heights then fling my body down
I scream and complain without my mouth making a sound.

Pridefully -endlessly prideful, as I am- I keep to myself
Because loneliness will never drive me to beg for another's help.
I'd rather stare outwards infinitely, fingers perched and ready to type
And wonder what part of the internet used to bring entertainment to life.

Self-sufficient in the way I always claimed to be, I whisper lonely into my hands
Then run for the door like it's a bug I must release, watching nervously at where it lands.
I dance with myself, giggle and smile, then peel of my face to observe
Because it isn't allowed to show what I can only disclose within written words.

An army of people who will never exist muddle through life inside my head
We speak and we smile and I am pitiful enough that it makes the emptiness less.
And less is livable, less is doable with stiff posture, a smile, and laughs
Less is easier, more simple, more viable to tote away than Too Much's trash.

If I straighten my back, smile with teeth, and laugh boisterously
If I open my arms and wait for company, who will I meet?
If I looked at every person as a new opportunity and not a danger to me
I wonder if I'd make enough friends to calm this feeling for a century?

Questions contain a vulnerability that has never once failed to disgust me.
Yet and still, I write them down because questions are the door to possibility.
And somehow, whether answered or unanswered these questions may be
I will walk away from the result into a crowd of people I will not greet.

I will be lonely.

I told the story of those dire times.
Beginning to transpire all those suffering and culled.
A singing choir on the dawn of a cold desolate world.
Their song a hopeful tune, as the desperation creeps down their backs.

Mold growing, it never feels like something to admire.
Watching raindrops flow down the window on a cold autumn night.
Wishing it was snow falling, but all the world had to offer is ash.

The silence is unsettling, more abnormal then the sound of screams.
Roots extending under your feet, the ground never sleeps.
A sharp stinging as we fall from grace.

A snail's pace as I walk through the halls.
Twisting and turning, pretending as if they are still.
Any sense of hope, rotted and festering, maggots crawling in my mind.

A leech, hated for its hunger, just wanting to survive.
A harsh reality, wishing I could wake up.
Crawling on the ground, the weight making it to hard to stand.

Misshapen, beaten to a pulp and laying on the ground.
Fog occluding vision, unable to view what lies on the sidewalk.
People walking past, ignorant to this tragedy on a lazy Sunday.

The landscape before you, so empty and grieved.
You never think of all the misery the ground must see.
Pridefully ignorant of the loss of admiration.

Gentle dreams fading, darkness falling on an old skipping record.
This room is off, so empty and cold.
The ocean’s surface, beautiful and blue. Darkness waiting below.
An eclipse in the sky, stars shining, uncovered by the darkness.

Pain an enigma, hurting us so much but yet we can’t live without it.
Truth uncovered, we beg for that knowledge, but now beg to forget.
Blood, a crimson image dripping from my mind and down my cheek.
A turtle hides in his shell, not wanting to face what’s before him.

An automaton in the dark, seen as nothing but a mindless hollow shell.
We stare at the stars as they stare back.
They view the earth and wonder why we let darkness overtake us.
They shine brightly throughout time, no care in the world.

Salt in the wound, spitting on the grave what you love the most.
Minds, a labyrinth with no center, a door that does not open.
Falling into the abyss with no hope of climbing out.

My conscience lays on the floor, unwilling to return.
I killed it when I was born.
Pushed it out the window then blamed it for not coming back.

Every house the same down the block.
Every family the same in every house, everything joyous and bright.
Every day the same for every family, a world predecided.

A burning us in the sky, representing our hatred for what we don’t understand.
A dark baren moon, representing our care for what we love.
Why do we dwell the most on what we like the least.

Cataclysmic is reality, a tragedy always unfolding.
Decrepit house breaking down in the streets, abandoned for the longest time.
A worm on the sidewalk, hoping it won’t dry out.

Life, a nightmare from which you can’t wake.
Time ticks by without any remorse for the pain it caused.
The moon rises from its grave, ending the suns reign.
Darkness descends and we hide from the pain.
Asleep in our beds, waiting for the next day.

Sin is sin.
And,
you repent
your sin.

You don't
boast about
your sin
or
march
prideful
in your sin.

You don't
push your sin
in my
children and grandchildren's faces like it's normal when
it's not.

You only do
these things
if you
follow
satan.

So if I
see you
doing
these things?
I will know
and
understand
that you
follow satan.

Left wing
politics
are trying to destroy
this country.

These same
folks
"pridefully"
waving
rainbow flags
have never
waved an
American flag
their
entire lives.

As a
matter of fact.
They scream
to whoever
will listen,
that they
hate this country.

Don't like it?
Move!






written by me... ..