"rationale" poems
Have you ever stumbled upon someone life-shatteringly special?
You lose your breath and can't think straight.
But somehow they've stuck around.
Feeling like a stunned vegetable to your innocent charisma.
Like divine intervention we met in the most unlikely of ways.
We hit it off and spent hours together, confined and stressed.
How did we get along so well?
How did we manage to learn more together than alone?
How did we manage to find each other in this big world?
I'll always wonder if there is more to this story.
Answers to my plaguing questions that rule my emotional state.
I don't know how to describe what it is I feel in a rational way.
It doesn't serve rationale.
Writing it all down or saying it only compounds how crazy I must sound.
But I'm not a loony bin. On the contrary, you are just infinitely more special than you realise!
But I'll not skip a note nor bump a chord.
Because I see you so finely in all your elegance.
A beauty which radiates in an innocent manifestation.
I can't tell if everyone else can see it also.
They must?!
I must have no chance here.
I know I should cut my losses and move on.
Right..?
Hope to find this feeling once more.
But something from beyond the blackened ether of midnight skies and space dust tells me to keep trying.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
Overthinking is toxic
A torturous endeavor
To find all the pieces
That will solve the puzzle.
"What's wrong with you?"
I try to control my thoughts
Talk myself off the ledge
Convince myself it's unreasonable.
It's not rationale
Not based in facts
Because the facts are missing
Gaps in a story not communicated.
What cures overthinking?
Communication
Transparency
Honesty
Trust.
"What's wrong with me?"
Nothing.
I am simply searching
for the puzzle pieces
that you have decided to hide.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 8:01 AM UTC
There was a tiny tea light somewhat hid and tucked away
Was lost; To be forgotten in dark corners of my brain
The other day you called me breathing into it new life
A weak and dying flame now once again stood strong and bright
Tried quelling it with reason; Doused with plenty rationale
No matter what I threw at it would not leave or dispel
Use thoughts as tools or weapons; They are thrown out by the mind
Attempting to slice through the bonds to flame the heart did bind
But no where in my cognition is something quite that tough
In any way could **** that flame or from these bonds be cut
This statement even would be true the weakest of its days
But as I'm talking to you with each word you fan the flame
Was living out a lie and yet was unbeknownst to me
I thought my love for you could die if left and just let be
However, now I know too well this lasting present truth
My eyes saw you and ever since, I've been in love with you
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
It is in my blood
I can feel its presence
When it’s on the verge
To emit a surge, every time my heart beats
An impulse,
Scurrying it’s way through the crevasses of my brain.
Tainting the walls of grey matter with a tendency for unpredictability,
Out of my reach.
I hate it
I don’t want it
I never asked for this
I can’t slow my mind down
Thoughts so fast, hit me with whiplash
It’s insanity.
No.
I’m not insane
I can’t be
I’m rationale
I think about how I think about things,
Like it’s a cycle that never stops..
Which I guess could be my downfall
My vision says it all
When thoughts travel my mind
In dark tunnels at times
My eyes blind to the surroundings
Tunnel vision that make you claustrophobic;
You feel trapped
When all you see at the end of the tunnel,
Is the darkness of insanity
But..
I’m rationale
I acknowledge I have a tendency to be blind to my surroundings,
How can I be blind if I can clearly see?
Is life objective or subjective?
I just want to understand--
You're stupid —
What was that?
Felt like a surge, on the attack
An impulse
That voice
That’s it.
Unpredictability
That lies,
In my brain waiting to be brought to the surface
With the surge of an impulse.
It’s the insanity that taints me,
From seeing what really is
I’m not stupid, I’m a learner.
Granted with the gift of analysis,
But darkened by the cruel nature of impulse
To taint my minds innocence
I'm not scared to think about it anymore
I am insane, because it’s what you make of it.
Insanity grants me with the gift of perspective,
Throwing a million different ones my way
Ones that are positive and ones that are new
Traveling at hundreds of miles
And this even includes
All the negative perspectives as well
At the times when I don’t want to hear them.
Insanity must be embraced and never repressed.
Repression tells you no don’t do that, it’s wrong.
When insanity isn’t embraced, it is feared.
When something that’s inevitable is feared
You’re no longer insane,
You’ve completely lost it.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
12-17-2013
The constant chatter
lowly, gathering attentions
apprehension--that's the matter
thoughts are shattered
the noise: rushing, crushing, bustling in
and flushing out all rationale
growing louder, shouting over morale
and one who can no
control it, cowers, trying hard not to
a persevering temperament, one
who silences the sounds of increasing volume
madness boomerangs again;
pain returns once again.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
I am literate in daydreams
and letting my imagination rule my head
I am literate in music
where rationale can be abandoned.
I am literate in procrastination,
pushing away my mind-defying.
I am literate in heartbreak
which has been already over-endured.
I am literate in lazy weekends
spent with my sister and a remote.
I am literate in creating;
not masterpieces, but heart and soul pieces.
I am literate in ramen noodle and green tea afternoons
in sweatpants and sneakers with no makeup on.
I am literate in moment-capturing
and finding the right words to explain.
I am literate in thunderstorms
and dancing in between water droplets.
I am literate in heart confessions
over acoustic guitars and games of solitaire.
I am literate in wanting
and taking away from what I already have.
I am literate in wanderlust
and a wholehearted need to escape.
I am literate in color-coordination and clothing arranging
and bringing out all my best.
I am literate in kissing with desperation
and wanting to have it be effortless.
I am literate in wasting my time
in my head, in my heart, and in the clouds.
I am literate in everything mentioned
and so much that I can’t even say.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
*concerning the pop. narrative -
i'm a wordsmith after all -
someone gives me the raw materials
of islam and (a rainbow) of affixing -phobia
and i can't seem to hammer
the **** thing into shape...
it's, foremostly: a pseudo-phobia.
a misnomer of the phobia compound.*
for a people who have an "irrational" fear
of islam, it seems strange that the same
people gave birth to some form of rationality -
let's just call it islamophobia
not an irrational fear - but rather:
and irritation -
the irritable fear of being suddenly forced
into the extremities of living the daily life -
when something unexpected happens -
mind you, the people who have been forced
into these situations: stop their want
for adrenaline in a base jump, from an aeroplane,
or bungee jump off a bridge.
islamophobia is not a "phobia" as such,
it's not irrational - it's just irritating -
but then again you don't actually believe
a spider to be a irrational creature (arachnophobia),
you don't believe an open space with lots of people
(agoraphobia)
to be an irrational circumstance -
you're facing yourself being irrational in
both circumstances -
since the phobia hides an actual rationale -
islam?
that's much harder - since you're
being "irrational" while someone is actually
being "rational" -
when in fact there's no escaping
that contra of you being "rational"
and the muslim being "irrational" -
not one side is either rational or irrational:
the spider and the open space filled
with people already stated:
you're being irrational;
the fear of spiders is irrational -
but there is no rationality from the perspective
of the spider: what does a spider
know about rationality? jackshit!
there is no such thing as islamophobia:
because you're not being irrational about
what has its own rationality -
its own monologue and intra-dialogue...
whoever coined this stupid word
is as dumb as their rationality allows them
to make enough people use it;
it's only an irrational fear: if there is no
rationale behind it;
point being: there's rationale behind islam,
ergo there is no such thing as
islamophobia.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.
On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.
See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.
See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.
See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence.
See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains.
See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death.
See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.
The daisy stands still.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
It was well trained cats in the cattery calling, pats on the back, back door, kicked in, mooring boats on the mooring in the morning and the phone call, cost cut, cold calling, and we're falling, falling, we're falling in love.
My best friends are criminals, and the jail cell crying is trying at times but trying sometimes feels tiring. The tire track tiling is abysmal, freewheeling in reverie, revving engines readily, sitting, settling and stirring imaginary cups of tea until eternity gives up delinquently.
I fail to recognise the narcissist in me until the inadequate rantings fall of the page at me. I want to be free, I want to be me, I want solidarity and I want that cup of tea, I want patriarchy, I want matrimony, I want monogamy and none of this is hyperbole. I have no apologies, especially not for the words I string together so irrationally. What else could you ask of me?
What else indeed, if I can't be naked I can't be free, if I alter the way I write I relinquish personality.
It doesn't seem right to me.
Dada is too crass for me, I need a cult of spontaneity. The English language is too brash to be...
Philosophical ideology and the books I read, all tell lies to me, are all absurd you see, I embrace the monotony, let the waves of the sea wash over me. I let the dictionary pages fall off the quay, like that moth on me, like the sloth i've been and cloth on screens. A dead dog can't scratch it's fleas, but to appease the beast we must first release, all creativity and return to being.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
it's only deep in the night when my mind wanders most that i ponder why another night of drinking alone is the status quo. it's when i wonder why the wheel that started spinning so long ago keeps spinning, in the same direction and general speed. deep in the night is when the doubts and regrets run rampant like rioters through the square, flipping cars amidst flaming tires. it's when the needs and the wants clash for supremacy, assuring the mutual destruction of each. loves lost carve their names into my neocortex. where dreams unrealized fill their time by playing ping-ping until they're ****** from the backburner to manic importance. deep in the night is when blood-shot eyes and blaring computer monitors have a staring contest. deep in it, thought becomes reaction and the beans spill accordingly. knee-deep and we're ravaging the calm into frenzy and burning the books of our beliefs and abandoning rationale in favor of the spectre of immediate gratification at any cost, at any loss. deep in the night where no light penetrates, things become somehow illuminated.
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 10, 2011 at 12:41 PM UTC
Ankles bobbed. Cannibal Dan executed female (gorgeous). Hartford Inquirer:
“Justice killing? Love? Money?”
“ No.”
“Oh?”
“People question rationale. Society thinks, ‘Undeserving Victims!’
Well, 'xcept you, Zackary.”
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
In toasting Mike I recollect
His steady watching gaze,
I recollect his calm
On a thousand stormy days.
I recall his jaunty humour
In his funny cockney style,
And the rationale behind it
And the pleasure of his smile.
And the quiet determination
In the steeliness within
And the love that emanated
When his Jules laughed loud with him.
When he held her hand and strolled
In the life they shared as one,
In the racket of the grand kids
As they shout and leap and run.
Through the years of hardy seamanship
From England's chalky reach,
Across the ocean's vastness
To far antipodean beach,
To the soft greens of New Zealand
And the promise of this land
And the shining eyes of Jules
When he offered her his hand.
And the life they shared together
Through the joy, the strain the tears
The utter joy of baby Kristin
And her beauty through the years.
The seamlessness of craftmanship
In tradesman's art supreme
And the pride of his achievement
In a sweet successful dream.
A chasm has appeared in life
Where old Mike used to be.
Dreadfull death has exercised
It's right to set him free.
But I can't feel bad for Micheal
For the brilliance of it all
Is celebration of his life well lived
And my toast to judgement's call.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 January 2010.
Jan 10, 2010
Jan 10, 2010 at 6:51 AM UTC
If I knew you were a super-villain i wouldn't have cared.
I would have a rationale. A flower behind my back to tempt you from your weakness for black licorice
and white lies. I would find an excuse to love you.
If I had known you were a super-villain
I would have spiked your drink with Love Potion No.9
and finding you impervious; consider my options
and hope for the best.
IF i had known this would never work out, you and me, you being a total ***** me being a fool;
i would have stayed the course and seduced you to make you mine
my very own special pain in the *** that has bewitched me....
I would have thrown myself under the bus; sipping a dry martini with a rye smile
i would have succumbed to what i knew you could be; if only...
I'd let us happen
anyway.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
in some sort of twisted way
i've missed having someone make me spit
that wondrous insignificance that comes
with letting somebody under your skin
every word out of their mouth an attack
& every action they take purposely meant to exclude you
to tease you
to please them
to watch you squirm
letting somebody in
it's even worse when they sneak through
a window
without you noticing
& then it's over
they tighten their grip
around your rationale
your compassion
your free will
and suddenly
everything is about them
and everything brings you to your knees
and you want to cry out
and scream
but you wouldn't want to disturb them
it's been a while since i've jumped through hoops
but light them on fire
suspend them over impossible heights
and foolishly my heart will guide me towards
doom grounded in absolute certainty
but fight
cry
struggle
laugh
dissect yourself
as her every breath magnifies every
insecurity you thought you had completely buried
yes
in some sick way
i've missed being made so sick with care
with worry
that i don't stand tall enough in the eyes of
some inconceivable creature
an inexorably important
omnipotent mind-numbing
force
in complete control
in short,
i am ******
i've missed being ******
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
*Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering in rationale,
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or stay and snarl.
Reason fights with high confusion
Torn between the yae and nay,
Gyroscopic permutations
Pack the case and leave or stay.
Screaming taunts in ragged order
Torment in saliva mist,
Gyroscopic permutations
Cut the throat or slit the wrist.
Standing on the lonely cliff top
Way below the surging tide
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or run and hide.
Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering on right or wrong,
Gyroscopic permutations
Join the dead or sing a song.
Walking up the baking highway
Soaking up the streaming sun
Gyroscopic permutations
Laugh or cry... today I won.*
Marshalg
Throwing the dice.
22 February 2013
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Lines of life through gene transmission
When handed down through *****
Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched,
Are caste about like coins.
Luck ensures a robust chance
Of longevity and health
With intelligence or dolt hood
As a final gauge to wealth.
Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies
Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb,
Temperaments across the spectrum
Placid fat to fiery slim.
Aptitude to run the long race
Good endurance, depth of heart,
Lady luck decrees their worth
Tho' the Priesthood may depart.
Frontal lobes of clear retention
Heightened rationale of thought,
Reasons through the problematic,
Resolutions made as ought.
Capacity to empathise
In tears of joy and sorrow spent,
Capacity for true belief
When wrong is righted with repent.
Goodness and black evil
Are caste about like chaff,
Depends upon the show of cards
Who laughs the final laugh.
Conscience can be virtuous
But then, so can be greed,
Depends upon the circumstance
And if approached at speed.
And finally indulgence
Plays a massive hand in this,
For love and lust determine
If a union is remiss.
And should that union founder,
Should Lady Luck throw in her hand
...You can blame it on the chromosomes
Which confounds the Makers stand!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
14 June 2011
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
She's a gemini in her wit
an aries at heart,
a taurus at rationale
a scorpio at defence,
a Virgo at ease,
and a cancer at care.
She's June in January
and Christmas in August.
She's spring in rain
and snowflakes in heatwaves.
Morning dew in drought
and rays on cloudy days.
She's Jessica.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
Nevermind the obvious quirks in my physique—
the thick thighs,
short legs,
t-rex arms,
and that ample, curvaceous figure of mine
which I own and work every day.
*[Listen,
I'm certain I could get into the glitter—
no doubt I would have a killer stage name—
I figure I’d get pretty used to the instant gratification—
and there's no doubt in my mind
that whatever I lack in grace and *** appeal,
I could make up for in
charm, wit,
and a cuteness that I'm still growing into.]*
But see, I have a slight fear of wearing heels.
It's safer for everyone if I stick close to the ground.
And although swinging around a pole
seems like a good time,
my motion sickness would probably kick in
and I'd ralph hard
on at least one of my investors.
Aside from the faulty mechanics I'd bring to the profession,
I've got my own rationale.
I like knowing
that when my clothes come off,
it's for reasons larger than money.
I like knowing
that I've left a little to the imagination
and can unleash it at my leisure.
I like knowing
that my secret weapons of mass seduction
are, in fact, secrets.
I like knowing
that I still have something to blush about
when I think about how I spent my Saturday night.
Nah,
I could never be a stripper,
but hot ****
do I enjoy perfecting the art
of smiling while naked.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
That Old Drug Checklist? Completed. No Shame. So get over it.
(It's rather colloquial, however, revealings as well. This is what I said to a boy from driver's ed who wanted to be my boyfriend... So I tried to scare him off. Hahaha. Rationale a la 15-year-old):
Maple: It's not exactly something I talk about, ever, because it just demonstrates my insanity. But, I want to try everything. Every substance, every drug.
Justin: Um, why?
Maple: Why not?
Justin: Well, cause it’s bad.
Maple: If you believe in good or bad, right or wrong. I don't know what I believe except that we're all robots of each other and nothing matters anyways.
Justin: Hmm, that’s a different way of thinking about it. I think that curiosity isn't bad, just be careful. . .
Maple: I don't know if I am, but, meh. Is there really any good reason to do anything?
Justin: Umm, no, not really. It’s what you feel, not what others feel. Well. . . just be careful.
Maple: Safety is a conspiracy.
Justin: Why do you say that?
Maple: Think about it. You can insure everything you own, walk on the right side of the road and follow strong Christian morals that give the illusion of safety, as if you’ll go to heaven if you’re good and hell if you’re bad. But, with one fire, one plane crash. . . well it's all gone. The entirety of you. And who even knows if there is that insured heaven anyways?
Justin: Hmm, you know I think that the way you think is very interesting and mostly true, I mean, nothing is ever completely safe. You can't always be careful, but I also think that you should use this and try to live life to its fullest.
Maple: Thank you. But what is living life to it's fullest? Everyone always says that, but what does it mean?
Justin: Well, like you, I know that what you’re doing is unhealthy, but your not afraid to try different things. You experience more then anyone else, cause most people play it safe in their comfort zone.
Maple: Exactly! Always judging but never trying. Society has made these things into taboos, but are they really? I know that getting addicted is a terrible idea, but everything in moderation. Why always sit on the sidelines making assumptions behind whispered hands and backs? Why not jump into the game?
Justin: Yep, that’s right. You can't sit there say that’s bad or you should do this if you haven't done it yourself. Because if you haven't, you don't know what it’s like and you’re being hypocritical.
. . .
Maple: Um. . . Says the boy who just told me not to do drugs “cause it’s bad.”
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Kindness is the soapy bubble that will not burst
The petal that remains glued to the emerald stalk
The ray of sunshine that peeps through the holes in the dust covered blinds
The last glucose induced jelly sweet in the crumpled packet
The man who moves side ways to allow you to walk around the unquestionably deep puddle
Wait.
Now I am talking about acts of kindness,
which is something rather different.
Something rather sparse in this age that we inhabit.
A wise man once told me not to focus on the negative aspects of life,
but rather to dwell on the good things.
'Easier said than done', I pessimistically replied.
'God what a miserable old cow', he must have thought.
Since being in this place,
this new, vibrant, alive city
the one with the twelve different smiles,
where language is not a barrier between people
where they help each other for the sake of kindness.
For the sake of their religion, their god, their consciences.
Ultimately that is what conscience is, and where it comes from.
From within, from the conscience.
Kindness is an act of will. Of love through us. Put into action by our brains.
Irrespective of logic, rationale, or any other morality.
To be kind, is to respect another's wishes and position in society.
To see them as another human being with feeling and emotion.
With the ability to return your kindness or reject it.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Jonathan Anderson's collections walk a confounding tightrope between naïveté and decadence. Much of his new menswear looked like clothes for a futuristic, spiritual retreat (Anderson himself said he wanted something "laid-back, Zen-like"), but the buckled patent shoes were purest dancehall honky-tonk. The fitted leather jackets were pretty flashy, too, especially when contrasted with multi-pleated pants in plainest calico or denim.
"He took himself seriously," said the voice-over that launched Michel Gaubert's stirring soundtrack (a journey all in itself), but that felt like Anderson poking a little fun at his own expense—or at least anticipating reactions to his quirky rationale. He insisted his collection was actually like an imaginary world that a child might create for himself, akin to the tree houses he and his brother used to build. The preciousness that such a boy would bestow on things that are essentially valueless was reflected in the ordinary objects—keys, tools—that were transmuted into jewelry, the board game that mutated into a constructivist jacquard, and the calico or denim artfully constructed into the pants that made up the foundation of the collection. Some of the models were carrying a small metal frame on which curious little things were suspended, almost like charms to ward off who knows what.
That subtly occult tinge has become something of an Anderson signature, the way he disturbs the refined with the raw, for instance—a thin strand of bamboo or a bandage of calico nipping the waist, or a crude smear of paint across a tulle top so fine it is barely there, or even a white feather stuck to a shoulder. Such touches feel last-minute spontaneous, but also off-kilter, which is exactly where Anderson wants to keep us. But his work is now so consistent that off-kilter is proving a rather pleasant place to be.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
Tea taming the light
Misty magic
Crawls up the spine
Birds through the looking glass
She opened the book
Absorbing every page
Each chapter a gateway
Musing on those she knew;
Represented by numbers
Individual, yet all the same
Your days are a never ending struggle
Rare in and of themselves
Bringing trouble;
Dog eared rationale
We seekers of solace
Take refuge in books
Understanding
Demanding
The next installment;
Flooding our lives
with fantasies
Cocooned
In our chrysalis
Reading brings change
And knowledge
From page to page
We analyse
Plot, scene, age
Apply the theatre to our lives
And sit, thinking for a while
Read between the lines
Crime, thriller, romance
Happenstance
That could be our lives
Yet sky so grey
Overcast
Reprimanding
We sit, dreaming...
Some day.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
I am but a man
a one flawed at that
jealousy rears its head
roaring through me
crashing its way through
reason and rationale
a cacophony of sound
the phantom pounding
of insubstantial waters
like all storms this too
shall pass and calm
will come again
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
I heard a whisper.
a thought like dust
caught the air of my breath
and landed on every heartbeat still beating for something more than themselves.
a rationale.
a stable refuge.
these are the things I imbue.
nocturnal nonsense swirled about
until your gaze caught my thoughts.
I saw your eyes behind mine.
emancipated, delegated, underrated and unillustrated,
how can I better express myself.
I lost myself trying to lose you.
I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders
to your front door step and left it with a key.
Walk a mile in my shoes and still ask me who's the enemy.
I am.
I am my own downfall.
masquerades never suited me
yet I still wore it with agony.
Antagonized from every side,
the lies lie far between you and I.
I succeeded in forgetting something that never happened
and got trapped inside those angel eyes.
remain a nuisance, my misguided matrimony.
gravity awaits,
for we are all destined to fall.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC