"unpredictability" poems
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM 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
Behind that fake smile
Behind those lies
Lie the distant echoes of my cries
Behind those frequent relapses
Lie my urge to recover
now give me some poison.
I am predictable in my unpredictability
I am trying to fight my melancholy
Behind that funny girl
Lies someone who wants to watch themselves burn
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
Seasons come and go,
Each year it's the same.
If only people changed like the seasons.
Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring;
Each one holds a secret,
It's own special magic.
Winter holds a promise that there is
Life after Death.
Spring ignites a spark; a sliver of
Hope and a pinch of Joy for healing.
Autumn holds the key to
Eternity,
And Summer is the Epicenter of
The Magic.
Summer is the result; the After-life;
It is Rebirth.
Seasons change, and people do too,
But it's a pity - a shame - that people
Don't change the same way.
People are too unpredictable; we change
Our minds too many times, we change
Our Destinies every day.
Seasons don't.
Seasons accept their constant cycle;
Their Natural Pattern.
People will never be like the Seasons.
I guess that's what makes us all
Unique.
In this way
We are Designed -
Crafted, Molded.
Seasons harbour a Secret;
It's own special Magic.
We too, are our own special Magic.
Winter promises Life after Death,
People are promised Happiness after Depression.
Spring ignites a spark of Joy for Healing,
People are promised Joy and Healing after Pain
And Suffering.
Autumn holds the key to Eternity,
People are promised Eternity in the Promised Land.
Summer is the Epicenter; the After-life,
And people are the Epicenters of their own lives.
We are our own Masters of Catastrophe.
People are Reborn in Faith.
Looking at it now, maybe we are much like
The Seasons.
We are predictable in our unpredictability.
This is our prized Possession.
This is our kind of Magic.
People have seasons, people are seasons.
Winter is our Darker side,
Spring is our Healing,
Summer, our Euphorical - blissful side,
Autumn, our Procrastination, our Changing,
Our Learning.
Just like the Seasons, we change;
We mold our Futures and become who we are meant
To be;
We become part of a Cycle.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
‘Twas during inner turmoil that a certain yearning arose
Whispers of breakage reaching deeper as time goes
From the disillusionment of reality it was forged
Of seething rage the desires hunger gorged
In following certain conformities felt like being a prisoner
The will to resist the motions of many being aimed to muster
To not be like a tree that has to be cut or uprooted just to move
To be driven by reasons that to only ones viewpoint can behoove
Looking at another view of the coming uncertainty
As a pathway to many possibilities with regards to unpredictability
That stopping a tragedy is sometimes not the thing to do
Lest one forgets that the phoenix must burn down to rise anew
Or that Ragnarok is followed by a great rebirth
Who can know what revelations a raging flood might unearth?
Being lost might as well be the way to find an elusive longing
The remedy to the Anhedonia closely and ominously looming
When being chained to the rhythm just compares to an inner futile feeling
Knowing that a greater horizon is missed by the act of settling
A bet on the odds that epiphany might be found in whatever form
To behold serendipity actually being brought by the coming inner storm
In using the great idleness to plan the restoring of a balance
And to see clearly without the feeling of rushing pressure and turbulence
The path and pace may change to the deeper quest not yet ceased
In bringing forth the long sought betterment through a cataclysmic release.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
Pradip is newborn (impossible wisdom)
“a new day, a new chance for my soul... to heed
a small voice ... to give flowers, to plant new seeds.
to not trample on wildflowers and unwanted weeds...” Sally
“Sweet baby
with your head on my shoulder
I'm no more growing older...” Pradip
~
the unpredictability and randomness of the winds,
seed carriers, of small voices, yearning to be heard,
powerless in appearance only, for within are powers superior heroic,
who can grow others who can feed
who can sustain multiple living creatures
each seed unique, a poem composed and complete,
authored by precedents, authorized by predecessors,
utilizing the cocoon of soil and sun,
rainwater from space and deep driven to
the clear milk of underground railroad rivers,
to give nurture to its revisional generational code
these new children of an old mix,
are quiet lifesavers giving proofs positive,
that those who will one day grow old,
with deep gnarled roots, are most capable
of finding ways of manufacturing fresh youth whim within,
to those who give babies homage, in attendance
this then the newborn miracle, the new seed,
wind borne, replants itself in old soil,
taking but more so giving,
injecting bits of vitality into its arterial ancestry,
how can this be?***
*I do not know the why or the how,
but am evidence of the therefore,
and the thereafter, of impossible wisdom*
7:07am 4-5-19 a newborn poem for poetry passing grandparents
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
My feelings on the world are a complex dichotomy. If I could control the world, my rule would be to control nothing. To give freedom and agency to everyone and let every culture and kind shine as they do and **** superiority and focus on growth, not **********
But, not all people aren't as communally minded as that. And though in theory I could change the rules, I can't change people.
In its own way, that's beautiful. The visceral strength and resiliency of humanity fascinates me, with the chaotic undertones that lie beneath every eye. I love the spectrum of pain and brilliance it brings. But it also makes a utopian world of understanding and lack of control impossible to keep people safe; because never will there be a human race that doesn't at least have some people craving absolute control.
I think this dichotomy within myself parallels my standing with humanity very well. There is something on most every end I can find fascinating: free will, selflessness, unpredictability, tenacity. But also I can never seem to be pleased with how humanity could be but never amount to.
Not that it gives me much trouble. I've always kept humanity at an arm's length, choosing books and stories over the flesh-bags in front of my face. The only thing I ever struggled with was not being normal with my human relationships, and trying to make my methods match.
My methods won't match because I might as well be an alien for all I care about directly interacting with humanity.
Yet, I love humanity, in a way. I could write about human transcendence and growth until I die. I am madly in love with human potential. But I don't love humans. I don't love a species that muscle arms its way into dominance and can be arrogant and small-minded. After all we've managed to accomplish, and we're still start wars over skin color and scapegoating? Its laughable, in a way.
I suppose I look at humanity as if I was an alien scientist. I have no way of measuring things or conducting research because I'm foreign, but I can see the greatness in their eyes and am floored by it. Yet I also see the violence in their eyes and am repelled by it. The most tragic, push and pull love of my life has been for this species.
I've learned lately I'm okay with being alien. But its strange to find a foothold in a world where I feel constantly at odds and different.
But I like strange, so I think its what works best.
Between humanity and me, things are complicated. Things are wonderful and painful and all worth the while in its own, ****** way. I suppose all I have is my words and I'll share them, and humanity can listen if it will. I hope it will. I hope it can help people who feel like aliens too, and maybe then being an alien and a human can be easier.
But for those things, we'll just have to see.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC
At the heights of a Surrey valley
is where I stand alone.
The clouds roll in with attempted suppression,
wuthering, as one may say.
Yet they succeed and I do not.
All this vacantness on the moors,
in turn: suffocation.
All this gale of violence and madness,
not a single shiver,
but a private, intense burning sensation.
Would it set fire to the moors, the libraries,
and the red curtain theatre?
Or would it melt the defendant themselves?
I wish for the former,
yet I am already melting.
I put my hand on the gnomon-less sundial,
and still I stand alone
drunk on the all-consuming emotions
inflicted by these brick walls
or rather the crowds of unpredictability within them.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 7:42 PM UTC
I am a war torn casualty hopelessly lost in an unfamiliar landscape.
I pick myself out of the rubble of a crumbled existence,
casting aside the well worn masks of my own invisibility.
I am stopped in this breathing place,
my quiet cocoon of safety
where unpredictability does not dwell,
but neither here does life,
neither here do I.
The silent screams that well up inside me never find their way out
and my door remains locked, the world shut out.
"The war is over," I try to convince myself.
This is my holding pattern.
I wonder will I ever feel brave
enough to unlock that door and
venture forth into life again?
Who am I without my captor's angry lies,
that cruel mouth that formed words defining me,
those rough hands that molded me
into the shapeless form of his invention?
I never thought to tuck myself away in safety,
hide myself in a tiny crack, or between pages of a book,
my treasured keepsake that I could run fingers over later,
smiling and whispering, "Yes, I know you."
No, I abandoned myself years ago,
left myself a motherless child.
The hands on the clock go round and round.
I dig through rubble behind a locked door,
searching for the girl I abandoned long ago
on the battlefield of disenchantment.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 12:09 PM UTC
I have ability to switch style
even under pressure
Focused concentration, I am
with tenacious unpredictability
And yet fail to admit mistakes
even resist as always
Laced with external distractibility, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
I have ' killer instincts' to move mountains
even driven to pinnacle with passion
Making things happen as always, I am
even I am, less anxious in decisiveness
And yet do things my own way
rushing the poor fellow to frail
Impatience won't disappear with quietness and shyness
What a world.....Give me strength.
I step forth in dignity for low anxiety
even with meticulousness
Decisiveness for reality, I am
with sterner stuff in slippery control
And yet unable to manage time
with a hog on spotlight
Drenched in my own outbursts, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
Proud of my strength of friendliness
even with positive openness
The power to carry on with persuasiveness
even I am, yes I am in assertiveness
My strength that never dies
in the face of motivation
And yet my ears are too weak to comprehend
with sound of **********
What a world......Give me strength.
Let me be weak to be strong
and strong I am in weakness
With passion for sweetness in bitterness
And this is real in steel
The contrast and the conflict
That steers in my way of long ago
And this reality in mirage
Gives me the courage to rise above pain
What a world.....Give me strength.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
My indecision is neatly stacked in lines along the walls.
It circles towards the center.
There is no drain in the middle of the sunken floor.
But by the way gravity seems to pull the endless stacks of papers along the walls, you would think the room was liquid.
You would easily be convinced that indecision is fluid.
I would say that I am torn, but truth be told, I am not.
I am simply sitting calmly in the space between two paths.
Some tell me I should trod where nobody ever has.
Others seem to think that I should pretend to be water,
Blend with my indecision, and just go with the flow.
And then there is the second pathway,
I would think it would be the opposite of trailblazing -
but that is where i stand in indecision.
No, the other path is also a path of resistance.
But not for the difficulty of the path.
This is the place where i must choose to chase the other shipwrecks,
or to head to the shore.
This is where i must either allow myself to be healed, accept the healing, move on, embrace my new life - or where i hold onto the chemicals - where i hold onto the emotions - where i hold onto the rush, the rollercoaster, the addictions -
where I , ironically, am met with the choice to define the value of my experiences
in terms of their unpredictability and the lack of wisdom and safety among them
or to choose wisely, disallow myself to continue in that which will further destroy me,
I have been empty, Now i must be filled.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
...blame the dreamer, the make-believer, the great play-pretender. blame the girl that picks up every drop of hope off the floor with tweezers. we all want to believe. even if its obvious how dangerous it could be, even when it has dagger-like thorns, and they stab your fingers. we want want want something still even though you will bleed. blame the ambitious one. blame that ******* time that always haunts us. blame the one that tries to defy it. blame loneliness, blame that empty space, that shadow that lingered for so long. blame the encouragement of self-sacrifice. blame basic human instinct, to see, to chase, to conquer. blame the amygdala. but what would it be like, without emotion, memory..it wouldn't hurt to forget to remember. blame energy. blame everything you've ever tried to believe in, wanted with every ounce of passion you had left. blame money, we're all just slaves. blame the unknown course of human life. blame the unpredictability of the circumstances in which you take your last breaths. wherever you would be, would the last scene in your play be a happy one or a tragic ending..or somewhere in between? blame analyzation and rationalized thinking, the fact that things could make perfect sense but your gut tells you differently. blame fear and anxiety, blame what scares you the most in this world. heights, change, being alone. blame the girl that always sees light but is ready for the dark, she is waiting by her windows. shes prepared for the part in the end where the actors bow and you realize, oh, yeah, fuck...this was all just imagined.
blame me. the director. the optimist. blame me, because i picked the thorned rose.
but it was just so, tempting, so extremely beautiful...
......i just take life as it comes.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
You may believe home to be an address,
You are wrong.
The co-ordinates I list as my place of residence,
Are subject to change.
As do the seasons,
As my health waxes and wanes,
As my job becomes a harrowing echo,
My home will remain,
Incorrupt,
Unblemished.
As the night-sky,
Glistens and reminisces.
Its nostalgic ribbon intertwines with my soul -
My heart,
Recognises its home.
The waves,
That serenely lap against the shore,
Leaving, once elapsed,
A maze of its belongings,
Like a Nomad on his journey.
Demonstrative tides of exposure,
Against our profane human culture,
To jumble together
In definition,
Our home and our belongings.
Does this translate,
That home is sovereign
Of worldly corruption,
And is therefore
Safe from life’s unpredictability?
Home,
It is a state of mind.
Home is the essence which coats your soul.
Home is the promise of peace.
Home could never be my place of residence,
For between hospitals and the couches I have surfed,
Void of worldly possessions,
I have never once been homeless.
I possess more than the man who cannot see
That a fixed abode in this world is not the true interpretation,
Of a phrase so bespoke.
As I look into the night-sky,
And reminisce;
As the waves serenely lap
Against the borders of land and sea,
I accept that no matter where in the world I may find myself,
The moon will still shine,
The waves will still sing soft melodies to the sand,
And my home,
I forever hold in my hand.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
A white abstract silence falls heavily like phosphorous snow… odd and oblique with nervous intensity of random limitations… sensitive and fragile in its unremitting generosity…A fluency of motion of imaginary realisation in silent turbulence descends in tenebrous shadows of illusion detonating the unconscious… the symmetry and exactitude of silence beyond all compass…. an intricate camouflage… meticulous and consistent.
Disinherited it tries to sanctify the air….. a silence in where stars evaporate vibrational loud and inquisitive…. freezing time by the velocity of its inner momentum of silent adrenalin.
Concealing its true identity isolating me in unknown realisation of what is to occur.. It resonates with constant tension waiting for unpredictability’s of indispensible voices that don’t speak….. This is a realisation of the imagination…. a vibrant insensibility…. density of unravelled thoughts that vaporise within me causing a vibration that fractures the equation of time and space in the burning crucible of my mind.
Intractable proportions of silent thought…. hovering… a constant mirage of irrational calculations….. This silence forces all the tears of consequence to fall upon my face with no avail…..Then in this thunderous silence see graffiti on white walls…abstract and meaningless….Like primitive lives…those with meaning yet possess no meaning… an ungovernable democracy of fruitless endeavour… of non factual fastidiousness… a glimpse of life and its fallacy.
Yet the words were spoken and written… by whom… And for why.. Now the silence punctuates and instructs…. phosphorous extinguishes itself and hides behind another truth…..The noise of the world cascades in torrents deafening… attempting to defeat… subordinate the senses in atavistic cruelty… Prowling searching for the silence… but it has gone…. disappeared in the imagination of my inner self…. an abstraction I call me….. But I know where the silence has gone….
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
I had the sunshine
The calm, the serenity
Of loose waves caressing the ocean shore
Of sweet sunshine bathing the world in golden joy
Of perfect winds, keeping the temperatures just right
I had it all
But now i find myself morphing back into what I used to be
The sunshine gives way to dark starry nights
The stars shine and glisten, always just out of reach
The waves are turbulent on the shore, crashing, thrashing, threatening those that come near
The winds are both silent and deadly in their hostile unpredictability
Oh sweet serenity, where have you gone?
I was glad when I found you
Now I’m all alone
The turbulence is back, it creeps in at the dead of night
When darkness takes more than just the morning light
Dear calm collected control
I’m holding onto you with the tips of my fingernails
Holding onto you with careful lies I tell myself, to keep going
I tell myself you’ll come back soon
That its just the effects of the day or the moon
But I feel it stirring now
The baseless anxiety
The unquestionable sadness that lingers in the back of my mind, at no thoughts in particular
The lack of thoughts and the sheer volume of them stuns me into paralysis
I am motionless as I attempt to move
I am confused
As I think ten steps ahead, while moving 3 steps back, I wonder, what have I done wrong?
I wonder, why has the sunshine gone
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 6:04 AM UTC
Most important 1 letter word I
Success-driving 2 letter word DO
Miserable 3 letter word BEG
Life-essential 4 letter word FOOD
Peace-destroying 5 letter word STEAL
Omnipotent &omnipresent 6 letter word HUNGER
Nomadic modern 7 letter word MIGRANT
Hypothetical 8 letter word EQUALITY
Amnesia affected 9 letter word SACRIFICE
Exploitation creating 10 letter word BRILLIANCE
World-changing 11 letter word INSPIRATION
Highly absent 12 letter word UNATTAINABLE
World-dominating 13 letter word ADVERTISEMENT
World-dividing 14 letter word DISCRIMINATION
Highly-demanding 15 letter word CONGRATULATIONS
Nature defining 16 letter word UNPREDICTABILITY
Service-destroying 17 letter word COMMERCIALIZATION
Perseverance-driving 18 letter word UNSATISFACTORINESS
Self-destroying 19 letter word STRAIGHTFORWARDNESS
History-determining 20 letter word COUNTER REVOLUTIONARY.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 4:30 AM UTC
*Water color painting of her mindscape
visualized by an artist of repute
and its map, though not drawn on a scale
yet shows the topography and neighborhood,
gives a concrete idea to plan the conquest.
A route map to her heart, meticulously prepared
marking all shortcuts and blockages of passages,
that may lead to confusion and mix up
is an essential tool now at hand
A modern day marauder is just that
he has no time for sentiments of a pusillanimous lover
sentiments are bothersome, portend troubles in store
if logistics are right, plan is great, any peak will stoop,
But yes, the moon they say plays havoc,
love poems that knead the hearts, songs and music
too, if comes between, the project may go bonkers
the problem here is the reign of unpredictability
when love starts its gallop and emotions the other horses
just follow without rules whatsoever,
isn't it unwise trying to stop a dam breach?
Not even the dam breach software be of any help here,
no study is yet available on dissipating such passion,
dynamics of love is an unknown country altogether
no intelligence available is effective to move
against it and make the conquest certainly possible.*
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Suction circle
Black hole hurdle
Mysterious course
Gravitational force
String theory
Concept bleary
Bring about
Believable doubt
Time connect
Place reflect
Once old
New and bold
Young vision of you
Different view
Rural space
Human pace
Unprecedented in adolescence
Yearned in presence
Unpredictability
Longed humility
Start old and grow young
Time traveled
Souls reveled
In soft starlight
With new moons less bright
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC
The winter Months used to not be accounted for,
they were the annual time away from Time;
a time of parties, feasts, and, shall we say, celebration of survival;
celebrating the harvest and, shall we say, fertility;
that you and yours may outlast
the cold, dead Winter.
January was eventually recognized as part of time
and was named for the Roman two-faced God Janus;
a time of duplicity and duality
a time of unpredictability
a time, somewhat analogous to a gateway leading to a new cycle
though, perhaps also, a time for looking the other way, as it were:
I suspect that the expression "When in Rome..."
was derived from those Winter non-months of debauchery
where the people from out-of-town would come into Rome,
where the party was, company was plentiful, and it was warm,
and decide to partake in various aspects of pagan Roman life otherwise inaccessible to them
while distributing few, if any, regards for their new-found brumal unorthodoxy
and hence the expression: "When in Rome, do as the Romans."
That's just my theory on it, though.
Take it or leave it, or perhaps somewhere in between.
Happy Winter!
Time to drink, feast, **** and be merry!
It's only Human, apparently!
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
I don't understand you
I never did.
You are an incomprehensible, alien creature
Attractive in your unpredictability
Devastating in your detachment
Locked away from me in a strange, unfeeling world.
You don't need friends
You don't need me
And soon, I hope, I won't need you either.
I don't understand you
I never did.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
I miss you but I don't know you
And my name would puzzle you
Yet neither rise your curiousity
Yet you're addictive to me,
This sensation, this adversity,
Sweet, like some iridescent nectar gathered by hundreds of fairies in an instant,
From some magical forest forever showered by the gentle light of the golden hour in the distant...
Albeit the bitter pain afterwards instead,
When reality take back its stead,
Who are you? I don't know
This doesn't make any sense, that I know...
But... if only I can dream a bit longer, for I have dreamed far too long, I know...
But, if there is even a tinier than a speckle of dust of possibility,
In this whole world our universe of unpredictability, please...
I'd like to make our story a reality...
Dilly dally, ***** nilly, talks of dailies,
No roses or daisies,
Just two souls walking together,
In harmony parallel, cruising in life for forever
...
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 7:59 PM UTC
your haunting hands, my anxious eyes
your passion burning leaves me hypnotized
by the glow of the flame, its unpredictability
the heat of the flame, but you are so undeserving
should be perfuming my body in your kisses
should be dancing your fingers in my rivers
they call out your name, haunted even in the day
haunted at every sight of rain and Janelle Monae
we were in the eye and I was naive
now my anxious eyes follow me
and your haunted hands lead me
to an inner journey to find the key
to unlock and unblock my potential
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
Refined, I'm sweating gasoline
Set myself ablaze
Just to light the cigarette of my dreams
My natural state has changed
But hasn't stopped getting in my way
Takes a drink to strike an ember
Stagnant black glowing amber
Cooking my assumptions with timidity
Chaotic pieces tempered into
Wavering unpredictability
Directionless enmity
Enemies at wind
Cooled to harden
Forced to torch again
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:44 AM UTC
when i was young
and at the playground
i liked my feet to be on the ground
didn't really spend much time on the swings
&
when i did go on the swings
i made sure to swing only slightly
never pumped my legs as hard as i could
had no interest in flying
and now:
i'm grown,
and i still prefer my feet on the ground
still don't care for the swings,
or the unpredictability of your swinging moods
(i never know what will set you off)
(i say one thing one day and you laugh, and the next day you yell)
(this is a familiar pattern)
(one that i had hoped to escape)
(why)
(sometimes it feels like a nightmare i can't escape)
(am i not worthy of kindness?)
(am i not worthy of love that is secure?)
sometimes
i catch myself wishing for the sandbox
or just a nice bench
anything that doesn't swing
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 11:19 PM UTC