It rhymed, it seemed sensible
Although maybe reprehensible
Because it didn’t quite make sense,
Questions with no answers
Intensifying with the questioning
But never mentioning any answers
Just mysteries but no attempts
To justify
What was being said,
The page being fed
with more words
read felt and heard before
But never quite sure what it was trying to say
It carried on anyway,
It rhymed because it seemed sensible
But it was questionable whether it
Had any meaning,
A room with no floor but walls and a ceiling

What?
Are you sure you’re not looking at it
Upside down?
Surely it’s more appealing
The other way round,
Less falling into nothingness
The ceiling as a floor would be best
Or spinning really fast so you can’t quite fall
Because it catches you,
Hopefully no nails from pictures
In the walls
Because it scratches you
Spinning round
In a room
With no windows watching you.
Butterscotch table for two…
What?

It doesn’t make sense,
But for recompense it rhymes
I said that already I know
But I need certain lines
In there because,
Well…
You know why.

Ladders wrapping like snakes around the branches of
Trees
That could be climbed unappeased
Were it not for nonsense
The cycle repeating over time
Not pleasing but feasible
reasoning untangible
But more manageable
Like conditioned hair
More easy to bare
The sense that the
Dense trees of time
As they climb entangled with ladders like snakes
Or vines
in their hair
Mangled
They don’t make much sense
They just rhyme.
That’s just life.
And that’s fine.

What?

I am not a fancy poet.
I do not use intricate words
or phrases to catch the eye
or ensnare the senses.
When I write,
it is not to elicit attention from
an inquisitive audience,
or gain fame.
I write to simply ***** my thoughts,
in untangible notes and scribbles,
and hope it can conjure
some sort of peace in my mind.
I share my poetry,
for the hope that perhaps,
you too can relate to me
and free your mind,
while we both try to
make some sort of sense
out of my word *****.

He sat fogging up the glass by the window pane
Watching the aftermath of a great white storm
and as he sipped his hot cup of tea
He remembered his youth with his bride lucy

When they were fresh healthy and bright
They'd sit by the fire on a cold winters night
and cherish the time spent in laughter drinking wine
But oh my friend how time goes by

Lucy's hair had changed it was as white as the snow
and her laughter had change into untangible moans
and Lucy couldnt remember those old fiery nights
Lucy was always confused and full of fight

No matter what the doctors say
The man waits for that very special day
When Lucy turns red blushing with smiles and says
Oh my Love remember when...

music is many things
it is invisible
untangible
nonexistent
but so powerful
coursing through your veins with every
beat
with every
measure
emotions, spilling through the air
butterflies, soaring through your soul
it's aggressive and loving
it's violent and gentle
it's painful and soothing
it's hideous and beautiful
it's me
it's you
it's all of us
music is
we are
seperate
unique
alone
but one.

The more poetry I read
The more air I fill my lungs with to yell out the words as a tribute to one of the most beautiful artforms
I discover
No words are good enough to convey true feeling
Words will own belittle it, make out of the world emotion seem less, make incredibly untangible things grab able.
But you can’t stand with a feeling in your hands - yes, that was a metaphor
And the art of poetry is trying too belittle it as little as possible.
A mission to describe something indescribable with words as your only tool.
Explaining something you don’t truly know what is or feel is hard.
People don’t feel the same way or share same emotions.
Even every single human experiences love in different forms, different emotions.
How do you communicate your version, so that it can be understood?
Poetry and the spoken word should never be forgotten, but praised.
Let us show the world it is not an old dusty artform but an innovative reflection of today’s world.

Dear you,
Why do you do this at the worst times?
You know I have deadlines and a social life,
you know I made a schedule and was supposed to be on time.

How could you be so selfish,
making me stay in bed all day but then make my heart race as I knew I was late for everything I was to do before you convinced me to stay and rot?

You,
why won't you let me shower?
Why are you standing in front of the mirror telling me things that would shatter someone else but I have grown used to?
Where did you come from and how do I get rid of you?
I miss who I was before you came here every morning and sat on my chest until I stopped trying to fight it at all.

To you:
I'm sick of this.
It's been three days and you haven't let me eat but once I do you won't let me stop.
Will you ******* let me sleep already? I know you have a lot to say but today I cannot handle staying up and reading old prose I wrote when I was happy,
before you came back.

To you,
where did you go all this time and where did you stay?
Can you leave again and take with you the toxic habits you brought back?
Do you quench your thirst with wine because I never craved it until you came around again and now I cannot get the taste out of my mouth,
but what is worse is how I need that fuzzy feeling to feel okay
and I think that is your fault

You,
What is your goal and when do you plan on stopping?
because I'm tired.
I have used up all of my excuses and hurt everyone I love with my inability to muster up strength to ask for help but instead lash out at those who love me
or loved me

You,
you ruin relationships for me
no one wants to love me when you hang on my shoulders and deter people from seeing who I am when I stand up straight
it is for that that I hate you and I hope you know that you are not welcome,
I do not let you in thinking you have changed
but instead I let you in because I have not.
I lay here and rot and let you do this to me because it is the only consistent thing in my life
you are the only thing that keeps fighting for me once I've tried to push you away over and over

do you think that makes us good for each other?
I had a boyfriend who I left so many times and one day
he stopped coming back
I wish you'd do that.
Maybe then I could step forward instead of fall back.

Can you go the **** away?
I miss my friends
I miss the day, conquering it before noon and being able to say I beat you,
that I left you.
Instead you leave me for dead with mascara on my fingers from rubbing tired eyes 56 times in the last hour wondering when things will get better and if they would if I just stopped pretending like they already were
I hate sleeping until noon because you make waking up any earlier feel like a death sentence.
I hate you for making death look so beautiful and peaceful when you know **** well there are things on earth death will never touch
like those feelings you took from me too
untangible, but not untakeable
you made sure I knew you had the ability to steal them from me and
that I would not feel anything if you did not think it was okay
is this okay with you?

I'm so sick of you

I can't say that now and I'm writing this from the bed I haven't left in 3 days so how can I get strong enough to leave you?
won't you please,
just go away.

My thoughts could be beautiful if not so skewed
untangible things in very lucrative views
unhappy me
meets
quite happy you
& the cycle continues as we make ourselves lose

The day could never do the job of the night
it would ***** all the time
about never getting things right
always lookin' in the dark
never findin' the right keys
to a door that's unlocked
but still won't open for me

If only the cat had a more noble speech
maybe then he,
could talk sense to me
and maybe
i'd listen
whole-heartedly
for once in my ******* life
i'd listen to the cat speak
and take what he means
about the good and the bad
or
the wise and the lost
and understand that he sees
what he wants to see
because he's a ******* cat
but
that's fine with me.

I live vividly without visibly having the ability to live willingly nor the versatility to fight your volatility. Unequivocally I believe in relativity but unofficially I use negativity as a means of self-sufficiency. Naturally I have a proclivity towards acting predictably when publicly judging turbidity. Additionally I hide in anonymity and indignantly ignore my epiphany of the asymmetry of unanimity. Shamefacedly I turn to your intricate dystrophy and observe the futility of my soliloquy. I can' find nobility in dying deliberately, but it shows efficiency in skimming humanity. Initially my hostility was untangible but it has suspiciously aquired solidity and is now intermittently sending signs of my eccentricity. My alkalinity is running low because surreptitiously the pungency has grown. I am undoubtedly peripheral to the society and irresistibly disposable in the industry of this idiosyncrasy.

A true beauty is never forgotten
It stays in the covert closet of our soul
unattended
spoiled
rotten
while we go outside
build millions of buildings
burn millions of trees

A true beauty is always instantly sold
for a price too big for convertibles
but too small for make-ups
When girls put it on
something is changed
something is lost
in a split second
We are touched
but eternally never moved

A true beauty could be as untangible as a sparkle in the air
we laugh
but we don't know why
Once I thought i had found it
during a fight with a dog in a dark alley
Another time
when a girl said no
but looked me in the eye
for so long
i forgot who i was

In an apocalypsed world
the true beauty will finally reveal itself
Survivors keel down in front of it
the chosen ones
crooning
chanting
relishing their reward
For that moment
we understand the value of death and eternity
then a million ******
in the remnants of civil society
in everything that glowed
every corner that denied
every discourse that faded
to reminisce
the passing of a million trees
For that
this unforeseeable future
I'm grateful

To sift through a million false beauties
tortured
convoluted
i'm still looking
waiting
for the sign
a sign concealed in that minute dance of wrinkles on your face
a dance that contains a million years of evolution
and some day
somewhere in that divinely lit shopping mall of royalty
of ancient colours
of trivial romantic tragedies
you will see me
after seeing a million others
you will be touched
and moved
and time will forever pause for us
for i have found it
the sign of a true beauty in your glimpse

I wake up in a dream,
Without fear, without doubt.
Without a desire to divine its meaning.
Shedding the stupor of existence,
I wake up in a dream.

~~~~~~~

Gloomy skies and silence
Greet me as I cross the dead fields.
I see a mountain in the distance,
Its peak shrouded in mists.
I walk through a drab world.

As I draw near to the mountain,
I see sparks of colour.
I am drawn to them
Uncaring if they are an illusion -
Like the Lonely towards Love.

I see butterflies flitting to and fro
Between flying petals of every colour.
I see the ground littered with fruits
And blue puddles on the lifeless earth.
I see rodents scurrying into the distance.

I see colours everywhere,
Of every hue and shade.
Here a golden moth,
There a mauve lamp.
Rainbows springing from the ground.

A golden rain falls to my right
As if the sun has melted.
And in that patch of deluge,
I see formless faceless children
Shedding black tears.

I look to my left
And see the air wriggling -
Many moving dots of no colour.
And looking into its expanding mass
I feel as if adrift in a void, weightless.

I force myself to walk forwards.
I see birds of many wings,
And red flowers dripping honey.
All whirling as if caught in a tornado
And at its vortex, a man.

I see him standing infront of a canvas,
Moving his arms and moving around.
He is painting but not only on the canvas.
His brush moves even on thin air,
The paint changing colour as he moves.

He is drawing a multitude,
He is drawing them everywhere,
And he is drawing them into being.
His eyes closed, his head bent,
Bringing his paintings into life.

He stops after a while.
His hands fall to his sides.
All the space around him
Is filled with his living paintings,
And yet there is silence all about.

He notices me and seems puzzled
As if wondering when he has painted me.
He beckons me to come closer
And I go to him without fear.
There is only trust in his eyes.

He tells me that he is a painter.
I look around and nod.
He shows me an inkpot
And tells me that it has magical ink.
I believe him.

He asks me to try painting with the ink.
Anxious about the formless anamolies
That might come out of my artless hands
I politely refuse.
He looks baffled.

He draws a pen in mid air, catches it,
Fills it up with the magic ink
And offers it to me.
'Write, if you can't draw,
Life, one way or the other', he says.

He points to the dead lands all around,
Asks me to help him bring them to life.
Others before me have accepted the Ink.
He tells me he never saw them again.
And yet he trusts another.

Or if I'd rather return to the world I'd come from
He advises to take the pen with me.
I tell him I can't carry anything
From Dreams into my Reality,
Except for things untangible.

I tell him where I come from
Hope is a dangerous currency;
That Rivers of blood would flow
Long after Rivers of Ink dry up
Magic or no.

I tell him where I come from
We don't need a pen
That can bring to life everything it writes.
More a pen that can
Write Life into others.

A cactus in the desert
Full of life's nectar
A mere reflection of where you are
Sweet like honey
Love pure
and
Everlasting
Differentiated between
tangible and untangible.

when a sense of thought leaks into the mind and I observe the father let go of his children in the morning and it shoots something so warm through my skin.
everyday you subconsciously fore+get more of the past that you have seen. what counts as experience, is it that of which we see or does imagination intertwine with this story we call life. our sight before us does not differ with our internal visions, nothing is tangible when one stays silent. those people you pass in the street have eyes of their own but what have they thought of what do thy do where do they go after we lock eyes for second. people don't age matter just progresses and stars fly further and move over and we age to become lesser humans in society we age to become relics of a vision that we once had and when we age too well all that of which we see will disappear in atoms. are memories also molecules of atoms. how does one retain a memory in a cell. its an energy a force that consumes us. we spend an untangible number on matter that we feel will drive us further to happiness or to survive.
within hours the moments you think are present fade into seconds that will never repeat. in a second, one scene of the world occurs infinite actions are composed at once by infinite minds. all this world is are minds with a vision. relity is not tangible its a thought its an image we face when we awake what if we don't awake. dreams are only as real as the present just close your eyes.
master the means of the universe the atoms the matter the dust that you are made of and the years you have came from