A Poetic 45 – Week 01

A week in, a weak one, and here we are, oh look, radiating sun

The Earth turns upon Axis, once more, has it won, and yet neither here nor there will we be, until the death of this sun

So small, is each life, so vast, why build strife?  Why build walls?

What point is it to divide?  To conquer?  Questions I ask, yet so many questions, I myself have failed to ask and live so who I am, when in a way, I have also lied, in essence create divide?

Protagonist in chief, no antagonistic thief, media thievin’ ya, but when governance fails to uphold the standard of human decency, who is it, brother, oh sister, that be deceivin’ ya?

Who is it that be deceivin’ ya?

A week in, a weak one, and here we are, oh look, radiating sun…

 

Dust

When the walls, the walls come a tumbling, tumbling down, down, down, there’s nothing, nothing left to see

For inside those crumbled walls, there’s nothing, nothing left of me

Oh how far gone and alone has life turned out to be, I’ll look to Nature, cause Nature will never be anything but who She is, She is truly.

bridge the gap

picked up a pen, I picked up a pen, done picked up a pen, put to paper, let my fingers dance on the keyboard like I’m making music except I’m listening to music and writing a free flow O-riginal piece for all y’all to peruse

if I didn’t take my style way back, where would I be, where would I go, how would I see, what would I know?

influences, influences, I got my influences, and they got their nuances, nuances, and then when I roll words, I got my nuances, nuances,

or nuisance, is it all just a nuisance, a nuisance!

so cold, this world, got me feeling, election 2016, we the people, got us reeling, we reeling

but this is exactly what we need, so we can get at healing savagely, and we heal collectively, then finally the pen will be put down and these fingers can stop dancing cause at last, at last, so free.

Untitled, As Is – 16.16.04

The outlet, it fuels, it feeds, it gives power.  An overload of it will blow a circuit.  A spark from that can start a fire.  A fire burns.  Burning can destroy.  Destroy what takes so long to build up.

But burning down to build anew is the cycle of the Phoenix, is it not?

Born again, with new youth and energy, the Phoenix flies once more.  It soars the skies, its beauty for all to see, until that day, when once more, it is time to repeat the cycle.  Repeat it as though it’s brand new.

Explosions are not always precise.  When they burst, they may or may not hit their target. But no matter the intended result, there is always an impact.  The impact of collateral damage.

Damage damned damning while destroying what might not even have been the intended target. But nonetheless, we destroy because it’s how we are.  It’s who we are.  Why can’t I just accept it?

Humanity is filled with violent tendencies and is set on taking that out on all others to create the cycle.  To relive the flight of the miserable Phoenix.  A wounded bird, it’s wounds on display for all the world to see.  The smoke trail behind, the ash raining down that it brings.

Why can’t I just accept it?  Why can’t I just love it and take it?  I see the bird, for I am that bird too.  It’s our collective burden.  If patience is a virtue, then the virtuous have left.  Left us long ago.

Cycle of rebirth, the rebirth of hurt, a cycle of pain perpetuated until we rally, we combine to combat that and not one another.

Pipe dream.  It’s a pipe dream.  That’s all it is.  Another silly dream.  Words that are meant to ponder.  Words that don’t want to give up but don’t see any other way.

When you lose hope, what then do you have left?  To accept.  Acceptance, accepting the answer to the question ‘How is this sustainable?’ is that:

It’s not.

Unless change occurs, at whatever pace that takes, we will destroy ourselves.  Nature will not judge.  Nature will persevere but if that’s the case why can’t we see that Nature within us and how it’s so clear.

“Release the shackles of inhibition that binds…”  Or is it ‘Release the shackles of inhibition that keeps us blind…’

I don’t know.  IDK.  WTF?  What the fuck?

I don’t have the answers.  I merely share.  Share what I observe. Documenting how I feel in the event that it might serve.  If it serves, if only just one other, than I did a great service and all this disservice I’ve experienced was worth it.

Untitled, As Is – 16.16.03 aka #TheFeels

Sadness is the first feeling that I feels, it’s just after Love, which is so true & so real, Sadness takes me, its mask betrays me, my Ego slays me, Sadness is the first of #TheFeels.

Anger takes the baton from Sadness, with heat, with fire, its burns off the past until at last no Sadness can be sensed as fast, but lie beneath the surface, it does with the past.  Anger will carry, it can triumph too, but when it dies out, there comes something new…

Despair rolls on up, bring with it Shame, & Rage.  If you don’t catch a hold, they’ll burst out into Hate from their cage.  This cocktail of feelings is more like a buffet, depends on #TheFeels and how you fill your plate.

So what will your order be? So many choices, isn’t it great?

Untitled, As Is – 16.16.02

The fingers of loss brush lightly across my cheek

Yet ‘Tis Disappointment That shall linger longer than any such pain

For I’ve been here before, I’ve lost far greater

Now again the Loss feels so much more

Still left am I to ponder why and when?

Why have I fallen short yet again?

And when shall I succeed?

Not much time have I to reflect for an If will find my knees.

Help, God Please.

Untitled, As Is – 16.16.01

Imagine if you will, having set sail, a vessel soaring mightily cross the waves, gently crashing against the bow

The sunset painting the skies and oceanic reflections in an embrace all around

Picture a love, like a thunderous storm, its torrential affection a downpour, flooding the decks & holds below

This love is a cannonball tearing through the heart of the ship, opening it up for light to pour into its depths, causing the sea to fill and bare its soul

Perhaps this is chaos. Small chance this is Truth

Whatever it may be, dare I wish this upon you…

For the loved vessel, shall never quite be the same as it was the day love tore its hull open to a new

Prospect of voyage, of which nothing else is as true