Wisp

Where do dreams unrealized go, I often wonder…

What happens to thejoy that is swuelched by overwhelming dpression..

What kind of Heaven could there be that smiles at those in Hell, and

Loves people all through the before-life telling them that you wish them well..?

Where do the good thoughts go- the pure ones?

When you lust in you mind wherefore falls the righteousness of intellect that was displaced?

Strike a key on a guitar string, and pluck piano keys..

Changing the name of something doesn’t necessarily change it’s purpose… or does it?

Do you covet, or want it, or do you self-forbid

Because you’re afraid of some dark and mystical sin…

You might be correct.

Take it away from me…

Lock it up with my destiny…

This ability to see willingly the outcome of persevering, and foretasting teh sweetness of winning…

I don’t want it- not while I yet suffer.

What used to be my comforter is now strangling me beneath the covers.

**

~The Wordsmith

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Inside

Knowledge never knew itself

So truth was prone to fail

The lies, disguise themselves

Well.

The depths of self deception

Know bounds

The depths of self reflection

No bounds

The air is reflected from our lungs

Our words fiery darts

Shoot to kill

Or press the heat near enough to sauter

To expunge, and to mend

No this cannot be a trend

Women… Men…

Rating each other

The scale degrades into raping each other

Each forcing upon the other

The heat consumes us all

Sunlight, hell, or the burn of our passion

What will you choose?

Who will run you?

The call… the call…

Living through this life

Everybody’s ears are attuned

Listening… always listening…

But when you hear it –

What will you do?

**

~The Wordsmith

In My Rocking Chair

The flowers are falling today

Soft, and gentle on the wind

I remember when the bloom was just a seed

I remember the dirt it was thrust into

The sun coaxed it out

Inspired it to speak

I remember how shy it used to be

But it’s fragrance.. oh such a wondrous scent

Precious, and sweet

And now – the flowers are falling

Yielding to the earth’s government

Dying to self, to bring forth even greater beauty

The petals swirl along

Breathing history into soulful tunes

This porch supports my body

But the flora buoy my soul

… The flowers are falling today…

**

~The Wordsmith

Limbo

I live in a constant state between asleep, and awake…
Never fully breathing.  Never fully sleeping.  Never fully BEing.

I’ve wasted so much time in my life… moreso than I realized.  When I see others go through what I’ve gone through I understand that I should have made more of the moment.  That I should’ve let the bridge down over the moat and, surrendered a portion of controlling to the system of life that I may be a whole one… but I sleep.  Almost.  I jump to my feet.  Not quite.  I can never fully descend into sleep and be consumed by my dreams or come all the way awake with the adrenaline pumpin to give me power to bring fruition to my ambition.  Its a struggle just to take a step forward.  My senses snap to Jedi awareness when other people are in need, but I’m a bat in daylight when its just me… I need a me to counsel me.  To russle my feathers and slap me on the beak.  But there is none.  I can hardly tell if I’m tired or merely suffering the effects off this trans-delusional state.

~The Wordsmith

Fatal

So this is agony.  For so long I thought it was physical suffering, over-mothering, having too little for everything, or maybe living with veiled loving… What I have found, is that these are symptoms.  The problem is me.  My head.  My psyche.  Thinking is killing me.  Reflection is a slow killing poison which I heedlessly keep injecting… Its like a drug.  I gotta have it.  Gotta watch.  Gotta perceive.  Gotta know.  Gotta ponder it all.  See if the taste changes by stickin in my big toe… But what I want is out of reach.  One can always gain further understanding, but it is accompanied by mortalizing limits, and stumbling so is there truly anything under me, standing?

I suck in information until my head goes helium, and my eyes roll inside my head.  I suck faster, hoping for more… Hoping this straw of balanced interpretation isn’t becoming my Lord.  Craving to finally see and to know, and detesting the craving at the same time.  It is getting me nowhere, and accomplishing nothing.  Yet it is as if I have placed my hand upon a sheet of fly paper… The more I struggle to let it go, the more hopelessly entangled I become.  I am it.  It is me.  Disjunction and I are one. One mind, one aspiration, one doubt, one hope, one trick, one love, one ponder, one package of infinite analysis…

I’m laughing to keep from going mad – or perhaps because of it? – and I know that it’s sad because I’m striving for a covenant, that I know not if it exists, hoping that with all of my intent senses, when it makes an appearance, I won’t miss it.  I stay up all night defying sleep to remind myself that my will does have some effect… When I awake, I come correct, wishing for the days end to flex my power once again.  I am plagued by things forgotten, things attempted… The outfits of those around me, and their psychological constituents.  Often to my detriment.  Even chancing that I successfully removed the veil, what then?  What purpose is found in pondering and perception?  Delirium.

Why so serious?  Why not?  Everything is material for the agile mind to dance around like hop scotch or hip-hop.  Nothing is too minute, and nothing too grand.  Everything gets calculated.  Everything – or at least as much as I can.  Sometimes I move and accomplish things… Make sprints in the direction of my dreams… But then I wonder – is that my dream at all?  At which point do most stumble, and which do most stand tall?  Probably many are playing it so safe that falling is a near impossibility.  I cannot do that willingly, I need some wily nily, a dose of silly, a question like “Really?”, to explode like C4 and see what takes place, to examine my warm and see if it’s chilly.

Flat line… Reflection is a slow killing poison which I heedlessly keep injecting… It kills my activity, but something keeps resurrecting.  My feet are glued to the pedal, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

Thinking… Always thinking…

Well when you are alone in this world – what else is a guy to do?

~The Wordsmith