In case nothing happens

Observing the clouds float by, blocking the sky,
like a moat, massive, barring the way, slightly passive.
I ponder how the passing of all encompassing
can bare all the plight, growing higher day and night.

White picket fences and coke, what an awful slew of jokes.
"Our country tis of thee?" No such thing as a land of liberty.
We are always assured we will see everything cured,
as life of all sorts and races disappear without any traces.

Some of it is actually seen by those with means,
yet where is the motive that we need to be successive?
Surely we've heard of goodwill towards all men and Earth.
So why wait for oppurtunity to come, stop this insanity!

For the good of humanity! Let not just your voice be heard,
but the voices of thousands, millions, billions to be sure!
We're all growing steadily irrational waiting for change.
The terms different and deranged will someday be estranged!

Let's make some sort of report, something they can listen to,
and hopefully one day, the drawbridge will fall for you.

Recovering the windswept tears

There are those moments in my life,
where I can feel everything but my own
feeble self. I can not simply ignore the strife
of others, in a museum of those who are alone.

You all tell me that my life isn't so tough,
when in all reality, you just can't get enough.
You all perpetuate in my sorrow, as if the rough
interior of your marble halls were anything to bluff.

What to do, when the me and the you
is trampled underfoot?
Tossed aside, swept by the tide,
and scraped off the bottom of your boot?

Well, I certainly hope
not to sit around and mope,
as the daytime flies by,
as my soul seeks the sky.

Rather than grip the hole in my soul,
hoping for dear life it's whisked away
someplace else, I think I'll find something whole
in embarking once more towards today.

I must simply hush my troubled mind
and place more faith in the race of mankind.
Perhaps there is refuge for me to find
shelter, in a world that I thought was blind.

Manic depression is a frustrating mess

Strumming the dirty, old strings of my guitar,
I find a dissonance, rather unusual after
knowing that I've had it tuned far
too many times just the day before.

These occurances of unexplained obstacles,
hindrances and annoyances have piled
into a heap of incredulous, putrid cells,
amassing my body, tortured by guile.

This monstrosity slowly drags me into
a realm filled with null. A nihilistic,
dreary world with no color nor shape to woo
me from my sense of the pessimistic.

I'm finally writing about this all,
as if I know what inflicts my soul.
I suppose, what I can do, in order not to fall,
is to merge dark with light, and stand tall.

Third rock, first victim

The clouds are growing larger,
and the daytime is flowing shorter,
with the wind blowing harsher,
and the light glowing darker.

The Sun will stir in the morning,
whilst we turn over, pondering
the darker light. We were the yearning
few who, out of the blue, saw the skies were burning.

But in this world, to stand is also to stare,
and at the moment, to speak never shows care
for our world...our precious world. There,
we have lived, and yet soon we will strip it bare.

With the neverending possibilities of civil murder,
petty greed and foolish fanatics, the very orb of all nature
around us is sadly left in the pile of discarded rain checks. Your
checks will mean so much when the rain is gone. Sure.

Or perhaps you'd wait for the world to succumb
to filth, waste, and warheads. Listen to the sun hum
mildly as the sky fades to nought. Watch the forests,
burning, drown into the rising seas. What have we done?

Take a closer look. When you have the chance.
None of this world should be fading.
Not under any circumstance.

Where will we be tomorrow
without food, water, shelter?
Make a cry for our mishapen, sorrowful
little rock. It's all we have until the helter skelter.

Countdown

The sun, suspended mid-way in the great arch. All life paces about.
Wondering where it is. Why and what it is. Yet it is impossible to figure out.
Evening cloaks the sun. Darkness unveils infinite lights scattered throughout.
Like specks of sparks in the forges of Asgard. Sadly, reflecting our universal doubt.
Venture to clap your eyes on them. You won't ponder their lapse. We wonder, this crowd.
Even the lights will end in blinding beams.


Earth. Our quaint collective of water, rock, plant, flame, and steel.
Lasting forever. Blissfully keeping us stable. When will all be revealed?
Eternity is ruled by two hands. The onslaught of truth leaves senses reeled.
Varily the gears turn, shifting life. All will be taken by the lifelong deal.
Entire deserts shift with the sands. The land tumbles inwards, no way to yield.
Nothing escapes the constant, rhythmic regime.


Tempting everything. Crushing youth. Halting nothing. Ringing truth.
Every moment. Torrential proof. Bare containment. Sagging roof.
No shelter from the storms. A cold, harsh, provoked stream.


Never could we fully understand it. It's nothing we expected.
Indisputable, intransient , intangible. Playing with our cards reflected.
Now we sit, waiting for the finale. The dramatic win or rejection.
Eventually it will come. But we witness nothing. Nothing is what it seems.


Excuses only waste our vain affairs. Every single moment is but a memory; fleeting.
Intertwined are past and future's hourglass. They merge, ignorant to the pleading .
Grains of sand flow from the dawn of all. The lower chamber, consistently eating.
Hollow...cheating.
The world, changing, shall never concoct a finer scheme.


Stilled lapses are all we ask for.
Eternal life is something more.
Vainly, we pray for hope of truth to our lore.
Elegant afterlife beckons our knees to the floor.
Neurotic are we all, in the long run. Desperate for a life which is not seen.


Slowly and surely, the hands turn. Some of us know this and wonder why.
Intrinsic is the nature of the others. They know of the sands; yet they pass them by.
Xerxes the Great, was yet a man. And when he died, everyone heard his scream.


Fervent tradgedies blend in sway with the flow of surreal comedy.
If we all ran short of today, would tomorrow still be?
View the finale, or journey into the world of blind pleas?
Eliminate one choice soon. You don't have much longer to flee the scene.


Fleeing from it is impossible though.
Observe the sun as you run, as you try to go.
Underneath diamond-strewn night skies, you know.
Right next to the horizon, one day older, the sun hits you with its gleam.


There is a castle hidden in the mist, once in every
Hundred years, where the answers lie.
Rarely seen, peaked by the clocktower, with mighty,
Enigmatic , grim Death ruling over the hands of all time.
Enter at the risk of your life, before the hour strikes thirteen.


The hour drawing ever near, your line of sanity draws closer.
Watch as the gears endless turn, your span of every sense shorter,
Only to realize everything in the castle was just a dream.


Onward into the mass that teems,
No particular course in the machine,
Eternally turning the hands of our lives, predictably lean.

-
Z
E
R
O
-

Verbal communication

"Remember remember, the Fifth of November,
the gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot."

This day, November the Fifth,
significant in the United Kingdom,
sent a message to those associated with
high power over those beneath them.

Now too, in these United States,
another message has been spoken.
Change has come to America's gates,
and the winds have swept us a token.

However, despite the newfound spirit
of glory, joy and hope,
I cannot shadow this doubt. I hear it
in my heart and I still can't cope.

Actions truly do speak louder
than words. I am simply another
prisoner of time. I couldn't be any prouder
of his success...I won't get myself bothered.

I have faith in the power of words
coming from a figure of man
such as his. If only my faith in those other
plans of his were so grand...

Confusion and angst

I don't know anything
anymore.
I don't know what I should be doing
today or tomorrow.

I don't know why my music seems
more insignificant. Nor do I really care.
I don't know why music used to mean
so much to one with no ability to share.

I don't know who to turn to when
everyone has hurt and lied to me.
I don't know why my social life has been
so frustrating. It reflects my self-esteem.

Like the full moon over a lake.
I would escape
to it if it weren't
out of reach.

I don't know where I'm headed
by tomorrow or next year.
By the time my incredible parents have departed,
I don't know what I'll do alone, in fear.

Fear of dying alone...
That's one thing I do know...
that I don't want to happen.

As long as there is life, there is always hope

It's cold in here.
This is no fictional fantasy,
crafted from a brilliant peer.
No, this is no bliss trip for the naive.

This is life.
It's never expected to be
anything but pain and strife
by those who cannot see.

I admit I am blind at times.

But even blind people can walk.
They live their lives. We can still talk.
But what then, if our speech is impaired?
Do we give into loss, death, and despair?

No. Then there is brail.
There will always be a way
to make it so we never fail
for good, we always see the next day.

There are too many of us
who really have it good
like myself for instance...

We are just blind to our surroundings.
Please forgive us if we cannot see anything.

We are young and still trying...

A Hallow Eve

A holy night of darkness,
spirits and festivity,
that is the thirty-first
of the tenth month's history.

All Hallow's Eve.
The pagans on this night,
costumed, set out to relieve
the evil spirits for the next day's light.

All Saint's Day.
Continuing from the night before,
a grand feast is shared, by way
of those sharing divine visions, who are nevermore.

I suppose I'm glad that as
time went by, we all agreed
that it'd be best to pass
out candy, door to door, with no creed.

Actually I'm very glad.

And on a separate note...

What is it to be complete,
to know nothing of the obsolete,
to be creative, sophisticated, an elite,
who is never a hopeless deadbeat?

How can you feel
significant and real,
when your side of the deal
was to always be the fifth wheel?

Who are you to tell
me that I am a lost fool, fell
yet by isolation. You never heard me yell,
the chances lower than a snowball's in hell.

You with cherished friends,
who are always there for you at day's end,
could never understand how they bend
the notes of discord in my life's trend.

When I'd prefer lies

Well for once I shall
post an internal and eternal struggle
I've fought too long, a wall
of isolation, an endless painful juggle.

I really am not very wise.
I've only been sitting around at home,
going to school, tolerating insults and lies,
brewing in my thoughts for years, alone.

Perhaps I'm deeper and bright
compared to those in life I've met,
yet they blissfully live quite
cheerily. A life of harsh truths...is one I'd rather have left.

If not for my family and few treasured friends...
my message would be that much harder to send.

Sloth couldn't make it to this post

The enemy is vicious,
reeking of envy. You'd
dare question our head, whose
lust of power leaves all overruled?

Greed tends to leave a foul
stench in the thrones of humanity.
May their seated command us as we're told
when "righteous" pride blinds our very sanity.

Forward march
left, right, left.
Wrath, may you gun down the enemy farce
and we all win a victory swift.

Swift. As in temporary.

Bloodshed does not justify
bloodshed. Gluttony is contagious
in the hearts of humanity,
devouring all sanity within us.

No kingdom may be named
so without its people tamed.

Let alone without its people.
For no one, no matter what the cost,
deserves an unnatural death.
This atheist knows this, and writes this post.

I will keep my faith in mankind.

Biorhythem

A basic rhythm.
A pattern of sound and
integrated tones, with them,
an audience diverse, grand.

Music is a powerful influence to
the mind, body, and soul.
You could change the world through
a loud, passionate tribute of rock and roll.

Or perhaps you feel
a tad bit sultry, and
you snap your fingers and reel
in tune to a jivin' jazz band.

For those with a lively time
in mind, then attend your
nearest swing band to find
the room as a swaying, dancing tour.

Maybe you wish to explore
the psychedelia, multicolored.
There everything is significant, more
so than your deepest desires galore.

To take an angry path
to exuberate your hate,
listen in the underground as rap
can be heard in the hours late.

The immeasurable genres
cannot be summarized in words.
But I can tell you this much, the days
will always have music, rest assured.

A gust of truth

Wandering through the still
night air, a bone deep chill
masters your movements, you pace,
asleep, until the light hits your face.

Are you truly awake?

All existence is truly a question
of your powers of imagination.
In dreams they take flight
once more, an infinite kite.

Hovers, shifts, devours,
comforts, horrifies, towers
above all else, your
minds' endless lore.

Will you cut the string?

Superstition

He flies again
from the roofs of reality
into bliss, he descends.

This is the eighth one.

This drives his bitter grounded
heart to fly once more
the people glance, their astounded
faces are lost in the roar.

You see, when you soar,
the din is likely not to leave
your ears. The senses, once yours,
disperse as if to grieve.

Spiritual encompasses
your entire bio-structure.
Turning, crossing
to his hopeful utopia he is sure.

Yet they all remain.

Those senses, he knew
they left, yet that
undeniable necessary crew
had him fooled like a desperate rat.

A rat smelled cheese nearby
in his puddle of vomit.
He picked himself off the pavement, passerby
tried not to pass by it.

He never knew himself
as anything than it.

There's always the ninth.