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.