It amazes me
When you strut about
Like you own the dunghill
Is where men need to go
Where they need to clear out their lives
When they need to get rid of the old
Oh yes, they need you
They need you for such things nonetheless
Great mistress of the night
You are the lover and husband of our dark habits
The mother of the monsters growing inside us
The nurse of the festering sores
That mock our daytime puritan act
You keep them decaying
So we never stop needing you
For such things nonetheless
You give meaning to our addictions
You give us shame to carry like babies
And what terrible nannies we make
Sooner or later when the babies drop
And the skeletons you hid for us in the wardrobe fall out
You are the one we run to
All we have become we owe to you
When our life stories are told
In the secret cinemas
To fellow decadents like us
They are never complete without you
The mark you have given us
This mark of corruption
The dirty stinking clothes you stacked up for us
You are very important to us
You walk about proudly
In this dunghill
Where all you are
Is the keeper of dirt
You own us
What then happens
When we wake from our slumber
And start washing our clothes
When we take our wounds to a doctor
When we clear out our closets
When your power over us is taken away
And we do not bow or cower
Before you in devoted slavery
When we forever stop making that booty call
And actually start loving the light
When we stop hiding away in the darkness
Afraid to be seen for how we really look
When we finally begin
Feeling so clean and free
Freedom from you
Freedom from ourselves
What will you do
When we finally come clean?
Posted in life
Tagged addiction, clean, corruption, darkness, dunghill, liberty, light, musings, secrets, slavery, truth
Say the words
Speak these words NOW
You can choose to read them
Or sing them like an acapella
You may even spice them up with a rock guitar
But please let out these words like you mean them
Read these lines to me just as I am writing them
Just like I have written them
Only then can I cry
Who knew a lot could happen inside such a small round ball! (Source: http://0.tqn.com)
Listening to these reflections of my pain
Hearing these echoes of my frustrations
Will be the magic to unlocking the floodgates
Then I will cry
Then I will let it all out
These words are the ones that can cut into me
And start the bloodletting
Say them just as I have written them
Miss no line or cue or punctuation
Every letter has been put here with care
Every letter symbolizing every day I have lived with pain
Every word symbolizing the different sorrows that plague me
Every line symbolizing the years I have bottled up within
These words I could never get to say out
I have no means of release
Even as I write these lines
I feel minimal pain
From the times I have shaken my head
At the person of the Browne
The masks we humans use
From the days I have meditated
Upon the ironic portrayals of the Trent of the planet
The collective tragedies of our race
From the moments I have wondered
At the Tango’s stories of the family
The seasons of our lives
From the eternities I have sighed
At the Shard’s dirges of personal dilemmas
And the fight between humanity and divinity
And who’s to say how far we know or lack
When Julien keeps speaking from his abundance of knowledge
About how useless man’s knowledge largely is
The dark and cloudy days
Take it in step
Don’t rush the moment
Don’t drag it
Let me hear the words gradually
Let it escalate patiently kindly
Remind me of the sad state of humanity
Tell me something I didn’t know
About the depths we are exploring
Newer depths we might sink into
Deceiving ourselves it is the search for knowledge
Truth and liberation
Has the bar ever been lower
Remind me of the ridiculous drama
We all have been auditioned for
A game between fate and choice
How pathetically ironic
That we should quarrel over those two
Don’t rush it
In fact, this is where you take a pause
Avoid a premature climax
Break the progression to the peak
You’ll take it up later again
Posted in free verse
Tagged catharsis, Hope, humanity, knowledge, liberty, life, musings, pain, song, thoughts, truth, Writing
“Of the few unpleasant species like myself
Even fewer love a happy ending.
But again there are few who won’t care about rules of dark writings
Any more than they’d care about a broken toothpick!”
These thoughts run through the mind of the writer,
As he heads back from the shrink’s cave.
His hair is well combed and like shiny metal.
His eyes glow with eerie warmth and calmness.
An enchanted smile adorns his lips and cleanly shoven chin.
One gently swaying arm holds a baby bird.
There was something beautifully divine about the bird
Even the air smelt divine, almost spiritual
The other arm with shaky fingers holds a white-inked pen.
The full picture of emptiness
Sitting between calmness and uncertainty,
His throat bears the aftertaste of good food,
Which though sits uneasily in his tommy
In view of his maltreatment and enslavement,
The hole (where the padlock was) remains –
An unforgettable lesson on his lips
As he speaks every day.
His wrists bear marks from the cuffs.
His broken legs are yet unhealed.
His mind is unsure of what to expect
From the writer upon return.
Writer(W): Hello friend! How have you fared?
Victim(V): Friend? Hehehehe.
W: As you could guess, I was only being sarcastic calling you friend. Not a chance!
V: As well! Anyway, I have resigned myself to this fate. I know how dying feels. I am well used to it by now. This is your fifth return from your shrink, and I have not fared any better. I have felt my body die, and horror as I felt it come alive again back to your chains. I have felt you drain my hope as you would treat me kindly before you go see your shrink, only to deal worse with me on returning. I have felt my soul die. The corruption of these chains have drained my hope, my light, and what sense of sanity I had left. What more? Oh! You will release me now -the new monster you have created -knowing that I am not the same again? I can’t successfully live a normal life -my sense of humanity, morality and dignity twisted by your darkness.
W: Hahahahaha!!!! Halt your speech there! See who is talking like a philosopher now.
I am wrapping all this up now
And as the victim watches
With the uneasy calmness of one used to pain and suffering,
The writer takes the pen
And in a decisive move
Sticks it in the delicate heart of the heavenly dove.
Frank red blood gushes out.
As the blood flowed,
Something unnatural was happening –
Something damningly darker than any could have imagined,
Or something worthy of engaging the writer’s darkness.
The victim saw the writer’s countenance change.
The final deed has been done!
The writer’s insanity forever satisfied,
He then writes a new story in red.
The victim was set free
From the chains of darkness
By the shedding of another’s blood.
Something snapped in the writer’s dark mind
With his bold move on the dove’s life.
The victim’s story changed
And the writer’s madness was satisfied.
The victim was still in shock
As he was let out of hell.
He looked forward with hope
Into the life ahead of him,
Hoping and praying
He wouldn’t be a monster unleashed –
A likeness of the demon he just left behind in hell.
(Who was still a bit surprised
Because it wasn’t quite how he had planned the happy ending.)
At least, he wasn’t totally dead like the writer.
He could still HOPE and PRAY like a normal human
Who believed in the power of the unseen.
I wake up when I wake up but lie still, as I contact the Unseen Creator.
I go through the day as if it’s the best day of my life
I dress in ways that generate debate yet not sexually suggestive or haggard
I don’t live by DEPENDING on things, like money, around me yet I use them
I live all too aware of the fact that I am mortal yet I am unusual
I live uninhibited by my own hormones and basic drives yet I am comfortable with having them
I don’t depend too much on others, whoever they may be, so long they are only humans
I am unattached to traditions I don’t understand yet I do not slander or pontificate
I do not fully understand the supernatural/unseen world yet I do not doubt its reality
I live like I have 100 more years yet completely fearless of death
I am softer than water, tougher than the rock, freer than the breeze, more passionate than fire
I am not God and I do not contribute to a universal mind
I am just a wild child who belongs to the Creator.
Death Valley (Photo credit: Frank Kehren)
I am trying to swim,
But how is the water filling my lungs towards the brim
I am drowning
I am dying
I try to get out soon
But how does one scratch out of an elastic cocoon
I am suffocating
I am dying
I try to quench it
But how do I kill a furnace with just tears, piss and spit
I am burning
I am dying
I try to crush it
But how is my ramming the wall not breaking it
I am wrecking
I am dying
I fight to stay alive
I am living to die
In death I lie
In dying I come alive
Your world is unseen
Yet it has violently crashed into my scene
And it fills me with real life
Setting me truly free without strife