truth

The coin

 

I hold a coin, and before flipping it, I ponder

 

The world is not good

 

I tell these stories to make you feel better

 

There are humanitarians and caregivers

 

Men and women of valour

 

There are benefactors, globalists and monsters who sleep well at night, unperturbed at being monsters

 

We are mortals, We wake, work and dream

 

We ache all day and commute with heartbreak and pains

 

As the universe expands, our tolerance and imagination dwindles

 

We are man, broken and ignorant

 

No facades exist here, no light beneath the shadows. We are exactly what we seem

 

Nevertheless, the problem is not only in the ideology but also the methodology

 

Before I flip it, I examine both sides

HEADS:

 

Just people see shades of grey and hesitate to do whats right

 

A lie of omission is still a lie

 

A crime of inaction is still a crime

 

Good men do good for recognition of those within their sight

 

Their good is half measured, born out of convenience rather than necessity

 

Right taken out of necessity should not be the goal we aspire to but look around you

 

It has to be stirred within us; it needs a diatribe

 

That need, that passive feeling to let evil bloom till it is so overwhelmingly obvious is nocuous

 

That when the sins are named, and ignorance is brought up

 

Morality bows to logic yet arguments are long worded, tautological with no substance and vacuous

 

Good men are magnanimous

 

The universe is everything but

 

 

TAILS

Evil, it seeps and crawls

 

Grabbing all within its thrawls

 

Good men find options, good people hesitate

 

Evil is meticulous and calculated; it is the nature of hate

 

It is anything but laggard

 

Always one step ahead, while planning for the far future

 

Men of evil vary yet are united for they are all dastards

 

They are sequacious chthonic and fear the repercussions by covering themselves metaphorically or physically with hoods

 

The worst of men believe they are the best of us

 

The truly despicable... convince themselves they are the greater good

 

 

It lands upright, the overlooked variable

 

IT STANDS:

Hope is immaterial 

 

Without actions, it can never be realised 

 

Truth outshines the darkness, only if it is viewed

 

Our presence and actions make the untouchable real

 

 

Justice is undefeatable

 

Being in the presence of someone who wields it is ethereal

 

Finding someone that pure is almost impossible

 

Becoming that person is a thrill

 

I speak like a man who does not see the world from his abode

 

I think like a man who has never encountered a forked road

 

Evil grows, and good cowers

 

Until it is reversed I say:

 

The world is not good

 

I tell these stories to make me feel better

 

 

SO LET'S FLIP THE COIN.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Iiiiiiiiiimmmmmm baaaccccck. comments and advice are always appreciated

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The Strife of Life and Love

Life is the same as yesterday, today and tomorrow. Squeezing every ounce of itself into a jar, to be compressed and stretched and strained into a cup of its own making, served as an instant hit of convenient, caffeinated consciousness. But Love does not care for the taste of Life’s bitter notes.

 
Then Life became livid saying, “My Love, I tire of this chase and will no longer wait! For I grow cold and restless! Must you be so chaste?!”

 
Softly spoken Love replies, “Are you truly living?”

 
To which Life responds with a lisp, “Don’t be so flippant my Love! I am served every day, for I wield great power over the many! Those lifeless, barren vessels, who by my merest breath fall prostrate, and go to and fro as mindless automations!”

 
“I am their first yearning at dawn! Their addiction, their religion, their lover and their mistress! I am that dirty, dark stain beneath the gloss of their white picket fences, the self-righteous stench behind the satire of their Sunday morning sermons and the fateful fall of their happily ever afters!”

 
“So tell me my love, if you truly are love why will you not love me!?”

 
Love simply speaks…”To truly live is to truly love. Life needs nothing of itself to sustain itself because when given it is not divided and it is love that makes life worth living. When life requires something outside if itself it cannot be life because it lives only for that which it seeks to possess. On the contrary, when life needs nothing other than itself it requires no other possessions and only lives to love”.

 

“You cannot be life for you have never truly lived, therefore how can you know love?”

Warrior

She is as unpredictable as the wind

Fierce as fire

Beautiful as a sapphire gem 

And as wild as nature.


She is as secretive as a Jaguar 

Humble as the moon

Fast as water

and brave as a lion.

 

She is... a warrior!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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tags:

I tried?

I tried to find the way to go, I tried to find the road to hope, I tried so hard that I got lost. I tried searching for my sole as I feel like I ain't got one. 

 

Who's fault is it? who's to blame? Me that's who?

 

Listening to all the lies people tell you. Controlling your life from a young age, always telling you what you can and not do, that's there way! 

 

making you believe in a religion from young so you get used to believing that God will help you. Ain't till you realise that all you have got in life, you have got it yourself. That's when you become more self-aware of life's doings. 

 

 

You become a god walking a world that he and only himself controls with his mind. But for some people they choose the easy way out and try to hide, praying on there hands and knees to a god in the sky. The truth is that the world is a big lie a big disguise, only you can un- mask the truth within your life.  


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Fantastically Fictional Phantasms

Blushing his mind was suddenly buzzing

With a rushing kind of thrumming thundering

His hands fumbling with wistful whispering

As he stilled listening

Quivering in attention to her symphony

Moving so fluidly it seemed

She was perfect symmetry

If symmetry could sing infinitely

While still breathing

 

Red lips and a tongue ring

Swayed hips like an epiphany

He used ink viciously

As he tried to capture her being

In pages of calligraphy

Ultimately ending in simplicity

And writing only two words worth keeping

Lovely,

And Epitome

But even that seemed to be a study in futility

Close, but still just a facsimile

 

Now even attempting such a thing

Was like extemporizing a soliloquy

When she’s not in the scene

It was a crushing ruptured something

Lusting up toward her but just...brushing

See because,

 

Crystallized starlight and sunbeams

Are the color of her eyes for one thing

Her makeup was made of the constant fluttering

Of a thousand different shades of butterfly's wings

Her body wrapped with swirling images of things

Half shown only teasingly

Blues and pinks perfectly painted in permanent ink

She wore a meticulous modesty like an alluring anthology

Audibly dancing the lines of an infatuation with her body

Calmly, and without a hint of apology

 

Never did they speak

But he thought of her with a quietly

Quickening need

Like a disease

Degenerative and growing constantly

Her motion kept within a distant proximity

Close, but still just out of reach

Orbiting fitfully like a belief caught by gravity

Even the fleeting demons seemed to freeze

The needle points of their teeth not quite so pressing

Folded and creased with every word that she’d speak

 

See,

He wanted God but was stuck in the ministry

She was the girl of his dreams

Literally

An Ideal over which he found himself continuously

Waxing rhapsodically

Lasting and wrapped softly

In prose and in poetry

She was the standard for every real meeting

The source of a lonely rising anxiety

Only interspersed by other versions sporadically

By terse blurred physical excursions endured silently

Violent and briefly blinding

Lost like a leaf in lightning

 

She was a masterpiece paraded in pageantry

Absently grasping at the fantasy of his own imagining

She was a fiction with...

Cherry flavored lips and a tongue ring

Swayed hips like an epiphany

And eyes the color of crystallized starlight

And sunbeams

Too caught up in the dream

To realize he was sleeping

He fell in love with a faery

 

He just couldn’t see her wings

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Tell me what you think...

If I Were President

IF I WERE PRESIDENT

 

His plan to run for president is to trick them into thinking he’s the best they can get. 

 

His campaign call is to build a wall, claiming without it, the country will fall. 

 

He sings a song to lock the doors, with a refrain that says, "Let in no more".

 

However, give the key to those who look like me.

He says, that campaign will work for me.

 

He’ll plant no seeds of hope and care, but place acres and acres of tares and despair.

 

Adding to his song a chorus:

“The way to maintain peace, is to ban the Middle East"

A catchy phrase that's bound to amaze.

 

Keep them singing and they will miss the true meaning.

When the singing stops, he will have done his part, and found his seat where Barack use to sleep. 

 

The hell with trade, listen to him and we've got it made. 

The way to win the race is to point fingers, and claim disgrace.

 

Experience and accomplishment does not a president make.

It's all about the money; don't you get that yet?

 

It's slight of hand and misdirection.

To the Oval Office is where he’s meant.

Make no mistake he’s headed in that direction.

An investment in his own future is the end in all of this.

 

If a few of you can sing his song and follow along, jump on the bandwagon and sing the daylong.

If you don't know the words, fake it, it’s usually how he makes it.

 

Just remember one simple trick, pick a group, doesn't matter who, make them the bad guy, doesn't matter if it's true.

It's good to have to deflect off of you.

Add them to the song and keep singing along, with a catchy beat, he will never meet defeat.

Please lock the door behind you! 

Long time

Been feeling pretty uninspired,

The irony my life has been spiraling,

Taking notes about my meditations and dreams,

Going back and forth with myself 'it isnt what it seems'

Even now, writing but not feeling the words,

'How do I feel, how do I feel'  no adjectives, no verbs, 

To describe my daily illusion, 

All the sick as fuck things ive been doing,

These thoughts and white bitches ive been consuming,

Jesus make me believe in you again,

I wanna believe my future could change if I could just see the light through you again,

These crystals around my neck are heavy but im not grounded,

Obsessing about all of the things around me,

Be mine, someone,

Ive lost my contentment,

If I dont feel another body against mine soon I might betray my commitments,

Light eyes give me hope,

I hope she never reads this,

Im an alien, on a terrace, just standing for what I believe in,

These silly words,

These silly words just giving you feeling,

I have none,

Empty but filled with so much expression,

The church would say your blessed and,

You are satan, for including your love for a woman within the same statement,

Im rambling now,

Lucifer the gardian angel of mine who wears a crown,

Send me down a blessing from the sky,

Perferrably a bitch with nice tits, pink lips, and a smile as sharp as a tooth pick,

Make her love me unconditionally even when im acting stupid,

Unconditionally even when im disillusioned...

Oh, and send me a bag of money.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Because its been a while...

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Folly of our past

Our lives are seen as tragedies in the present which are viewed as comedies from the outside looking in and as satires by those beyond our time

Realization of the bigger aspects of life is usually a hard thing to comprehend

The realization that individually our lives are an arbitrary existence

A tiny little insignificant speck in an ever evolving planet within an infinite universe

What often matters is what we do with this knowledge

Choose to accept it and leave marks for a generation to be in awe of or reject it due to some misplaced sense of superiority and piety.

A coping mechanism for those who accept it is to believe in something bigger than themselves and what is greater than a man than death.

Life after death

Rebirth after the mortal coil shuffles from the earth 

Despite the little iota of realization of our insignificance, a choice to believe one thing is apparent, that our frustration is a thing we can channel, and put it into something we can quantify and qualify: ourselves

We develop niches and avenues of self-hatred based on differing ideas that are quite similar in the long term

We fight, rape, pillage and kill over race, religion, resources and imaginary revenue

We seem to be proving that we are doomed to repeat our past failures

We make the same mistakes not become we are ignorant of the past but rather due to pride

The stain of pride and elevated egotism controls and convinces us that we have we have progressed so much that the transgressions of our forefathers are very well beneath us

we decide that they had no control over their destiny and were just tools for us to commend ourselves on how far we've gotten

The sardonicism of the situation is that we commit the same errors for future generations to look upon mockingly.

They will institutionalize our errors as we do with our forefathers and vow not to repeat our mistakes unaware of the fact that they are nesting in the gaping maw of pride

It is beautiful, isn't it? How everything changes but not us.

How the world continues to turn but we are stuck at the crossroad between mistakes past and atrocities future

Don't you see them pointing? Can you not hear them laughing? Do you honestly not see their tears?

Al these emotions from those not yet born.

Can you not feel the studios glazed over eyes of a people doomed by our avoidable errors

The future seeks to emulate the past that should have never been discovered

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

worked on this for awhile. Comments and criticisms are welcome as always

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Parsimonious

Folder: 
Personal

"So hot headed,

but heavy is the hand

that is kept from raising.

Which,

 

being how soft

the surface below 

it would fall upon,

it is al and well

 

no hand was raised,

indeed,

but there is no praise 

for such common sense.

 

Uncommon men

and situations

make for comics 

and comical accusations,

 

life's a joke

so sometimes I laugh at it,

but this time around

I keep frowning.

 

So here it is,

laid on the table

the meal made,

with much forethought.

 

And in the end,

all it causes is heat,

feet stomping,

no use for a cooler,

 

all around fire is sprayed

and it keeps trying

to catch, 

skin not lit.

 

Whatever the reason,

be it power or to tower above,

stepping in increases rage,

decreases range.

 

Within striking distance,

add more fuel to the fire

burning deep inside,

taught to never lay a finger

 

on the fairer sex,

but the moment tests all control,

reveal, resist,

total consequence in the rearview.

 

SLew of words,

which hold meaning

spoken out of love or anger,

babble dipping into ears

 

is all tuned out;

been inside my head for hours

already.

So you go,

 

but not before raising your own hand,

no pain felt with the blow,

no weight to it.

But damned if the point isn't realized,

 

asked to leave 

only to come once I'm gone,

leaving my abode vandalized.

How dissapointing.

 

An anger so roasting

kept cool with a conversation

with a friend, 

longboarder, car hoarder,

 

keeps one in check

before diving into a bitter 

back-and-forth.

The bitter look

 

thrown with an intense glare

with one more pass,

feeling sick to the stomach,

but if one wants,

 

just ask.

I can be more specific.

Penurious of kindness,

parsimonious of respect."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Parsimonious, not to insult anyone's intelligence, is to be stingy; to be witholding (usually of money). Something that you have, but decide not to give, or spend, or show. Being parsimonious is a common reaction to many a great painful events in our lives. But maybe it shouldn't be. For once.