Symptoms Of Impending Change

Every symptom speaks like the clouds that summon us,
Floating above, under the shining sun or not,
They tell of a tale unwritten,
Unheard, they advance upon us and try to reveal
The things we cannot imagine
Because of our beliefs about what is 'real',
We stifle life itself by the limits we create,
With delusions of our greatness, we suffocate,
Buying time through plastic containers and spreadsheets,
Stocking faith in bulletproof vests,
Weathermen on a boxed screen,
And 800 thread bedsheets,
And no pillow found upon the earth soft enough
To lie a mind to rest for the night from the fears that await,
We close our eyes and all we see...hate, and take a pill...
Subjugated to live by these things we create?
Or can a man be hurled upon an altar of beauty
Such as that which arises from love, the pulchritude and allurement
Of exquisite elegance, by his very soul?
Could he be torn from the shackles of earthly woes
And these likely shadows-to-be of despair?
Might he be manifest as the creature of gracious giving
That were meant for him?
As these symptoms of cataclysmic change
Are rapping upon the door of time and space,
The symptoms of a world now disgraced,
So superficial, devoid of all spiritual freedom,
Every thought ordered to a pigeonhole
Before a chance can hold a place for a hope,
What we have created guides our thoughts on a tightrope.
Can we break the barriers of the past

Through a boundless discipline of a kind,
And untwist the cords of a nightmarish collective mind,
Hear these symptoms of change speak in the freedom we find
With hearts that banish the fears created by thoughts confined?




12:21 AM 4/26/2013 ©


Author's Notes/Comments: 

The ever present impending dooms and deluge of delusions that scratch at thoughts confined to a fettered reality.

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Songs of life

so you stand there alone
Wondering how life got so old
So bland and boring
That even the sun shining has no meaning

People are often more happy than sad
But what is that happiness masking you might add
Everyone has a mask
They wake up and put on face
A face that hides their pain
Cause they dont want the world to see them cry again

I don't know why people are they way they are
Life is already a struuggle no need to make it harder
But there are those that bully and tease
Saying "grow up kid , you stupid , you useless"
Amonst others things
If a kid gets bleeds when words cut through him
Why does this have no meaning

Some people are like paper
You can crumble them up but they survive
But other they just shrivle and die

I hope that people learn to live for themselves
cause when your alone theres only your heart that sings its song
That song is your tune , your melodu of life
I hope you song is of happiness in life
and if it is not then remember you are not alone
Somewhere there is soemone sinnging along

let the fountains fall asleep

i suffer right like that 

i should
you are due dodo bird

we are exacting beasts
tic-toc-tic-toc goes the lioness-heart

do it slow like lung-trees

it will come on the shaking train
inside the ides of march

do what you want to
what you go to
what you can't go back to

looks like every street
let the fountains fall asleep

i feel it on the back of my neck

a key

die straight up and free
smiling back at the man-in-moon
go get a grave
go get a grave 

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First I Wrote My Name

Once I bounced a ball,

The paper was my wall,

It bounced around my head a while,

That ball and me , we shared a smile.


Then I drew a house,

With windows for a mouse,

With curtains, blue and yellow lace,

I told myself, "I like this place".


Then I went to schools,

There they taught me rules,

The first the rule was to "write your name",

I recognized a different game.


Junior High breezed through,

The years passed by, they flew,

The days were filled with sitting still,

My parents worked to pay the bill,

I gained a lot of nothing missed,

Always writing, my hand a fist.


And now that years have passed,

I'm on my own at last,

When memory of that ball comes back,

I reminisce, I see the lack,

That ball is bouncing back to me,

It tells me learning should be free.

 © 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Education should be 'free' ie: free mind to learn about what one chooses and not only what it is in writing in a page of a book, or thoughts of opinion that have been masterfully manipulated to concoct another's idea of the 'truth'. That is not an education. That is simply the idea someone else gives you that you have one (an education).

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Sad but always beautiful

Set goals, bright lights
Shining through the city on this dreary night
My heart burns, led by the wind on a childish plight
Forget none, choices made willing, while being so blind
Translucently whisper past the sunrise, blank mind
Adrift for uncharted dirt, indifferent of the course
Come back speechless, forsaken and filled with remorse
An empty journey that spread false prints in the snow
What a fate, sorrow plagues the land everywhere I go
Drenched in pain, makes me feel of life in a corrupt reign
My desperate body aches of surrender, for now shall refrain
Witnessed beauty by and by in between worlds we held, where
Sadness ceased to be, for moments in time let us see

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A walk in the dark; feels immense, never ending

Those days when the wind whispers lullabies gently

Engulfed in his thoughts, trees carry him off

The wood guides him to an obscure place in the fog


Surreal yet ominous; what it feels to linger here

Best not hamper the placidness, or be caught unaware

He winds upon a majestic tree and stops to stare

Realizing in awe how grand it really must be out there

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What's this?
I found something amiss.
There's a pencil there,
Just lying on the stair.
Picked it up and what did I find?
A pencil of the same kind
That was a month ago I lost,
And a heartache it did cost.
But here it is, good as new.
Pencil, I'm glad I found you.
If you're the same one,
Guess what! You're home!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my sister's poem, and the sequel to her Lament of the Pencil.

She just put it up on Facebook with this text;

"Some of you may remember my Lament of the Pencil a while back. Well, I found a pencil that was curiously alike today, lying on the ground in the same building. Thought it seemed appropriate to write another little poem.

(Insert the poem here.)

It turned out pretty good, which is unusual. So now I'm convinced I can't write poetry unless it has to do with pencils."

So as you can see, my sister has little confidence in her poetry skills, which seems to be unfounded. Don't you think these are good?

Anyways, like before I will be letting her know about any comments, so just feel free to address them to her directly!

Link to Lament of the Pencil:

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Lament of the Pencil

I lost my pencil today

It slipped off the desk

As I walked away.

I went back to look

But my poor pencil

It seems someone took.

It was dear to my heart

Now it's gone for good

Forever we must part.

Goodbye, good pencil.

Be well.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my sister's poem. She wrote it in October 2012, and just now wrote a sequel, so I decided to put them both up. The sequel is called "Reunited".

She originally posted it on Facebook with this text;


"So on average, I write poetry about... never. But today my English class was exceptionally dreary, so instead of listening to my English prof, I spontaneously decided to write about something that's been weighing deep in my heart since last night and share it here on Facebook.

Behold, the Lament of the Pencil."


So again, this is my sister Sarah's poem. I do have her permission to post it and the sequel "Reunited" here. I'll let her know about any comments, so feel free to address them directly to her!


Link to Reunited:

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Think twice~

Overthinking, sinking, falling, crawling.. damned.. 

why am I stuck in this abysmal black quicksand..? are we nothing but a pitiful man..?

I know you don't appreciate this form of expression...

but my life isn't over until i've learned each of the lessons.


drained, crippling, cracking & hyperventilating..

pathetic vacant melting disgrace..

I can see the smile wearing off your face..

hot wax spilled into my eyes today..

part of me knows better, then to believe in such a mundane reality.. 

there's much greater sights to see, in my 8 dimensional fantasy.


Slit, slice.. need to free myself from this vice. 

we all need to constantly think twice.. I wish you were still around..

wish you could be a healthy piece to my life, but I had to try & make the right choice... 

you bare that empty stare.. like a glare..

were you ever really there..?

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