Morality

The Immoralists Next Door

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Immoralists Next Door

 

 

 

There is/was a struggle

The scuffle of symbolists

Dreaming of Succor

Masturbation & Comfort

Left & Right, Neither Right nor Wrong—







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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Criteria Of The Fallen (An Affected Poem)











Criteria Of The Fallen

 

 

 


 

We are judged, not by how softly or

well meaning we have dealt with

each other's foibles alone

 

 

But we are immeasurably judged anyhow by -

the companies we join, families that we have,

friends with which we tag/go along

 

 

Almost assuredly our minds are

measured too, by some type of

psychometrics


 

But I would never understand

the mind of corruption,

the ways of crime, perhaps

 

 

People fighting off their men.

In the future, chopping off their heads—

if the right conditions shall be given

 

 

Over pedophilia, war profiteering,

orgiastic incontinence;

as if gluttonous craving.

 

 

—Only God will judge;


—in heaven.












Author's Notes/Comments: 

"Criteria Of The Fallen", an admittedly affected poem, was written on 04/19/2017 at around 02:29 A.M.  Compared to the raw/original version in my Twitter platform, this one is an edited version (just the form/stanzas having been tweaked a little bit). Thank you for looking!



Sacrifice

Folder: 
Haiku

I don't want to die,

But I don't want them to die.

I guess I'll die then.

I'm Waking Up

Folder: 
Volume Three

I'm waking up.

 

I raise my glass, to this life as I walk that line never knowing if what I'm doing is right.

I had lost my faith and came close to just giving up.

Drove hard and fast as I gambled it all on just my luck.

Left abandoned on this highway of pain, this road of misery

lined with banks and gas stations it is a real slaughterhouse facility.

To the Tar pits for our field trips out on this new Vegas strip.

 

Reach out and strangle someone and when your scared you will always go for that gun.

We allow fear to keep us captive always struggling to find ourselves.

Searching for that reason to keep fighting deep within our own hells

and when that swarm finally does break and you can see the silver lining on the horizon.

Redemption was not cheap, salvation was not easy and one day you will see that sun.

To the pits of hell for our quest to fail, on our dreams we set sail.

 

There is no voice to the words now spoken, saying everything and knowing nothing.

Holding onto the last of the shadows left in the room as the bad taste is still lingering.

Walking around blind, searching for something we lost but will never again find.

It was the past. It was a lesson to teach us to value and to understand the meaning of time.

Nothing will last if we continue our course. The ship will sink and you will drown.

To this day should I survive it any other way, on the wings of hope I would say.

 

On the edge of this cliff, the precipice of our sanity becomes the alter to our suicidal tragedy.

At birth we are conditioned to believe in the lie, that vanity even matters.

Talking a big game but still acts like money trumps a child's laughter.

Where greed and obsession became the cancer eating away at man's heart.

These are just a few addictions to our wicked sins that is tearing our souls apart.

To the energy that never dies, a heart that never lies on the tears of those who never compromised.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just finished this piece up a little bit ago, all new. First poem in a long time where I have not used old writings for refrence or ideas. Part of my muse for this piece came from a dark dark place my opiate addiction infact. However my outcome may play out, this I believe is at least a good sign in my own tirals yet to come. Your thoughts on this title? I think I still have a shred of skill haha :)

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