“I need some security.
Some sense
That when I trip, stumble, or fall
I'll be met by softening sentience”
Nowhere else but here
2022-03-09
A million silent voices
Filling up inside, some divided by my life and what's described as choices;
Taking up the space with blame and noises made of painful straining.
Grating, named insane, demanding please
Produce profane inanity.
What's my caution meant to be?
Why so often does it seem like
Strings and twisting;
Rifts of things, envisioning what's missing, I'm imprisoned can't you see?
What is missing from this cup of tea?
What are kisses on my forehead meant to mean?
See, what makes the grass grow?
What makes the meadows glow in starry tones?
I take my patience with me, toe to toe,
And do I trip?
Do I stumble, do I fall?
In truth, I do, I'm human after all.
And do I sense a sentience, securing
Mention of my penitence, pretension,
And irreverence, unfettered? Lo!
Inventions meant to better, but the calling, and demolishing of walls all seems too slow.
Sleeping deep beneath, bequeathed, and all as if I'd better know.
Lasting, gasping,
Raspy breath and practiced passing by
The gates of all my neighbors' homes.
Grasping at my past, alone (it seems)
The actions past the point of expiration
Teaming with forgotten dreams and resignation.
What's it mean, to break the ancient seals?
Is it real?
Is it something I must feel?
What's it mean?
What are the mistakes I made?
The heartbreak,
Quaking in my boots, ashamed
As ash that lasts beyond the conflagration, minds itself forsaken as it cries?
And yet, I'm awakened by a gentle gaze, surprised
And taking shape within my mind:
Debated slides.
Projected high upon the wall within a prison made of time.
I count attempts to be at rest,
And feel tested by the slog through all my lessons;
Bested and arrested by divine possessions
And a mind obsessed with negative impressions.
Of what I did;
And what's depicted to befall this bullied kid.
How should I begin?
To trek a mountain when the seriousness singes all,
Tinges all my sight with bitterness and sin.
I strive to fight, for just a single, certain win,
With all my might,
I try, and try, and try
Just to find the scorn beside me
More appealing than the feeling of successes,
Lest I find myself in essence to be pridefully imbibing,
Ever climbing,
Till the fall that's promised by a God still hiding
Surely beats me to submission for my crimes and lying.
Treats me like my sufferings divinely titled, by the most unsightly and insidious of lies to which we are all entitled:
It's my fault.
My fault.
Do the rocks that break from aging under waves deserve a further beating for their grave mistakes?
Should we obliterate the moon for making motion out of waters, or even farther to the sources that create?
Does a swimmer meet his ending,
Drowning by the reprehending of the currents dragging out to sea,
And might we see his plight and offer all our benefaction?
Or will we treat his actions with resounding clouds
Of smug, self-satisfaction? Fuck his misery.
Speaking devilish and dwelling on his faults and folly,
Recalling paltry trawlings of our grievances, a mauling of the sequences
That all equate to him.
An appalling wicked waltzing full of faulting volleys, following a whim and then assaulting him
As if a fucking doll or something.
And all because a nameless fear, though near, obscured
A tesseract of memories, a matrix made of thoughts and feelings ill at ease, disturbed
Decides to draft us into service of its acts and deeds
And deals us derision, and defeat,
Decided well before our feet have even followed a decision.
Wallowing apologies for failings made of false phrenologies, you following?
I’m calling all of these atrocities bullshit
I want to PLEASE just SCREAM!
Can anyone hear anything of what I mean?
I’m sick of what was freedom turned to tabulating my transactions
Being tricked by some machine within, without,
A panic then begins to cloud,
A manic mashing and meandering made manifest,
Morose, but mostly meshing messages
Within the mathematic mean,
Between the stresses and molesting messes,
Left by ghost and smoke, and maliciously it seems.
Maligning, oh so murderous of hopes of waking to my dreams.
This is where I stand it seems. This is my reaction.
I am tired of this game, weary of the means of warring ways and fighting factions.
And so it happens,
Now I find myself averse to my inactions.
Birthed into this world full of deepest grief and fiercest famine.
Of the many bellies, yes,
And that not man, not woman, has place to grace their heads with lasting rest.
Imagine, what a world we could inhabit, were we at our best.
If only we could cease our slaughters,
And see each other as our brothers, as our sisters,
As our misters and our misseses, our fathers, mothers,
Sons, and Daughters, all so dear
And we dispensed with all our schisms, and our fears;
All our fissures, and our fights, finding finally what's missing, deep inside.
Try to catch it and you’ll find it slipping
Let it be and be it, whispering
Aligning oh so lightly with the living rhythm
It's no ism.
It's nowhere else but here.
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