Coming to Grips with Our Morality
When we were young
Death was viewed
in the abstract
We saw ourselves always existing
As if we our immortal
Death was something
in the far distant future
It was only as time marches on
That we become painfully aware
of our morality
Become painfully aware
of our impending demise
Death
is seen less as an abstract concept
And more as a sad reality
This
is when death becomes scary
Because you realize
It cannot be avoided
So instead
We must enjoy the time we have
For we cannot
Spend our life
Being scared of our demise
Being scared
of our own morality
Personification of Lost Time
I
I am the personification
of lost time
Of days long since past
I am the memories
That you have long forgotten
I am the things
That you refuse to think about
The things
you don’t want to think about
I am the personification
of lost time
I am you
I am everyone
Thus I am no one
I exist
But only in your subconscious
Only in the back of your mind
Wrong World, Wrong Time
When I was younger
I thought
I was born too late
I believed
That I should have been born earlier
I was embarrassed
Embarrassed about my age
As if I was born into a world
That had long since
Passed me by
I was nostalgic
for a time I never knew
Now that I have gotten older
I no longer feel embarrassed
No
Instead part of me feels sad
Because part of me
Can’t help but feel
That I was born too early
Confused?
So am I
I guess
That this is my life
To always feel
Like I’m in the wrong time
In the wrong world
As if there is a world
In which I do belong
But I have missed it
Maybe in another life
I will find it
For now though,
Life continues
The Storm is Us
Here comes the storm
The strong wind
The pouring rain
The rising sea
The deafening silence
No one is safe
Safe from the storm
But we try to fight it anyway
The fight consumes us all
It consumes our thoughts
And our actions
Until it becomes second nature
Then it consumes our habits
And finally our character
Just part of who we are
In our effort to fight the storm
We instead become it
We become
what we feared most
What those around us fear most
Then we call it progress.
We are the storm
We are the reason for
The strong wind
The pouring rain
And the rising sea
But most of all
We are the reason
For the deafening silence
For we have caused it
And yet
We call it progress
We call it progress
Family
When one is in a dark place
Sometimes
The only cure is family
And being surrounded
By their laugher and their love
Because darkness
Cannot survive in an atmosphere
Filled with love
I know
It sounds corny,
But it is true
Sometimes
Only your family
Can remind you
Of who you are
Of where you come from
And how much further
You still have to travel
Life goes on
And so must we
And so must we
Strange Emotion (Audio Version)
Here's the link for the Audio.
https://app.box.com/s/o1x7o1a5zzo8epnwbtt7tpbixzeqztmb
This emotion
It is new to me
It is something
I never experienced before
Something
I never felt before
They call it love??
This foreign emotion
That I feel
It is strange
It is so very strange
When I’m with you
This strange emotion
It keeps making itself known
I can’t help,
but to express it
At first it felt weird
It felt awkward
Like something one should
Should never ever feel
But now
Now it feels wonderful
This emotion
It grows deeper
with every passing day
Is
Is that normal?
It feels normal
Weird
Is this
Is this why people love, love?
Is why people
People constantly write about it?
Is this why people
People want to feel it?
Of all the emotions
that I have ever felt
This is the most strange
This is the most powerful
This is the most painful
Yet it is the most beautiful
This emotion
Does it ever go away?
The Robber and the Bank
The robber robbed the bank
The bank robbed the people
The police came
And only one went to jail
The system
showed the bank compassion
And as for the robber?
Well,
it threw the book at him
The robber stole money
The bank stole livelihoods,
But the bank walked free
And the robber rotted in jail
The robber robbed the bank
The bank robbed the people
The police came
And only one went to jail
I Curseth Thee
Death may knock on my door
But I shall not answer
I will ignore its somber call
Answering its call
may be inevitable
But I shall delay it
For as long as I can
Death may knock on my door
But I shall not answer
I will ignore its somber call
Most people curse their mortality
But I shall rejoice in it
Death shall not make me regret life
Regret my very existence
I do not curse my mortality
No
Instead I curse death’s hold on me
Curse its ability to scare me
Curse its ability to sadden me
Curse its ability to keep me up at night
I do not curse my mortality
But rather my perception of immortality
The preconceived notion of my youth
That death would never touch me
That it would always remain a stranger
That it would only happen to other people
That preconceived notion
Gave me false hope
And for that I curse it
I curse it more than I curse death
and my inevitability of answering
that somber call
Corrupt Leaders
Worship me,
Worship the powers that be
Believe in my distortion of reality,
Help me muddy the waters of truth
That way
Even the most knowledgeable among you
Can’t tell the difference between fact and fiction
Worship me
Worship the powers that be
Spread my lies across the land
Never question me
Treat me as if I am God
Because I am God
You are abandoned children
I am your holy father
Now come receive my blessing
Worship me
Worship the powers that be
Believe in my distortion of reality
And All.
Shall. Be. Yours.
Second Guessing
I’m a passive aggressive cheerleader
Rooting for a team
That even its own fans
know will lose
But pointlessly cheers anyway
In hopes of being proven wrong
I am my own worst enemy
My own worst critic
Always second guessing myself
Second guessing my abilities
Am I a good writer?
Or am I so mediocre
That I can’t even recognize the fact
That I am mediocre
Due to my own mediocrity?
Am I a good poet?
Or am I so bad at poetry
That I commit poetic malpractice
Every time I write
These are the questions
That would drive me crazy
That would drive me mad
These are the questions
That would always lurk
In the back of my mind
Making me
Doubt myself
Doubt my abilities
Just when I think
That I have learned
To ignore those whispers of doubt
They always find a way back in
Back into my mind
And then I’m back
Back to second guessing myself