Objectively optional opinions.

An investigation into the meeting of minds, my minds.

Month: June, 2014

Wilting

It seems unfair that I am the hammer and not the nail.

My worth is expanded through the mind of one who does not know me well enough it seems.

To trust me with your heart is putting faith in an unlocked cage,

one that is rusty and unfit. 

I cut myself off once from the danger of emotion,

the time has come again. The risk is too great.

Confession

It has been 6 weeks since my last confession, and these are my sins.

I am rotten inside,
I am Dorian Gray without the beautiful face. My portrait weeps memories and not all of them sparkle. Cancel my meeting, I must look in the mirror, good morning narcissus.

I am the spool, spilling my seed of corrosive cotton. I unravel like time in loops and leaps and bounds.

Stretch me out and set your alarms, I’ll scream ’till dawn scrapes at your window. I am empty, apathy beats its bare hands on my future.

I recount the passion of Christ and all I see in the mirror is Judas.

I’m just a man. Walking in the shadow of the valley of life.

Apathy

Never did I think I’d be one, to sit amongst time,

languishing in mine own ineptitude, to deal with daily grinds.

But here I sit and ponder, watching the seasons dance,

beyond mine own perception, gone are they with a glance. 

Step up I tell myself, on days like the present day, 

shake mine own fist at the world, refuse to wilt and stay.

But apathy is a killer, a slow and dreadful foe,

fighting mine own inner drives, to find destiny’s eager glow.

Never did I think I’d be one, to sit amongst time,

but here mine own path is lost, so I sit and make a rhyme.

Starling

Washed up drifter speaking tongues to the gods.

Serene damsels waiting for change, staring at the future in three minute clips.

danger knows his limits, wanderer of the milky way.

Full retreat ordered to the sniper of your dreams,

unlocking levels of the high rise pre-madonna. 

It’s the whole a lifetime, as the starling flies,

so why would you worry when your fate unravels like dye into a pool.

 

Speak not of nihilism, Nietzsche is dead, and we have killed him.

Break open the heavens and let Prometheus light our way.

Smiths of desert suffering, thirst for unfaithful knowledge.

The starling though, creeps southward, towards what we know not,

accepting faith as keys to the kingdom of freedom.

A promise

Life goes on I know , mother

there’s nothing to be done. 

But thought of life without you, mother, leaves my spirit numb.

The past weeks have been hell for you, mother,

in pain and so much more.

But the selfish part of me complains, mother,

of my eyes, they are still sore. 

Elated does not explain, mother, 

the feelings I feel now.

On knowing you recover, mother,

I want to make a vow.

I’ll never take you for granted, mother,

I’ll never make that mistake.

For twenty-two years I have, mother,

from now I’ll give not take.

This poem can’t express, mother,

all that I have felt and feel.

But these feelings and this love, mother,

are nothing less than real.