The Paragon Of Human

Truth, love, and beauty;

Passion, lust, and touch;

Sensitivity to sensation

And paranoid towards trust.

Entertaining daydreams

Like therapy with dolls

With such awoken eyes

Searching for the cause.

The ends and the extremes

Blend and balance well

With the overactive mind

Imprisoned in its shell.

From lofty declaration

To the bitterest debate,

Through endless troubled minds

And self-deceitful hate

Are woven little strings;

Patterns evermore complex

Down crevices of ecstasy

And mountains of distress.

The paragon of Being

Human always more or less

In chaos everlasting

Till blissful stateless death.

Burning or cradling,

Tender or rough,

Knowledge and wisdom,

Too little or too much.

One without another

Like everything is not,

As love is to lust

What gotten is to got.

And yet,

I wish you well

Please feel better

Keep me warm

Kiss me deep

Fall asleep

Let it go

Stress no more.

 

 

Maturity

Maturing day after day,

“Act your age” is just a phrase,

Natural action happens regardless

Of any percieved phase.

Growing is a pain,

Transition and change strain

Established habits so well

We almost break.

So laying awake,

Dreaming of a peaceful state

Like youth in love with death

For innocence’s sake.

The world shapes,

Hyperactivity anticipates,

The mind trys making sense

While feelings ache.

Some things fade

And sometimes we come late,

But forevermore ageing

The Act remains the same.

 

Pretty Little Flowers

You’re so vibrant

Or rather, that’s what I recall.

It feels vibrant to remember you,

At least.

It was cold

And we were both silent,

Shivering in worlds apart

It seemed.

Somehow, you bloomed

In January’s deadly quiet,

Drearily blanketed as you were,

I perceived.

Thoroughly naked,

Your boldness of spirit

Inspired many, though others thought

you diseased.

I must confess,

The winter left me frightened,

My calloused petals nearly scared

To breathe.

By spring

I hadn’t so much as sprouted,

Even as you were shimmering

In the eve.

You were vibrant.

Yes, I’m sure now you were.

Your vibrancy must have marked you

To those fiends.

I’d noted them,

The howling sons of tyrants

Braying their tempers vehemently

To their weeds.

Utter lust

To the point of carnal violence

Towards such saturated colors

As we.

I lay dormant,

But you swayed on defiant

To be ravaged so voraciously

By those things.

I heard it all.

I shuddered, but I was silent.

Now your swaying has all but stifled

With the breeze.

It’s winter again.

I’m cold and also still quite frightened,

But for our sakes, I promise I’ll finally bloom

Vibrantly in Spring.

 

Psyche Dancing For Adepts

Illness, psychosis, and trauma

Perfectly juggled with masterful precision

In such a delicate balance

The endeavor of a lifetime

Is required to maintain.

At any cost it must be;

The slightest disturbance could upset,

Unleashing a therapy session’s worth of stress

Upon any unsuspecting victim

Unfortunate enough to present.

Caution is a necessity.

Every potential interaction is a threat

That could jeopardize this balance.

Teetering on the brink of collapse

Leaves little room for distraction.

Careful bursts of madness,

As in the chaotic illogical products

Of a strained and imprisoned mind,

Must be regularly expressed

Within these constraints.

Fatigue, loneliness, and irritability,

Exacerbated symptoms from all sources

With little but solitude, reflection,

And continual effort

As a reward.

With luck and practice,

One may survive long enough

In such a fragile and frigid state

To become numb or indifferent,

Or maybe self-aware.

In one form or another

This precarious dance must inevitably end.

Whether stumbling to ruin, wearing out entirely,

Or relinquishing enough

To transcend.

 

Streaming Life Anywhere

Judging value

In indiscriminate measure

Through the process

Of identifying constants

Amid variable personas.

Chaotic babble

Interwoven with emotions

Clouding personallities

In insepid debate

Signifying little.

Introspective hell

Latching onto safe platforms

Expressing the darkest depths

Of existential dread

In idle whispers.

Entertainment

Like an inconvenient memory

Signaling dire warnings

As questionable information

Presents itself in lace.

Daydreaming watchers

Wondering within access

On the possible implications

Of life on Mars

Or anywhere.

Complexity breeds

As simplifying destroys.

Any and all answers

Wither on

Or grow away.

Sleeping Spell

Weighted words whispering slyly,

Constantly prickling your psyche’s core.

Memories and worries trickling through

Like locusts burrowing in your thoughts.

Down deserted paths under dark canopies

Of weather-worn tangled boughs

Wander withering self-identities

Wishing to have been realized.

In ragged grown thickets deep

Between the spires of ancient trees

It sings its honied lament

Like woven shadows through the leaves.

Caught within their passive torment

The shadows of former selves hear

And like a drought of sweet relief

Their worrying whispers disappear.

Soft dulcet tones swaying

Like a breeze offering retreat,

Enticed into enchantment

The wandering mind further sinks.

Awake and unaware,

Walking steadily through a dream

Down deeper in the thickets

Where it salivates and sings.

Weightless words whisper softly

Lulling you into sleep.

 

 

 

Chrysalis Contorting

Patience,

Like a spider in web

Or anxiety asleep,

Waiting on chance.

Owl feathers

Falling down somberly

As hours pass mutely

Through daydreams.

Arrested

Like a placid cloud

Or passive shout

Silenced in rain.

 

Awake,

Limbs flailing into open space.

Motion metabolized,

Surging like currents of liquid rage.

Chrysalis contorting,

Falling feebly in fragments to the floor.

Tempestuous breaths

Forming words worth belting

Towards the sky, the stars, and every quivering protest,

But,

Patience.

When wings with strength to support ourselves evolve

We’ll fly.

 

 

Thank you, everyone, for reading what I’ve written all this year. Please take care; and the best of wishes for you all in 2019.