Why Is There No Perfect Place?

A world to be happy in,

To be lost in,

Just to rest again

Without this stress,

This uncertainty,

This anxiety,

Taken hold of me

Having hurt.

Show me mountains,

Show me fountains,

The sublimest

Of their kind.

Let me stay there,

Waste away there,

I shouldn’t dare

But I would

To sleep forever

In beauty’s tether,

A watcher weathered

Down to rocks.

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.

 

 

 

Non-linear Thoughts

Gratitude is payment, Payment is a vice

Everyone has vices, Making us feel nice

Feelings always change, Rolling of the dice

Sometimes more than God, Sometimes less than lice

Fiery the passions, Numbness cold as ice

Causes have re-actions, Actions have a price

Prideful as a lion, Modest as the mice

Thoughts are sometimes broad, Sometimes they’re precise

Not always enough, Though they may suffice

They can hold you back, And they can entice

Minds are so complex, Not just a device

Home of our perceptions, Matter with a spice

 

 

Daydream Addiction

My brain stained with nicotine, restraining my dopamine, sustaining my hunger for more stimulation.

My pastimes are clarified, and leaving me pacified,  weak with desire to embrace simulation.

My daydream is perpetual, absurdly conceptual, and substantially  real from my perception.

An Ego in in fantasy, cradled in infancy, constantly feeding my selfish pretension.

Useless but exciting, dangerous and inviting, a handy device as life substitution.

While leaving me pitiful, actions are critical, time doesn’t stop to embrace my illusions.