A Modern Rumination

When I discarded my religion,
I found a world that I’d been missing
Already in motion
Without my conscious participation.
Simultaneously, I couldn’t help noticing
The blandness of modern humans
Chasing superficial pleasures
As though nothing else exists.
The abandonment of false purpose
Both liberates and destroys,
A hollow heart hurts to carry
But has capacity to be filled.
Values like certainty and purity
Are irreplaceable once they’re gone,
Vitality and wisdom
Filling in to hold their shape.
There’s a whole horizon to fall into,
An endless void of discordance
To construct, reflect, and internalize,
A perpetual stream of absurd meanings.
There’s no clear answer,
No guarantee of another life,
No genuine good or evil,
But there are endless things to analyze.

Feeling Good

The pit of yearning

Maybe, can never be filled.

Like literal hunger,

It only eases for a while.

What kind of fuel

Feeds our happiness best?

Friendship burns

As Love swallows whole.

Nothing is still,

Even feelings have dimension.

Fear and empathy

Are almost equally absurd.

Stress and agitation,

Like a spring set to pounce,

The default position

Of a trauma endured.

Years in a minute

As tremors to anxious thoughts,

Like clarity of perception

When proportion rears its head.

Afloat outside a stream

Where timelessness meets space

Precarious indeed,

The scope of happy and of sad.

 

There Is No Path

Maybe no one is truly aware

As much as we aim to be.

Living, growing, transformation,

Post-stagnation apathy.

A step forward is learned

As all mistakes are lessons.

Lack of use atrophies

Like love does in depression.

Lost in some quagmire

I’m watching you flail

With the confident notion

I’ve passes where you fail.

It’s pitiful to see,

But each life is its own.

As much as I’ve flailed

Is as much as I’ve known.

But even one step

In your chosen direction

Could lead you astray

In an open-end question.

Answers are elusive,

However much we must learn,

But even a fragment

Of perception is well-earned.

 

What Do You Know?

Confused and/or vain,

Evil and/or repugnant,

Count the discrepancies

And steel yourself for more.

Perceptions are abundant

As insults and judgments,

And finding fit words

For yourself is a chore.

Impressions are often biased,

Labels often fall short,

Even platitudes of passion

And support miss their mark.

Life would be so muddled,

So indiscernibly complex.

Simplicity is transgression,

We’re beyond light and dark.

Solitude in expression

Mirrors bolder without eyes.

Honesty is easy

With an audience of one,

But self-revealed truths

Fall flat upon the senses

Leaving deep and shallow guesses

The best from anyone.

 

 

Vanity & Reflection

“Whoever do you want to be?”

The astringent mirror asks of me.

“Does the image your perceive

Contest the one that you believe?”

Of course, I cannot help agree

That what it sees is not all it seems.

Staring into my gleaming eyes

To glean from them what fears I hide,

And yet I know what I would find

If I looked straight through my mind.

I’m not what I believe or see ,

The mirror reveals and deceives

As what constructs identity

Is not imposed by vanity;

But, then again, it still is me,

As much as I am physically.

Pale and pallid, tired eyes,

And other feelings I despise.

“Why do you not answer me?

Who is it you want to be?”

I burrow through my troubled mind,

But nothing there solidifies.

I know I don’t want stubborn lies

But what I want, I can’t describe.

“I guess I just want to be me,

But I don’t know who I should be.”

The mirror replied,

“You’re lying.”

And I replied,

“Shut up.”

Story Tellers

Watching words will read you,

Willingly or not. As it were,

We’re read as readers.

Eyes watching eyes see

Watching ourselves on T.V.

A subversive narrative is only

Narrative not yet subverted.

All writing is fiction as

All perceptions are hollow.

Naked words reveal nothing.

 

One thought fills immensity,

Well, it may as well,

As immeasurably limited is the Id,

The psyche soundly snug

In conceptual bliss.

Emptiness laughs to see

Loneliness subverted by such

Rationalized madness and

Imaginative beliefs.

Nature clings to anything,

Latching onto whatever’s present,

Precarious as it might be,

Only hoping to survive.

People pretend their whole lives,

Acting, dressing, watching, and telling.

At ease with their lies,

If at least it makes a good story.

Less than Infinite

Finite life, finite Earth, finite sun and stars

Living, breathing, dying in infinitely expanding space?

Timelines intertwining, connecting and breaking

Infinite alternatives to limited self-identities?

Chasms of space in unfathomable proportions.

Temperatures scorching and freezing to extremity.

Infinitesimal points scream and devour light.

Overheating stars expanding, exploding, dead.

Constantly consuming, stretching wider all the time

Separating everything from all things, indefinitely.

When things drift so far apart we’ll never see them,

Will we remember there was anything at all?

What lurks in those unfathomable chasms of the void?

Shall we search them for objects, monsters, or God?

Does one thought fill immensity,  or just our fragile minds?

Is life forever finite? Are we forever small?

 

What does it matter to you or I anyway?

While the space and time is here and now

Everyone dies and nothing lasts forever.

I love you, so please, don’t let me come down.