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Showing posts from May, 2012

Prophecy

And so it was written and so it shall unfold, the banished one, by choice none other than his own, shall reclaim past passion and make a new story to be told. Within the depths of his secret escape shall he meet the one foretold. Heaven shall weep and the earth beneath his feet shall roll. Long in coming the first kiss in a new chapter shall summon his inner fire, past lies will be spread clean across the table, rescued he shall be from his private torment most dire.

Poverty

I've been thinking of a way to write about the poverty I see within my own city and the poverty I've seen everywhere I've been. The thing I've realized is that there really is no poetic way to write about poverty. There is nothing poetic about digging through garbage day in and day out in search of a plastic bottle to sell. There is nothing romantic about watching a mother neglect her baby while she lights up her crack pipe on a  bus stop bench as the baby wails away. There is nothing artistic on sitting at a corner all day and begging for change then going to a shelter for a bit of free food and a place to sleep if the shelter isn't already full. There is nothing respectful of watching a race of people drink their days away, barley able to walk as the world swims within their vision, the alcohol numbing any and all pain, beating your wife or girlfriend with no remorse. There is nothing glorious about the desperation to make ends meet that people resort to the viole

To Be Thankful

In the last few days I've reconnected with two important parts of my past. One of these is a friend of mine with whom I've faced life and death with, a baller in sport and in his nature and most importantly a good man who deserves the world. The other is the girl I compare every girl I've ever met since her to. She set the standard. It's been a insane journey with both of these people, full of laughs, mistakes, and a fair share of heartbreak and pain. I find myself fortunate today to have them both in my life in their own ways. I can only hope the future holds good things for the both of them, and for myself as well. The world works in its own ways, and for this I am thankful for today.

What's Next?

Sometimes I worry about what comes next for me and for what struggle is waiting just around the corner. In my heart I know that  whether it is today, tomorrow, a few weeks, a few months or even a few years from now, I know I'll get everything I want, and more than I ever expected. Call it wishful thinking, call it blind faith, call it whatever you will, because sometimes I worry about what comes next, and the answer is within the test.

In Her Eyes: A Continuation

You can see the desperation in her eyes, you can see the truth behind her lies, you can see it in every tear she cries, every day apart kills her slowly inside. In her eyes the angeles weep, in the grips of her emotion the earth does creek, in the depths of the night she finds it hard to sleep, for every thought is of you, and all the memories she has to keep.  So in her eyes you'll see the farewell, the days of somber peace, the nights of living hell. She has left into a sweet slumber, dreaming of the sweeter things, the road to riches and the diamond rings. Don't mistake her for a ne'er-do-well, lazy and worthless in her being, or you might just blink, and miss all the amazing things she brings. 

In Her Eyes

You can see the desperation in her eyes, you can see the truth behind her lies, you can see it in every tear she cries, every day apart kills her slowly inside.

Life In It's Little Nutshell

The music and a dark ceiling, The rustle of the branches in the wind, All parts of a strange feeling. Sleep is far off, in another time and place, The lyrics of a dead poet fill my ears and pour feeling into my heart, A cup overflowing, A mind ever learning and ever growing, Patience is a harsh lesson but here I am waiting on the outcome, Timing is everything, every move a calculated step, Some times it's a leap of faith, Sometimes I fall into a pit. My homie can't see his baby girl, Cruel some days is the world. If I could do something for him I would, He was the one by my side as a youth, The two bad boys up to no good. My attitude got me walking solo, 9 months and counting,  9 months actually amount to something, Patiently I wait, for the date, when my dream becomes fate.

To Wake is Cruel Indeed

I dreamed about you last night. You were wearing red. As we spoke I felt the feeling in my chest rise like a tide of molten flame. I wish I was still asleep.

Yearning To Live

To live our lives is but an expression of our yearning. What we yearn for I do not know, though I know it is like a great pain, buried so deep within our day to day functions that we as people can hardly acknowledge it, for we do not always feel its constant call. It is there though. No matter where you go or what you do. This yearning pushes us forward into action with its unending need and freezes us cold with fear as we try to take our first steps to satisfy its lust. I do not know why we yearn, though I do know that I am thankful that we do, for in the silence and loneliness of the night I know that one day I will find you, the cure to my yearning, and a life liven rich, full, and true.

The Hearts of Men

What lies in the hearts of men? Are we all greedy and power hungry, hurting one another, or can we actually be friends? We look for the fast track to money, fame, a piece of pussy and play it all like its a game. What happened to self-consciousness and being self aware? What happened to showing another human being some love and care? I'm as guilty as you. To deny it would be untrue. But every day I try to show a bit of kindness to a stranger, with a smile, an ear that is ready to listen or just a nod as we pass by each other, two boats sailing the seas of life.  To my friends I try even harder, especially to those who have stabbed me with a knife. Though I may keep my distance I still try to let you. To not give you another chance would be a sin, but to get closer will take time. These are strange times, on the verge of my life. Struggling every day to find my way, do right, and make a bit of pay. Tomorrow will come after the dark, so I ask you what's in your heart?

Two Bites

Though he had to have two bites at the cherry, somehow he knew it was inevitable. Yet, his very nature made it improbable. It would never last, this mystery of the past, haunting and echoing like shattering crystal and breaking glass. He'd moved too fast, he was caught unprepared. Life's darkest moments held him fast. He was caught in the headlights, blinded by the beams, try as he might, there was nothing he could do it seems. So he made his choices, committed to his mistakes, and now the snake is headless, the ground at his feet no longer quakes. He found some small semblance of peace, a little freedom from his past, and still he goes on staring through the looking glass. Will it ever truly leave him, he can never be sure, the further he moves forward, the more his past becomes a blur. He felt it fade, but not disappear. He dug his own grave the moment he chose to hold her near. With great pain come great lessons that echo through out his life. To be better than who he was is

Cold Carbon 4: Prince Charming is Dead.

I'm not your angel. I ain't no saint. I'll never be your prince charming, frankly I fuck up and make a lot of mistakes. I can't take you shopping in  Milan and we can't ride a boat in Venice. I ain't really good, and I can sometimes be a menace.  If you could change one thing about me, I wish you'd keep that information to yourself.  I am who I am, and will discover it all by myself. I need to be the nerd, the science- fiction geek. I need to be the bad bad boy that crushes your heart and makes you weep. I need to be elusive and constant in one breath. I need to live my passions and do what I enjoy even if it leads to my death. I can love you and yet not be with you. Call me an asshole for it, and here is a tissue. I shall smoke my shisha and have my Hennessey and Coke. I shall poke fun of anyone in my sights for the sake of a good joke. If you can't get down with all my contradictions and the way I am, then you're just another  piece of cold carbon,

The Method To My Madness

The better writer that I have become, the less that I have slept. The more self-aware that I have become, the more that I have wept. It takes a certain type of sickening obsession to delve into my inner most pain and passion every day. It takes a lunatic to visit this subject and imagine it in every single way. My past haunts me, it's former glory a ghoul in my mind. It whispers sultry tales in my ear, the tellings of a once glorious time. The pale echo of long ago spurs me forward, a flame eternal, an endless breath, a place from which I can not fully fast forward.  Every one of my defenses have been lowered, the guards at my gates stand battered. Only a shattered man trying to tell a tale that to him once mattered. In its telling hope springs anew, for in the story, I can release all worry and finally, and fully, let go, of you.