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Has the love vanished?
Delinquet shadows tread upon the surface of my cerebral cortex
Disowning any peace that happens to be left
A jelly like substance that once covered the world
Has dehydrated, my love
Is in drought
My naked eye now cluttered
With noise that hurts both inside and out
What a inconvenience this picketed movement has proven to become
I walk in silence but my toungue is corrupt
Somedays
As my muscles crunch in resistance to what my conditioning has pitched
I erupt into a wildland fire that blazes over the crops I so intricately have stitched
An elixer to heal such a thing does not exist, I must grow from expierence
Laziness is not an option in this equation
And when it shows, I subconsciously fortell failure
And my expression proves it
My energy proves it
I move swiftly through the dam that births many obstacles
Perhaps I can find my peace more quickly
If I go over the rock instead of around
In such an attempt I miss a valuable lesson
No closer to home than I was a day ago
My expression proves it
My energy proves it
Never ceasing the attention to my woes
That have built over the years into an invisible force
How it's hold is so elusive
yet so strong it seems
Tightening every moment I breathe
My brain just can not think
My brain just can not think in these ways... the work seems so personaly attuned to make sense to you, and i lack the life experiences that you have been through. hahaha your poems just boggle my mind o.O
I enjoyed this piece,
I enjoyed this piece, mardigan. It sheds light on the moments we all have when we 'think', and almost begin to 'believe' that there is no love in our world. What I have found for myself was that the moments when I was feeling this sense of loss were usually moments when I was becoming more attuned to life as it really is. You mention, "
Never ceasing the attention to my woes
That have built over the years into an invisible force
How it's hold is so elusive "
I see that as our conditioning, or how we were raised to think. It is difficult to shake what was imbedded so deeply as a small child. the anger at the lies...promises of the 'fairytale' and it's 'happily ever after' ending...or worse for those children in the ghettos who dream of becomeing the neighborhood pimp or the gangster, only to get there and learn it brings little more than prison cell walls and three meals a day.
Awesome deep stuff Mardigan.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
I found it refreshing to read
I found it refreshing to read "Becoming attuned to the way life is"...Thanks night light