PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We exist in ennui 

Lost in formulaic riddles and obstructed prose 

The mind becomes a moonless night 

So many thoughts and none that shine 

Reflections of deflections 

Loathing and Loving 

And somewhere in between

Complex simplicity

We’re always wrong but we never see 

We exist in ennui 

Lost in formulaic riddles and obstructed prose 

The mind becomes a moonless night 

So many thoughts and none that shine  

Filtered out and filtered new

On the outside, you can be pretty too

Stagnant and free from form 

Endless trees that bear no fruit 

So, you fought, so you won 

But here we are again and again        

Aimless and listless 

Just around the corner’s edge 

To the cornea's path 

Blind to the smiles 

That cover blind arrogance 

Blind to the self-induced madness 

Suffocating on the illusion of bliss

We’re always wrong but we'll never see

Hanging low, diseased and rotting 

Endless shifts of celebrated nullity

We are the saviors of nothing 

"It's a slow death without reason 

Prolonged by human weakness"

I don't remember when 

We were not divided by incompetance 

So much beauty in this world destroyed

Abused, forgotten and left by the wayside 

I've had hope that the future is brighter

But hope is my cognitive death 

If religion and philosophy can't heal 

Is there anything left?      

We are grasping for a tranquility that rides the cusp of a failing species 

In the mind's eye we see ourselves as heavenly, but in reality we are cosmological fiends  

Burn it all down

Burn it all away

and like Rome we will fall 

and like Rome we will stay 

Against Hidden Poems

We then Sojourned
to that paradise
in your mind.

Somebody said,
"It is earthly."

We then mourned
these bleak eyes
in my mind.

Somebody has said,
"Who's that somebody?"

We join the Excursion
so we fantasize
but never to find

this mystical point
of view, "Have we?"

Reality is really 

Terrifyingly incredible

To exist as a 

Conscious Being

And to be 

Self-Aware

Is a weird phenomenon

An emergent property

Of Chance and Possibility 

When it dawns on you

That you exist 

As part of a whole 

It’s almost haunting

Knowing you are Matter 

With its own Will

And Self-awarenes

Is truly Mind boggling

The scale of the Micro

And of the Cosmos 

Questions about 

How it all works 

Of what came before

You were Awake 

And what will happen 

After you go to Sleep 

All this 

Combines 

To just 

Astonish Me 

The ancients declared that all is meaningless

A chasing after the wind

The modernists claim that nothing is real

A consuming, constant dream

So what shall we say on our mortality;

What should we surmise of our souls?

We've all been screaming what we want to hear

And yet the truth quietly whispers, drowning our voices

We pay our very souls to safely cross the river Styx

Only to find that we can't leave Charon without them

We give our all to gain what our hearts desire,

And realize that we have lost everything to gain nothing

What man can bring back one second of his life;

Yet time seems worthless without entertainment

We campaign to save our fellow man,

By placing funds in already full pockets

Humans are dimensional amphibians, living both spirit and body,

The ghost in the machine

How light a heart in love!

How heavy a heart in sorrow

The weight of a soul drags me down

But hope can keep me alight

We strive for goodness through deeds and laws,

But laws are not for good deeds, or good people

We cannot live long alone, and yet push others away,

Until we are left with only our “selves”

We push and strive to become better than ourselves

Yet we can only grow inside our own nature

At what point in our quest to become God

Did we convert into the devil instead?

With night comes thoughts into my mind

Philosophically broad and deep

Why do I sit here counting fireflies

When I should be fast asleep?

What if Atlas shrugged

And Prometheus lied?

Enkidu lived

And Gilgamesh died?

Horus instead had been fried?

Anubis a coward who'd always hide?

What if we're all dead inside

And stay that way because of pride?

What is the difference between apples and oranges?

Why are patients so afraid of syringes?

Why must something go up, and then down

Why do the wealthy always seem to frown?

What I'm trying to say

I must protest

Whilst I stutter

And give it my best

That life is all-in-all a test

To live or die beyond our rest

Rest, rest, I wish I could

And if I could, I surely would

Some peace and quiet, I must confess

Would surely give this brain a rest

I have decided recently that you can fairly judge someone by whatever it is they think they are responsible for.
For instance, a man, the lone survivor of a plane crash, emerges from the wreckage. He will have one of two thoughts: he will think that he is fortunate to have survived, or that he is not.
This is important, because it shows one of two schools of thought: the unfortunate man will blame himself for the events which have transpired, and will make it some kind of goal to live a life worthy of his fellow victims. Or he will succumb to the grief of it all.
The other school of thought belongs to the fortunate man: he will believe that it is not his fault that the plane has been downed, and that it is not his fault that he has survived. He is only relieved that he has made it out alive. The fortunate man will turn to God with praise, invariably, though perhaps it is more honest to say he will experience some sort of euphoric release.
The unfortunate man is factually wrong: he did not cause the swarm of birds to fly into the Number 3 engine, nor did he intend for the pilot to be suffer a massive heart attack at the moment the plane was out of control, nor did he arrange the series of random factors (the iron density in the seat in front of him, his slightly larger-than-average brain cavity that allowed for more dynamic cortex movement, etc.) that contributed to his salvation, but salvaged he is and now what?
The fortunate man is technically correct: he is innocent of any wrongdoing in the plane's malfunction and of the deaths of his fellow passengers.
But the fortunate man will never take responsibility for the lives which were lost around him: you see, to believe that you are fortunate to have survived a plane crash, you must believe you were meant to have survived the plane crash, which implies that there is meaning to your life, and logically from there, all life. What is that meaning? You decided long before you boarded the fateful flight. Someone else, or something else, is in charge, and that someone orchestrated life (perhaps God?) and has not only given it wings and heartbeats and blood, but imbued living with meaning. The important thing is this: someone else gave life meaning, and by that token, your life is saved to preserve that meaning.
The unfortunate man, however, even in succumbing to his emotions of grief and shock and rage, realizes that he must create meaning for his life, or at least, that there is no inherent meaning to his survival; that it is an accident, the same kind of accident which downed a plane. He will not believe himself to be part of a plan. He will see the lack of a plan clearly, in the moment the plane goes down, when the mother clutching her infant screams, when the flight attendants frantically draw their seatbelts around them, when the old man gazes calmly, but sadly, into the great twilit sky, he will know that there is no plan. And he will know, after he survives, that his survival was not meant to be, his survival is an outlier in an unforgiving universe, and he will seek until his last heartbeat to bring forgiveness into that universe the way a lifeguard will seek to bring breath into a drowned man's lips.

I think the important thing here to remember is this: do not trust a man who says he is of God, for such a man intends to return to God and there is no room in Heaven for the humans of earth. 

Sometimes I hear the ghosts of my past

Often they whisper in my ear

Just out of consciousness

Barely audible, but present

Memories of those gone by

Now immortal in my mind

Forever they'll exist in me

Or at least as long as I live

For we are scars on the membrane of time

Carving our existence deep into it's flesh

Dying to gain immortality

Our existence tantamount to the memories of others

Kierkegaard famously once said that "Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward"

So as I continue to wander blindly forward into the unknown with the faint hope that I will understand it all in the end, I feel the need to take a sobering moment to pause and reflect on my footprints in the sand.

'Einen Augenblick' was all that I needed to notice that the moment of clarity I had whilst lying in rehab has all but lost its polish.

The signposts removed, my compass caught in a strong magnetic field, my coordinates intelligible.

That profound clarity I once had now lost as I once again face life blind, stumbling amongst the mess, the fuss and the chaos, on my hands and knees searching for the crumbs..

Or, of course it could just be the PTSD talking...