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A Legacy of Wisdom You have scribed your words,
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.

You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
unto eternity.

And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, I’ll know
that Lear’s been there before, and
I’ll not swoon.

And if Hades’ doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, I’ll recall that
I am not the first – Dante’s been down
there as well.

AA Legacy of Wisdom in Open
135 Comments
Nonexistence I pray to a God I have never seen,
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.

My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?

I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.

My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
Nonexistence in Open
141 Comments
poem .nacre. in Open
22 Comments
God There is a God. I have seen him snap the necks
Of children and inspect their hollow remains.
Pushing past the sinews, there is nothing there.
No prayers clogging the arteries, stopping the rush
Of blood, a blackened jet.
Their mouths had not yet learnt how to
Form 'hail mary's'. Tongues twisted at the sound.
The syllables choke.

There is no use lying to a child who when asking
For God, finds only silence.

He is not interested in them. The purity sickens.
There's a boredom in innocence that causes him
To turn away. His eyes are better fixed on those
Who can praise him. The shallow whore who never
Thought her life would take thiGod in Open
1,265 Comments
Anarchy Scream the anthem of the anarchist!
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.Anarchy in Open
160 Comments
out of Garden what sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess

what tide
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes

stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you

but to lay in gardens, oh…

a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars

what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us

where walking air pushes every dust

one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honeout of Garden in Open
38 Comments
Perspectives of a Hallucino... Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.

                                                                                                                 r

                                                  Perspectives of a Hallucino... in Open
47 Comments
the plasticized quantum theory in Open
100 Comments
On Creationist Theory in Open
193 Comments
existentialist pick ups... where have I been all my life?existentialist pick ups... in Open
168 Comments
Scrutiny And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin…
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect…

“I am lost in my own depth,” I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic prinScrutiny in Open
130 Comments
Vampires heartache I awake in the night;
I can no longer sleep.
I don't see myself in mirrors;
I see somebody else.
I am alone.
I am dead.
The red stripes on white flesh
Keep me somewhat Sane.
I stare at the ceiling;
It is as cold and dead as I am.
The pain burns within;
as my life slowly fades away.Vampires heartache in Open
14 Comments
Suicide in Open
151 Comments
Procremation so he said let's make a baby
she said let's just make
          love
     and he said
What's the difference?
She said
                  A snakeskin
             or a little pink pill
And he said
                 Isn't it about time...      she said
    You're never old enough
                             to die
She said   Make life-- make
                              death
                  and he said
What's the difference?

I like my life she said
              he said that won't last
     she said I feel
                     no need...
 he said
Well, maybe I do

She said Sow your seeds somewhere else thenProcremation in Open
55 Comments
Wolf's Rain in Open
19 Comments
Emo in Open
88 Comments
If a Lion Could Speak The world churns this body,
has been my whitish ipecac,
like a big tongue in the gut,
has made me hurtle words.

I’m a refinery, a plant that shits beauty.
I’m tired and frightened, that is depression,
I’ve said it before.  Nothing is everything is love,
and no great love for the man inventing.

Touch me off, go back to the aether,
monkey fist, half-hitch, noose.
Love is a sandpaper, it smooths corners,
it bevels edges, it makes dust of us,

finally we go back to the wind.
Every ribcage is a ladder with rungs
of bone.  I’m glad I’m thin
so I can count how high I have to go.

  If a Lion Could Speak in Open
85 Comments
the god memorandum in Open
65 Comments
Dying Each day,
I lose a
little more
of myself.

By the time
death comes,
I’ll already
be gone.Dying in Open
41 Comments
Heartless in Open
143 Comments
I'm Not One of Those People I’ve never been one of those people
that walks around the house naked
with the blinds open,

[tied up in knots by a
  good (proper) upbringing].

I’m not even one who walks
around naked with the
blinds closed

[someone might drop by and
   catchjudgecondemn me].

In secret, I dream about
padding around the house in
the middle of the day

[in nothing but my
   altogether me].

And maybe, just maybe,
I’ll eventually work up
the nerve

[to let the altogether you
   walk around with me
      until we find something
        altogether better
             to do].I'm Not One of Those People in Open
146 Comments
Karate-ka We are the ones you'd least expect
to know anything of strategy or warfare.
We are the ones who never start fights,
But are quite willing to end them if need be.

We are not the trouble-makers in life,
But neither are we the straight-A students.
Some of us toe the line on issues more than others,
But for the most part, we blend in.

For all our camouflaging ways, however,
We are the ones who stand alone
Against the struggles of everyday life.
Some of us neither want, nor need, anyone to stand beside us.

We have our philosophies to keep us warm at night,
Our creeds to sing us to sleep.
Our weapons are our teddy-bears,
And our katKarate-ka in Open
110 Comments
Doubt If heaven’s all
that I’ve been told
with gates of pearl
and streets of gold,

why did Satan
opt to flee
instead of yield
on bended knee?Doubt in Open
192 Comments
glass sky in Open
24 Comments

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