Posts Tagged ‘existentialism’


Posted: August 16, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

It sometimes seems
that nothing good
comes this way
then rips seam
& lead to
something else
an avalanche occurs
carrying everything
in its wake
if you can/t find
your way clear
a path if
people don/t see you
cause a scene
if they can/t hear
keep shouting
they can/t feel you
unless they cry
when you touch
cut them deep
make ’em bleed
the truth hurts
who do we think
we are to make
up for who
we are not
we will stay
in the moment
until we have to
rise to the
if you know me
please push me
we/ll both be
the better from it


Of Brahma
cosmic dream
with Shiva
into n…n…



linked heartbeats
beating to 
their war drum
deja vu

deja vu.


I know me
I will remember you
shall our paths ever cross.

I will find you.


… the jewel of a planet that our universe has gifted us with. What a privilege it is to be born in a human body and to live in this enchanted realm; floating on the ocean of the cosmos, and to have the opportunity to learn, grow, and develop here through many lifetimes.

Because we all have been here before.

And we are all struggling to remember.

Graham Hancock

Don/t let me go
just let me down
can/t find our way
through this dark town
must feel around
we know this life
ain/t what it seems
we die each breath
& live off dreams
what do you do
when you can/t sleep?


I used to think
really hard about
who was fucking
the world.

My own romantic web
of political intrigue.

As I often did,
I thought too much.

All it is-is
people who have shit,
shitting on people
who don/t have shit.

We love shit.

We eat their shit every day.


We toil our lives away
to become like those
with shit.

Then we discover
we ain/t shit.

We feel like shit.

We don/t mean shit.

We don/t give a shit.

We imagine shit,
just to deal with this shit.

But the shit
is about to hit
the fan.

I wouldn/t shit you.

I drift out by myself
I sell out from myself
No one no where else

The sun will burn away
The world will turn away
Here we holy hell

This skin does not want felt
This air I never felt
Done deal being dealt

The truth some never tell
Whisper but never tell
Sit there by yourself

Give me back
who I was
because times
got tough going
got rough &
I can no
longer tumble
allowing truth to be
pinned to me
when I folded
down my sleeves.

Toys they break
from too many games
played for glue
same type of fixed
different tricks
never new.

Never knew
it ain/t true
this isn/t you
thought you through
you will not be
happy until
your lips turn blue.

Witness this human condition
Within these places we reside
Depression from their recession
Can no longer believe our eyes
The pseudo-social services
Are all like, fuck you, now pay me!
To be fair, all our hands are tied
By economic slavery
Dreams we have traded for these lies

A heavy heart we have carried
& we/re buying more suicide
In such a rush to be buried
A life to help you slowly die
Directed through televised lies
Tricked by godless politicians
They who rewrite funeral rites
Illusions to help us believe
That we even have any rights

How is it one falls so in love,

with the emptiness of silence?

All these crazy ladies chasing,

after these meaningless tyrants

& this addictive time-wasting.

Welcome to the grand delusion.

Stay in line; avoid confusion.

Where no one dares to try to flee,

the nightmare we bought as a dream.

Few wild animals left to see,

prance about believing they/re free.

We/re all trapped in an urban cage.

Idolize holy-wood housewives,

distracts any worth from real lives.

Measured by an hourly wage.

Training his-self
by the starving artists

mad & hungry
for the esoteric wisdom
locked away rambling
about the institutions
they were a product of
asylums – prisons – rehabs
confined in body
free in mind
hearts breaking
until the entire
glass shards dropping
spinning reflections
of the lie we all become
studying that moment
the shedding of sin
the near life experience
where for but a second
the light of GOd shone upon

examine – capture – record
do not seek darkness
the darkness is
already there
follow the weird lights
to find your own way out.

I am–yet what I am, none cares or knows:
        My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self consumer of my woes—
“I Am”  John Clare

a prism
of colors
without light
rendered dark
his little
heart beating
thousand times
minute while
searching for
her bright smile.