A catch all tag for random ramblings of mine. Often consisting of poetry and internal commentary.
View All TagsTime doesn't fly, it falls with everything else, accumulating with the mess we live through. If time were to fly, it would be a fleeting thing, something that we notice on the sidelines or admire on the rare occasions that it stands still. Instead it crashes into us like a waterfall, and builds up below us like sand, weighing us down as we age. Tearing the things we build to pieces and wearing down our bodies with each grain we are hit with.
Dilute our words as generations pass,
Forget the moments those words were meant to capture,
The years they shared between us.
Dilute the meaning of our phrases and twist them as we did,
to serve the same pain.
Forget the changes the world has wrought,
and the way it changes your words.
Every dawning day
My hands fill with sticky clay
A substance resistant to shape
One that defies my will to make
My hands are traitors
Beasts of pain and failure
Tools of necessity
Rotten through with mediocrity
Your broken decrepit minds
Ancient in all but time
Burn life away like flies
While drowning the overburdened skies
Just as darkness fuels despair
A man lost is well aware
That he built his binding lair
And his chains are locked by lack of care
As time goes by it becomes harder and harder to trust my senses, to know exactly how and why my body reacts to the world. My interpretation changes by the second and some days it’s impossible to keep up. Each sense working on a scale that changes with every new piece of information I gleam from it, a drastically fast kaleidoscope of broken images and feelings. Brighter lights, clearer sounds, sharper temperatures, and a swaying scope of scale attack me constantly, wearing at my view of the world. Each shift defines a whole new set of actions and reactions to reinvent, a constant game of mix and match, find the value, adjust and prefix.
Future defined in shock -- Minds all but lost
Escaping it’s tiny case -- Defining their own shape
Defile the world’s own -- flock Man’s folly the final cost
Energy caught mid race -- Their will of patterns make
A burning maxim defined
The fire behind clouded eyes
Flowing forth in kind
A future of intersecting skies
Stitch and remix
Grab reality and affix
Attached with a masculine grip
Build the stars as you see fit
A world built from the seam you split
Take each step in time
A momentary peace sign
Each breath marking the rhyme
A score for the all encompassing lines
The ordered rows staying aligned
Traverse the lands brink
Across every world link
Each defined and distinct
Making broad skies blink