High Ramblings about Inspiration

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Inspiration.
That is what I have.
Inspiration to accomplish things. To move on in life. To be a better person.
I am fucking inspired.
And u know what I am going to do with this aesthetic,
I am going to share this, this amazing enlightenment that came to me with the world. I want everyone to vibe with this.
Alright.
So exercise is good.
But u know whats even better?
Cats.
Cats are our salvation. Cats, they will be the human race’s messiah (no offense to dog lovers).
So why not do both?
My cat, my amazing buddy has introduced me to a brand new exercise.
Place ur feet on either side of ur cat standing up. Then go from leg to leg, tapping ur cats side.
Some may run away.
Others will ignore u.
And another set will try to grab each foot that touches him, turning it into a game.
It’s a win-win situation.
That is all, people of WordPress.

-high ramblings of a stoner

Death’s Coercion

You don’t belong here,

He says,

You don’t fit in,

He claims,

You will never be happy,

He promises.

But is that true?

Is everything that happens, a pointless endeavor,

Is everything in our plane of existence a temporary scourge,

Is happiness truly fleeting, or is there a way to capture it.

To hold it hostage.

To claim it as your own, to make it a basic building block of your life.

Yet he says,

Life is only pain,

Yet he promises,

I will take the pain away.

But I won’t give in.

With fire in my belly and steel on my tongue,

I will not give in.

I will fight, fight against the “dying of the light”.

The dying of my perfect world.

The dying of the illusions of my childhood.

The dying of the world that surrounds me.

I will fight.

Fight forever, against the melancholy of sentient life.

And that is truly aesthetic.

The Melancholy

When the melancholy returns,
Like a sick, sad old man,
Don’t be gentle.

Berate the old man.
Tell the pathetic piece of shit he is not long for this world.
As he dies, the Earth breathes.

When the melancholy returns,
Like a beaten, dying dog,
Kick it.
Don’t let it convince u it’s pain is worth it,
Euthanize the poor beast.

When the melancholy returns,
Like the black plague,
Don’t explain it.
Let it be the sacred curse upon humanity that mystifies and condemns.

When the melancholy returns,
Like a shadow cast in the rain,
Don’t admire it.
Let it be ugly, incurable, let it be a lepper.

When the melancholy returns,
Like the shingles,
Of old age,
Let it be disfiguring,
Don’t look at the beauty.
It is not aesthetic.

A Poem about Moths

And I can’t help but wonder,
How the moth flies so close to the sun,
Then I remember that it’s not the sun the moth sees
It’s the illusion of the sun.
And I can’t help but wonder.
Am I the disillusioned moth, and is he my sun?
If so then am I Icarus?
Destined to kiss the sun, only to have him melt my wings.
And I can’t help but wonder,
How far will I fall, and still be able to get back up.
And I can’t help but wonder
How
The moth sees the sun, where most only see a porch light.

The Fall of Rome

When the earth was young,

And the sky was new,

That is where I will forever wait for you.

 

When the wonders were abound,

And the ocean was blue,

That is where I will be with you.

 

When numbers were religious,

And the mystics saw the truth,

That is where I will finally touch you.

 

When life was forever,

And death was too,

That is where I will kiss you.

 

When the sun was our god,

And he kissed the earth with morning dew,

That is where I will always belong to you.

 

When the stars were our guide,

And our destinies we couldn’t choose,

That is where I will welcome you.

Everlife

The sun shines bright, like a spotlight in the crimson sky,

The azure grass dances and the cerulean trees pirouette,

The girl with a raven as her hair sings, and prepares to die,

She knows that they won’t last, past today.

 

She stands on a rusty cliff and the violet sea rages,

Her raven thrashing around violently in the wind,

Every part of her has been locked up in cages,

Her feathers wilt and decay, never being attended.

 

Off the cliff, the raven-haired girl leaps,

Howling and screaming silence the rushing air,

The violet waves violently creep,

To devour the girl with the raven hair.

 

Alas, she is rescued by a gentle zephyr,

Baby blue and lavender, it carries her away,

To escape life’s departing gift to her,

Death’s sweet embrace will forever lay.

 

The girl with the raven hair carries on sadly,

Wishing that death would have ferried her away,

Instead, it is Everlife that gives her the key,

To survive and her darkness to slay.

 

She is ferried away privately,

Into wonderland she finds herself,

Where the rabbit invites her to tea,

And her worries are absolved by a friendly elf.

The flowers always dance and sing,

And the dragons protect her from harm,

Here she is a queen, forever mirroring,

Her childhood dreams that always held such charm.

 

But on the rough stones, her body lays broken,

Her soul forever free to roam the dreams of a forgotten world,

The violent waves hush and turn into a silent din,

Everlife kisses her and both her wings are unfurled.

The Snow’s Mourning Dirge

When it falls, it falls in silence,

When it lands, it lands in quiet,

Hush, let it fall, let it sing the mourning dirge of fall,

Hush, let it sink, let the silence reverberate,

Quiet now, the silence sings a solemn lament,

Quiet now, the season changes, the frost sinks it’s greedy tendrils in the soil,

Slumber, the world says,

Slumber, the trees echo,

Sleep till spring, when the world begins anew,

Sleep till spring, or sleep forever more.