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.

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.

High Ramblings about Memories

Sometimes when I’m listening to music and smoking by myself, I start going back in time. I think about events that shaped certain perspectives I now have. Whether it be of people, of certain topics, of events, pretty much anything. I have a shitty memory, I only remember things that had an impact on me in some way.

During this smoke session, I started thinking about my poems. I guess that is also due to the fact that I have to write a poem for my Creative Writing class. I thought about the topics for my poems when I was a teenager. Or rather, the themes. A lot of them, the most recent ones (Which is like three or four years ago, or maybe even five) had something to do with my mom. At this time my mom and dad had gotten a divorce. And my mom was, lost. My dad was too, but he wasn’t as hung up. At least he didn’t show it anyways. But my mom, she just fell out of the “perfect” mom routine. Everything she did for us and the way she treated us, it sort of changed. Well anyways, at that time my poems were about her predicament. I actually posted a few of them: Armageddon of the Heart and Puppet Master. These are some of my favorite poems, and they were about my mom.

These themes, this topic, it got me thinking of a certain event that cemented her image in my mind at the time. I was laying on the couch, watching anime. For some reason, I think I liked sleeping on the couch. Anyways, I hadn’t seen my mom since the morning. Well actually maybe I saw her after she got off work. Well, anyways she had gone on a date or something. She was talking to this guy. My mom comes home, I am passed out on the couch, and she lays across me when I wake up to greet her. Then she begins to sob into my chest. I stroked her hair and comforted her, and tried to coax out of her what was wrong. She didn’t tell me straight up, she was very vague about the whole thing, but the gist of it was that some guy had just used her for sex, or that was something that the guy only wanted.

At this moment I felt odd. I couldn’t help but think, wasn’t this the kind of thing i should go crying to her about? But I had never been that type of person. At the time, I was still a virgin, and guys didn’t really interest me, and neither did girls, or anyone really.

But here was my mom, crying to me, about a topic I had no familiarity with. I don’t know why I am thinking of this memory, or what it means. I can’t put in words the image I have of my mother now, it’s something beyond words. It’s the kind of thing words can’t describe, my impression of her. But I love her. I don’t care what happened in the past when she was just shy of a perfect mother. It doesn’t matter. Just as my dad’s faults and shortcomings don’t bother me. I love them both. Everyone in my family gets that pass. I don’t know why family is so important to me, but it is.

-High Ramblings of a Stoner

Armageddon of the Heart

The sky is falling again,

Pouring down on me,

Nothing but charcoals and gray,

No true color to see.

And I want to help her,

I really do.

But how can I help her,

If she won’t allow me to?

The earth’s melting again,

Liquefying beneath my feet,

Drawing me into her depths,

Into Hell’s all-consuming heat.

And I want to help her,

I really do.

But how can I help her,

If she doesn’t want me to?

The ocean’s receding again,

Vanishing to God-knows-where,

Selfishly denying her charges of life,

As if she simply doesn’t care!

And I want to help her,

I really do!

But how can I help her,

If no one wants me to?

The night is crying again,

Her tears falling from the heavens,

Stars of sorrow dance across the darkness,

And vanish in attempts to hide her sins.

And I want to help her,

I really do,

But how can I help her,

If even I no longer want to?

The flowers are dying again,

Withering away to nothing.

Lack of their sun’s love has led them to this,

And she thinks without them there will be nothing.

And I want to save her.

I really do.

But I cannot save her,

For I simply won’t do.

Puppet Master

“I’ll do what you say, if only you’ll stay,

I’ll do what you say, if you won’t leave me today.”

So the Puppet Master twirls their ropes,

She spins,

She dives,

She drinks,

She chokes.

And the Puppet Master weaves their lies,

she reaches for the earth,

and falls to the sky.

The Puppet Master dictates her demise,

she cries inside,

and hopes she dies.

Then the Puppet Master yanks their threads,

She leaps,

She flies,

She swings,

She cries.

“Do what we say and maybe we’ll stay.

Do what we say, and we won’t leave you today.”

So the Puppet Master makes her dance,

around and around,

she is losing her stance.

And the Puppet Master sings her song,

a complicated rhythm that isn’t her own.

The Puppet Master works her to the bone.

Her wood; it cracks.

Her bones; they snap.

“They will not stay,”

I cry,

I say,

“They will leave you, they’ll sway!”

But the Puppet Master loves her silly,

she’s drunk on false promises,

the fucking ninny.

The Puppet Master fills her cup,

the one that was emptied,

by her own bad luck.

And the Puppet Master swings her about,

her body shadowed,

on a screen concealing her doubt.

Oh, the Puppet Master strings her along,

”We’ll stay, we’ll stay,

we will not sway,”

“We’ll stay, we’ll stay,

we won’t leave you today.”

She is not her own person,

a victim of life,

A neighbor, a daughter,

a aunt, and a wife,

And she does what they say, but they do not stay.

She does what they say,

BUT THEY LEAVE HER TODAY.

The Deal

Walking along a road one night,

I saw a tavern doused in moonlight.

Oh it was such a terrible sight,

Oh it was such a fortunate sight.

A woman pale and richly dressed,

With rings on her fingers and an air to impress,

Looked at me with red rimmed eyes:

She said… “Make a deal with the devil.

Yeah, sell him your soul.

You can even ask for silver or gold.

You can ask for success, you can ask for fame.

Really, you can ask for any damn thing.”

In the center of the crossroad, I stood still,

And I felt the frostiest chill.

Oh it was such a terrible feel,

Oh it was such a fortunate feel.

A man in black with flaxen hair,

Had a twinkle in his eyes and had no cares,

Looked at me with red rimmed eyes:

He said… “Make a deal with the devil.

Yeah, sell him your soul.

You can even ask for love, mi amour.

You can ask for revenge, you can ask for power.

Really you can ask for any damn thing.”

At the door of the tavern I noted to my surprise,

A large horde of people, with seemingly no ties.

Oh it was such a terrible group,

Oh it was such a fortunate group.

People smiling and hosting every countenance,

Filled the tavern with an air of regret.

They looked at me with red rimmed eyes:

They said… “Make a deal with the devil,

Yeah, sell him your soul.

You can even ask for riches untold.

You can ask for eternal life or a certain someone’s death.

Really you can ask for any damn thing.”

Behind the bar stood the man,

He handed me a contract, a pen, and a can.

Oh it was such a terrible sight,

Oh it was such a fortunate sight.

At the bottom of the page, hot to the touch,

I signed my name, and watched as the scarlet ink bled,

I looked up with red rimmed eyes.

I made a deal with the devil,

Yeah, I sold him my soul.

And you can bet your ass I asked for silver and gold.

I asked for success, I asked for fame.

But what I got was pain,

All I got was pain.