My Bubbles of Beauty

Darling you'll be okay
When the wind blows your hair
Behind you one day
And you're the only one to have a say

Such is the breath of Mother Earth
Granting life to her beloved children
Her love is as endless as her mirth
But only to those she deems worth

Beginning with breath anew
Lungs expanding to the point of bursting
As the sun turns the sky an unspeakable blue
I'll find a way to believe in you

Author's Note: There is no tie between each verse, I just had some inspiration, and I was in the mood to make some things beautiful, sinister, and...other things I don't have the mental capacity to name.

Everything and Why it Was.

Author’s Note: Look at me. Posting and stuff. I wrote this because I needed to. Because I needed a little voodoo doll to unburden some piercing pain. And I found it in this long, sporadically formatted, creative concoction. It’s a little weird. But aren't we all. It’s a little broken. But aren't we all. It flows, it goes, it turns, it yearns, it meddles, peaks, it settles. So read a little between the lines. But not too much, no need to get lost in thoughts that don’t belong to your troubled mind. So just sit back, read, and pretend everything is okay. You know that old saying. Fake it until you stop wanting to put a bullet in your head.

Where can I turn, but back to you.

My silent friend. Meek. Mild. Flowing Blue.

Heavy heart and mind in tail,

can rest with peace, in your arms, soft and pale.

So many first, and me behind.

Will travel low, only you to find.

Your eyes a piercing empty laugh,

That echoes far, bring souls to half.

Oh, what have you become?

Your tears a gentle strum.

Your fears a shot of rum.

Your heart.

Your mind.

Your soul apart.

Nothing. Nothing remains from there it starts.

Here he lies.

Here he will ascend to eyes.

That dance and brush and burst with hope.

Hope.

A simple word.

For simple hearts.

Entwined in fear, and pain and marks.

Marks of Black.

Marks of Gold.

Marks that hack.

Marks that hold.

Sleeping sinners whisper here.

They pull and prod and clutch you near.

With simple touch, no fear to blame.

The life I knew can’t feel the same.

And though its come to pass and fade,

The jester’s gambit stoned and laid.

They cannot see the genius made.

From minds greater, swifter, soaring above the sky.

They see the boy, the man, but what of I?

With you, my hands, I write of Love.

Not stars or streams of pink above.

So you, who comes, and leaves with haste,

There is no blink or breath to waste.

Unless you come.

At last.

At first.

Not Fast.

With thirst.

For fear it takes a heavy toll.

The soft joy it stole.

To form a husk, an empty wretch.

The hearts of those its minions fetch.

and gather seeds to plant the hole.

Why then.

I ask of all.

Do you remain.

Without me here.

The pain has come.

And light was forgotten.

The emptiness, rotten.

But home to some.

There palms sear.

To dead refrain.

Simple small,

Puny men.

Here, to me.

I call at last.

No price, no fee.

No evil past.

Can stop the fire.

Sweet fearful ire.

These tails inspire.

To take, to feel, to hope, to reel.

In life, in love, in faith above.

The hearts of graceful, silent doves.

Make way.

Make peace.

Make sure release.

To stop, to end.

To shield, to fend.

My growing, flowing, butterfly. Dancing limp, in crimson skies.

The Way It Was

Do you remember when the sky was blue?
No? Sometimes I dream about it, too.
Well, what about when grass was green?
Now that's something I'd've liked to have seen.

Was the ocean ever clear?
Was it blue? Is that true?
Did birds sing and chirp?
Did busy businessmen go to work?

Was land really so big a deal,
our presidents fought for a nation's appeal?
What's a gun?
Doesn't sound like much fun.
But they used those, too?
I wish it weren't true.

But there were still the cities,
lit up and pretty.
And those "cars" you mentioned,
what an odd invention.

And what did you call them?
Economies, yeah.
Were they really always doing so bad?

But even then, in a world like that,
It'd be so much better to have it all back.

I'm so tired of brown, murky seas,
dead birds on the ground,
dried up leaves.
Empty cities
and empty homes,
open fields
where planes have flown.

Gunshots and bombs
from miles away,
The world you knew...
it should have stayed.

The night's a lot different,
when it rains on the roof.
It doesn't pitter-patter,
like it does above ground.
Down in the tunnels,
it's a whole different sound.

It's a low, grumbling thud,
a reminder to me,
there're no more birds,
and no more trees.
No more hot, summer days
to kick up your feet.

No more comfort in the ash on a street.

That's another thing,
another question I had:
didn't it all just make you feel sad?
I know you said it's a blinding light,
but it killed some people;
started this whole darn mess.
Do they really think it was for the best?

Sorry, I'm asking one question too much.
I'll slow down my pace, and ask it as such:
Do you think all this happened,
simply because,
we'd gotten sick of the way that it was?

No Name

Author's Note: No ambition or motivation or whatever. Just felt like typing something up.

This dot.
This cold,
       distant,
              tiny,
                                                                                                                              isolated,
unknown,
alone dot.

Suspended.

On this dot,

lay millions of hearts.

Millions of heartbreaks.

Millions of tears,

whoops,

deaths,

murders,

I hate you's,

I love you's,

victories,

losses,

regrets,

successes.

Millions of components.

Billions of ideas.

And not a single other place to share it with.

Billionaires and barbers and garbagemen and teachers,

going through life,

day-by-day,

saying "What if?" for some fucking peace of mind.

What if, precisely.

What if we weren't alone?

We could share ideas.

Share some beauty.

Spare the immortality,

and live like we were designed.

Well, we're not alone.

Every day,

every regret,

every idea and tear shed, 

every hug given and every funeral.

The outcome of your contribution to this place,

this minute dot suspended in an infinite loneliness...

That outcome is entirely

up

to

you.

Angst

Author's Note: This was an interesting one to write. I wanted to touch on the mindset of someone torn between hatred and apathy. I also plugged in a bunch of metal band names in because why not.
The hateful spite of a rabid dog,
A wound that'll never let me heal,
Flashbulb memories haunting me,
Illuminating all my scars,
Walking down that road again,
Chained to a ball that has no key,
I'm sorry for that which I've become,
And sorry that you know me,
The monster that I am,
Was slowly borne into me,
No whimsical rhyme,
Nor happy tunes,
Do I find pleasure in,
Just melancholic apathy,
To fill the void within.
No joyous day,
No partied nights,
Do heal the pains within,
A band-aid for a chronic ache,
That tore my mind apart.
So now I sit here sheltered and,
Protected from corporeal harm,
But somewhere lying deep inside,
An iron maiden looms,
And in that iron maiden I,
Have placed my soul within,
A thermonuclear megadeath,
To cauterize the wound.
Sitting here's a slayer of all that I have loved,
I glare at him with a hatred I didn't know I knew,
To have him glare right back at me no fury that was lost,
I walk up closer, angered now who did he think he was?
And walk into a mirror.

An Ode to Kanye West

Author's Note: Just a quirky little making-fun-of poem!

An ode to Kanye?
An ode to Yeezus!
I am the greatest,
there ever *censored* was!

Step back, Taylor,
'cause you about to get served!
I'mma let you finish,
right after my speech:

Beyonce, Beyonce,
the goddess of music,
the milestone of man,
the *censored* to rule 'em;
You deserve that award,
not no country-twangin',
picket-fence teenage girl!

You know why?
'cause I am Yeezus.
I am Kanye West.
I am the *censored* best!

And what I say
goes.

Little Fires

Author's Note: This post is about....uh fire I guess. Take it how you will.

There's a fire burning deep in me,
No lust for hate or infectious love,
A strange fire that begins rapidly,
But can wind down when I'm melancholy,
Not survival that drives me - I'd given up hope,
Or even self-hatred, though that flame won't choke,
A strange little fire that burns hot but there's no light,
Just something there to keep me in the fight,
So while I don't know what it is,
I know this much is true,
This curious, little, flame of mine,
Will just have to do.

I had to post something since we are apparently in a poetry drought.

Author's note: Hmmm.....hmmmm....well...uhh.....you know what? I don't care if you think this is about best friends, girlfriends, or heart disease. Just read it and try to enjoy. Happy finals week =)

When hearts transform

A glimpse

A flash

A second

That feels longer than anything before

An ache

A pain

A disease

That needs to stop to go on.

Penance

Author's Note: I'm fascinated with the concept of self-punishment. The fact that someone can take it upon themselves to pay a (often more severe) price for a transgression. This poem was actually backlogged for a really long time but I figured I'd make this my first post of the year! Enjoy? (I think that's what you guys do)

Penance.
Don't forgive my sins for me,
Hell is where I deserve to be,
Never understood right from wrong,
Demons plagued me all along,
But I let them in.
You know this to be true,
I'm hateful, spiteful and judgmental,
Don't care for anything,
Can't care for anything,
I hide from the world and snarl at intruders,
A rabid dog, that's never put down,
Don't understand me and comfort me,

I'll pay my dues.

IT is Back

A chokehold grip across my throat
Permits the breath of the light to enter me
So the darkness slips down as a poisonous ink
Consuming until my breath burns dead

Oh the temptation and desire to slip away
But suicide isn't in my repertoire, I'm afraid
The chills of despair slipping down my throat
The ink of denial clogging my breaths

Drink down the poison, the black silk of death
Let the drowsiness consume all that left me gleaming
Let the tears of hopelessness wash away happiness
Because I swear, there's nothing more deadly

I'll hide behind the things that conceal my eyes
Let the music drown out the things that degrade me
Dream of the haunted, lurking creatures
Ready to steal my light for their amusement

Oceanic Wick

Author's Note: Happy New Year guys. Here's a poem. I'd like to start some cool discussions regarding poetic analysis and all that jazz. So, pick a line or something. Tell me what you think it means. Ask a question. What am I saying? What do the themes and metaphors apply to? I'm excited to hear how you guys interpret this.

Brethren hearts doeth tell the wade

Seabound, Goliath steps off; then he stayed

Transfixed by kiln fired bonds that he wore

A crest, unmatched by lustrous ore

Channeling lust he would finger his sword

Fondling another realm; steadfast accord

Tradition, it sways, and blows, and goes

And generations pass, black mourning rows

Hast thou fullest armor condensed

Crumpled like leaves in the autumn fence

Port and starboard tumbling about

A shout filleting a shimmering trout

Shimmering paretic darkness about

Scattering unknown shapes

    And shadows

        And beasts

That roam in the foamy waves

A wade, nonviable, drowning trance

A merciless flood of eight legged ants

Bleakness’s colors shredded and spread thick

Tradition’s rainbow, detonation, a wick