Relevant Rant

Will we ever see beyond the trees into the forest of illusions set before us by ourselves, or are we simply at a loss to bear this burden? Certainly, such implication complicates the inferences alluding to this state of indignation, which perpetuates the presence of my acute consternation. Do the constellations hold the key unlocking unknown doors to worlds beyond the chaos of existence? Is this counsel self-contained, a crux which cancels itself out, a crutch our conscience uses to ensconce us? Every question seems to touch the realm of truth secluded which eludes even those perspicacious erring on most prudent. Dedicated students of the mind have yet to find an explanation which defines our cosmic purpose. Exponentially, our ponderance compounds without exception, thereby instilling an exigence unduly excess. We have set the boundaries far beyond our wildest expectations to the point of courting disappointment. With our inclination to usurp our self-appointed power, surreptitiously supposing precedents unseen which seem to propagate our dreams so many silently believe. Bereaving us of freedoms rife with possibility which would inspire community instead of spurning hope for peace. Sapience and salience presumed part of our “sentience” are scarcely exercised or altogether compromised, despite the catastrophic impact of our calculated actions we continue on this fervid course of forced dissociation. Refusing to disseminate the knowledge which facilitates a self-sufficiency that would, in turn, sustain society without burning the bridges to the people in positions of imposed disparity based on factors beyond their person. The irony is so profane exceeding that which is insane in fact, it’s that which only fools would dare to claim not criminal. The truth of this reality that humankind just cannot see is every human stands to gain when selfish hands release the reins that led them to where we are now. Instead, with what we’ve stood to learn, so easily could we discern that only through consideration of each other, and each station intrinsic within our being, can we truly attain freedom. Kindness is not just a word, nor is it a notion absurd. It IS what all of us deserve. Without it, there is only hurt.

Drifting Into Ruin

our distance
belies summation

amid the sacred frivol
we chose
to quantify
ourselves

defiant
like the sentience
of existence

inundated
with the drivel
waning tides forgot
to tell

timeless dimensions
lay between
the worlds
within these walls

teemed with apprehension
we haplessly watch
verity unfurl

drifting
into ruin

When Consciousness Comes Calling

there is a pang

when consciousness
comes calling

magnetic forces
disrupt the atmosphere

and dormant thoughts return
as torment ripples
throughout my being

with the ominous silence
of imminent shockwave

bearing the gravest
consequence of logic defied

tearing me
from the static sepsis
of my heart’s invasion

to answer its unbridled beckon
with blinded reckoning

as i shudder to behold
the untold tale
of my greatest failing

through portals of peridot
long dulled from life’s laments

sodden earth
from sullen stream

once culled from squalor
placed within the bezel
of my breast

and pulled me from this berth
by the undertow’s drag

jilted like sloughed slag

amid a mournful requiem
of shrill remorse

The Silence of Forever

my spirit longs
to be the stars
that fill your sky

my heart would shine
reflections
of its truth

to lift you
up into a realm
where solace
sings redemption

that once
you laid upon me
by the mercy
of your kiss

but even vigilance
has lost its vested path

these broken roads
no longer
reach epiphany

as apathy
alone
absconds
with wistful dew

i thought
would one day
compose a river

through the valley
whence our love
had rent the earth

that i might sail
those tempestuous waters

in search
of where the willows
wept your name

but all my efforts
toiling at the pulley

have only returned
buckets
of morass

wrested hands
from years
of untold callous

now leave me
to attend
this ghostly shore

where sorrow comes
to lay for death
in prostrate

with arms
of clay stretched thin
succumbed to dust

once sought
to sway the forces
of the cosmos

with hope
to never stray
from its embrace

as mountains
birthed of mirthless
apprehension

would vanish
into the silence
of forever

Petaled Trails

once
i walked
a lone procession

in the blossoming
wake of a cherry
bloom daydream

lost
in thought
as threnodies
cried peals
of Zeus’wrath

helpless
in a gaze
transfixed

counting down
each drowning
footstep

tread upon
tremulant flesh
yet shone anew

as our minds
fell behind
racing hearts

failing
to bridge
the frigid waters

on that day
when i long held
truth

as the subtle sky
absconded
with your song

Promised Hours

why is it
that only upon leaving
do you voice
lament

fleeting amid
sentiments
and sudden
things to do

promised hours
perish
in a flash
of wistful
alley light

scarce
your words
remain
as token trials of hope
since lost

hanging in denial
are faded smiles
and fusty
mothballed coats

in the closet
strung like latent
trysts
listless
and long forgotten

Not Even Death

when everything
is gone
nothing matters

the only place
you still exist
is barely even tangible

but you don’t care
no one cares

not even death

and so it persists

Shores of Implore

plastic melts
like sugared air
and time conforms
to nothing

songs persist
through voices shared
with context
ever shifting

if only
you could walk beside me
on these planes
of swallowed hope

placid seas
would then return us
sadly
this will never be

Stranded On the Precipice

death escaped
my hands

and left me

standing at the altar

the emptiness
received me
like a self-
inflicted wound

in a room
adorned with trinkets of trifle

faintly linking
my alter-ego
to this faux land

of vaulted heart
and vapid mind

where visions turn
away
afraid
to learn

of their inbound
inception

this blunderous aberration
has no station

nor foot
to find it steady

a cistern of depleted days
precedes each ghastly step
in protest

stranded
on the precipice
of a sempiternal impasse

surely they jest
upon questioning
assent to my depression

such pain belies
its own expression

and politesse yet stays
my tongue

Wrought with Misery

silence ever
bleeds eternal

on such
darkened eves

huddled
in the farthest
reach

of hidden
memories

barren conscience
lies below

where
shallow whispers
breathe

brandishing
the burdens
buried ‘neath
a bed of leaves

once
shone verdant
in their glory

now tinged
with decay

tucked
in scattered layers

singed
in tattered
disarray

everything
that mattered

faded
in a distant scene

drifting
into nonexistent

narratives
serene

pages bare
the words
unspoken

waging wars
unseen

wading
in the erstwhile
waters

wrought
with misery