Tag Archive | evil

The Meaning Of Life

Fundamental Purpose

If one has but a ‘why’ one can bear any ‘how.’
As suggested by Nietzsche, life is very hard.
Does this mean I am tested in all that I do?
Certainly! There is darkness I must look into
For the purpose of healing whatever is scarred
By neglect of my visiting outside of now.

In the darkest of places, if I can still find
A faint glimmer of something, I’ll know it’s real light.
Life’s malevolence is ineradicable.
The intent and extent is unfathomable.
I need Sustaining Meaning to keep me alright.
If well-armed with some virtue, then I am aligned.

A life instinct is meaning. I need a reason
To get out of bed even on terrible days.
Nobleness in one’s purpose is not optional.
If one has not, then one is most vulnerable
To the clutches of evil and all of its ways.
Clutching on to some purpose, true life is begun.

I’ll get out and do something. It may turn out wrong,
But at least I’ll have learned then correct my mistakes.
My remaining in stasis leads to getting old
And decrepit from laziness. Purpose is gold.
Life is hopelessly woven in fear and heartbreaks.
Pointed in some direction, I am somewhat strong.

Death Of The Party

Perverse Entertainment

Human drama unfolds as expected these days.
One need not own a TV to sense what is news.
Any person of color can feel the outrage
Of the animal instinct. Upon the world stage
The racist body politic echoes its views
Of righteous indignation and will to abrase.

A sedate subtle simmering has not its peak.
A political time bomb is due to go off
Yet it can’t be determined when it will explode.
I prepare my strange heart for the next episode.
Deep dark damaging hatred is noting to scoff.
Sanity within safety is all that I seek.

My last visit to my bank was just such a test.
The Caucasian bank teller did ask me if I
Added all of the numbers up all on my own
But I chose to ignore her despicable tone
Lest a knee to the neck be my fate if I try
To respond as appropriate. How is this best?

I live not in a nation where I can feel safe
Let alone feel some ownership of my homeland.
Even though proper people now have taken charge
Civil war is a chronic event by and large.
The nature of the hatred I can’t understand.
All I know is I’m feeling much more like a waif.

The Saddest Lines

The Story Unending

I could write some sad lines with this sorry assed life,
And it don’t take too damned much to jerk myself off.
In some ways it’s a blessing perfecting the fool
So that love has a purpose to earn ridicule
From the sensible masses. The dog whistle cough
Is a thickness I cut through with my psychic knife.

In her heart she defeats me, and I know not why
In the midst of eternity now should occur.
 Incremental dissolving of love not cared for
And forever unspoken I cannot ignore.
How I long for the sweetness of things as they were
Is the reason I can’t go for a second try.

Some unknown evil spirit has occupied me.
What has taken my feelings infiltrates the void
Where my heart felt at home once. The unwanted guest
Is the hermit made harlot at one with my nest.
Will I get myself back without being destroyed?
Time I have plenty of. I shall just wait and see.

I can write through the darkness as if it were light.
Make believe is an artform the whore understands.
Illusion may expel her or turn her into
A benevolent entity. These lines are few
And the last to be offered. Survival demands
That I learn, then move on with improvement in sight.

Smoke And Mirrors

The Never Ending Illusion

Need one go to the devil or just sit in place
And observe what is happening on some device?
Satan has made his presence for those who believe
That personified evil will grant no reprieve
From the ongoing nightmare. It doesn’t think twice
All at once of supremacy for the white race.

Not perceived in the darkness and stale, misty haze
Is a stage even blacker. The psychic ink hole
Draws those near it into it. Their certain demise
Comes to everyone else but them not a surprise.
What is feared may be known is the hate in its soul
As expressed through its armies prepared for ‘last days.’

We can see not the drama in true light of day.
Everything made mysterious, all that is shown
Is appended illusion to make the shell game
Just a bit more spectacular – and there’s no shame.
Those who dare rewrite history, let it be known
That you, as the minority, won’t get your way.

Naïve are not the hated who manage their fear
On a day-to-day basis. The madness may come
Unexpectedly swiftly. My life is worth less
Since this demon stole office. I can’t second guess
What the wild have conspired by the beat of his drum.
Will I be any safer when this stage is clear?