Tag Archive | depression

You Don’t Really Need A Job

Happy Teamwork

Do you like working for your money? If you do
Then you’re fortunate. Do you like money flowing
Into your life? Do you need to justify it
Coming to you? Can you find extreme benefit
In just thinking about it? You’re inner knowing
Tells you of all the wellbeing coming to you.

Is your justifying your way of allowing?
Can you feel that with this there’s enough room to play?
Your goal is to allow more and justify less.
Your attracting of wealth is a feeling process.
You could shift your perspective and get into a
Frame of mind that’s more abundantly endowing.

There are those who work really hard at what they do
But they don’t have much money and then there are those
Who don’t work much at all yet they have the money.
Don’t try to figure out how on earth this could be.
Those who have it clearly don’t have thoughts that oppose
What they want. Is this clarity helpful to you?

Do you think that it’s wrong for someone to have a
Lot of money? Do you believe that it’s finite?
Or do you believe that it’s always increasing
And that you can get some of it by releasing
Your resistance? Do you now know what’s wrong from right?
Let this interrogation do all that it may.

Everything Is Downstream

Winding Stream

There’s a strong current moving in one direction.
It’s toward your wellbeing and all you desire.
You can go with the flow or you can go against
It but a whole lot of work needs to dispensed
In so doing and your yielding doesn’t require
Any effort. There’s no need for course correction.

So why do people want to paddle hard upstream?
It’s because our society teaches us that
Working hard is virtuous. We don’t want to be
Perceived as some mixture of foolish and lazy.
All the reasons you do so are worth looking at
Because they’re keeping you from fulfilling your dream.

When you say no to something you include it in
Your vibration which is your point of attraction
Just as when you say yes to something you invite
Subtle energies to bring your dream within sight.
Going downstream always leads to satisfaction.
When you push against something you never will win.

When you feel things like love and appreciation
The stream carries you. Without any resistance
On your part you move swiftly to everything you
Want in life and there’s nothing that you need to do
But relax and let your life be a joyful dance
And you’ll get along much better with everyone.

I Decided To Live

What Now?

At that moment a long time ago when I was
In abject desolation over what I felt
Was a life made unlivable by my own hand
Nothing made any sense. I could not understand
Why I’d come into being. Far below the belt
Was my consciousness and I knew what was the cause.

I’m a loser. That’s such and unkind thing to say
Of oneself or of anyone but it’s so true.
I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. I’ve acted the fool.
In my trying to live life I broke every rule.
I’ve been a rotten bastard to everyone who
I have ever known. How did I turn out this way?

I’ve burnt every bridge I know. Now with urgency
I confess that I’m not the kind of person who
Is deserving of anything but psychic pain.
I don’t blame the fact that I’ve made myself insane
By my defects of character. What can I do
To express my remorse for what I’d come to be?

I believe in past lives. This life I’m living now
Is a fluke. It’s as if I’m not human at all
But an alien sent here to learn a few things
About being a decent person and it brings
On a deep sense of sorrow that I’m yet a small
Reflection of humanity gone wrong somehow.

Yet I know that my chance of survival is slim
As I hold on to this story. I want to live
Out this mess of a life and perhaps finally
Turn out to be the person I wanted to be.
I believe that I still have a whole lot to give.
I don’t want to believe that my future is dim.

To all those whom I’ve harmed know that I’m now aware
Of the damage I’ve done. I can only regret
Having done it. My sorrow is deep and profound.
There’s no way that I’m able to turn things around
At this point. Am I able to repay my debt?
That’s the question I’m left to ponder with much care.

The Art Of Manifestation

Making Fun

Mastering The Art Of Manifestation can
Be as easy as being aware of how you
Feel in each moment. Like The Law of Allowing
You use it to draw unto yourself anything
You could want just as long as you’re not feeling blue.
You begin to receive within a short time span.

We all have within us this truly amazing
Capability to manifest. We do so
By our focused attention on what we want to
Become real. Every dream that we have can come true.
There’s not one thing the heart knows that you do not know.
The simplicity of this truth is worth praising.

You’ll attract into your life what you are – not what
You’ve been wanting. So be the thing that you desire.
It’s your goal to reflect the character of God
This notion isn’t blasphemous nor is it odd.
You have access and full support of the entire
Universe. You must feel that down deep in your gut.

And when you get to that place where you no longer
Have any criticism or condemnation
Of any of God’s children you will realize
The perfection of all things. You will become wise
In the fine art of deliberate creation.
Your attraction force will become a lot stronger.

Everything Is Down Streaam

Dream Stream

There’s a strong current flowing. It’s created by
A whole lifetime of wanting. It’s calling you to
Take you to what you’ve asked for and if you decide
To go down to the river’s edge and take a ride
You will be most delighted by where it takes you.
If you didn’t go for it one would wonder why.

If your turn your boat deliberately upstream
And start paddling profusely someone may ask you,
“Why not turn your boat around and go with the flow?”
But many people do it. They don’t seem to know

Any better yet there are a fortunate few
Where the ride down the river yields pleasure supreme.

We’ve been trained to struggle hard against the current
And it’s noble to do so. It is virtuous
To work oneself to pieces. There’s nothing that you
Want that’s upstream. For all the hard work that you do
Satisfaction is something you cannot discuss
Due to your being in a state of discontent.

Everything that you want is downstream. Just let go
Of the oars and let the current turn you around
In the proper direction to carry you to
Everything that you’re wanting. Your dreams will come true.
Take pleasure in the new sense of freedom you’ve found
All because you’ve decided to go with the flow.

A Perfect Illusion

Faces Of Ages

Whenever you interact with anyone or
Whenever you encounter a circumstance you
Enter an illusion – a learning dynamic.
The curriculum offered is one that you pick
As your soul recommends, and from its point of view
Everything that you do gets a positive score.

The illusion creates for you like a movie
All the experiences and circumstances
That your soul needs in order for it to evolve.
It gives you situations and problems to solve.
You may feel that in life you are taking chances
But your lessons are planned automatically.

It’s alive at each moment as it continues
To instruct, and the content of your illusion
Is created by your intentions and shaped by
Your past karma which may be the sole reason why
To certain things about life you have confusion.
To your soul it matters not what lessons you choose.

All that exists between souls is love. This is true.
The illusion is that you have an enemy
Or that you’re being put upon or you’re depressed.
The illusion gets stronger when you become stressed.
One engages the illusion effectively
In acceptance of what the soul wants one to do.

Life And Death Lessons

Violent America

The entry point of an assault rifle bullet
Is much smaller than the exit wound. That’s because
It creates mass expansion as it passes through
Flesh and bone. The amount of damage it can do
Is to some captivating. If ever there was
A weapon of pure hate, this is the one to get.

A child shot through the chest leaves the corpse of a child
With its entire back missing. When shot through the head,
It’s as if it exploded. This killing machine
People cherish. This nation is vile and obscene
Regarding weapons that can shoot so many dead.
It’s an issue that will never be reconciled.

From the birth of the Wild West through eternity,
Powerful is the intoxicating gun smoke
To the mind. Branch Republicans we have become.
Civil War is a lethal obsession to some
Who support the gun lobbies, as those who are woke
Want to be a nation of some civility.

Those who have learned their lesson are no longer here.
We survivors are students of our behavior.
Those who now learn to drop to the floor and play dead
Will some day be the ones who will end the bloodshed.
It will be something that hasn’t happened before.
Until then, our future is uniquely austere.

Stay In Alignment In Difficult Times

Windows Of Perception

I feel best when I have those moments where things that
Used to mess with me hugely do not anymore.
I can handle things quite well. Not much bothers me.
I believe meditation has helped me to be
More connected to spirit than I’d been before.
I am more discerning about things I look at.

But the question is, regarding the bigger things
That I have no control of, how can I remain
In alignment with spirit? The world and its woes
Are things I shouldn’t look at. They are but shadows
Of a vacant reality, so there’s no gain
In sustaining it. Only the happy heart sings.

It’s a difficult situation when someone
Who I love suddenly dies. The Source within me
Knows there is no death, and I can communicate
With those who are in spirit if I concentrate
On making the connection. I have to be free
Of emotional trauma before it is done.

Situations don’t have to control how I feel,
And I don’t have to blunder my way through the day
Unaware of my feelings. I get out ahead
Of the difficult issue by choosing instead
To selectively sift difficulty away.
In each moment I can find what is most ideal.

I Should Not Have Been Born

Self-Confinement

Can I blame mental illness for how I’ve behaved?
I would like to, but that would mean that I’m now sane.
In my old age, alone now, consumed in remorse,
I’m possessed by a grossly malevolent force.
My whole life was a mission to cause others pain
From this brutal life review I cannot be saved.

It’s injustice to worthiness. I don’t deserve
Satisfaction in living. In purgatory,
I remember my madness and all I have done
To create such calamity for everyone
I can think of. The reason that people hate me
Is because I’m an asshole with colossal nerve.

That’s why I flush the toilet every now and then
By moving to another place, leaving behind
A train wreck of existence to fuck up anew
Somewhere else. I’m amazed by the things that I do
That are downright disgusting. I had been unkind
For no apparent reason again and again.

Can I feel the embarrassment? Have I a soul?
As my lead solar plexus drains my energy,
I don’t want to remember the people I’ve known.
Knowing they have forgotten me, I can disown
That it ever had happened. In hell I should be.
Perhaps unconsciously that’s my ultimate goal.

But I’m here now and have been assigned to this role
For some God unknown reason. I am humbled by
My existence. I’m sorry for all that I’ve done
To hurt others. To hope that healing has begun
Is, I hope, not too arrogant. The day I die
Will be one of rejoicing for this troubled soul.

Turkey In The Straw

I Scream Bigotry

There’s a song that keeps ringing in my ears these days.
As it plays innocently, my fond memories
Are of laughter. The years of my youth were carefree.
Unaware of how the tune has affected me
After decades, I now have a mental disease
That I welcome. It’s one that is worthy of praise.

The eeriest of earworms eats out at the mind.
Unobstructed by commonsense, it has control,
For the moment, of my worthiness to exist
In true freedom. I have the power to resist
The temptation to shuffle and play the dark soul.
The song has power over the one who is blind.

Ice cream is milk and honey. This land that I know
Is uncivil. The white hoods have now been removed.
Thankfulness for the story that is created
Is a challenge if its origin is hated
By the ones who only want conditions improved
For the whole. It would seem there’s a long way to go.

Grateful I am for who I am. Where I belong
Is where I am. The contrafacta may evolve
To the loudest dog whistle made for the turkey
In the straw of the barnyard of humanity.
Sins of ego I am most obliged to absolve.
Thankfulness is believing that nothing is wrong.

Cracking The Money Code

The Important Piece Of The Money Puzzle

How do you feel about money? Do you like it
Flowing into your life? Does it make you feel good?
Have you the feeling of deservability?
Do you justify having it? Could it well be
A form of your allowing it? What if you could
Be exceedingly wealthy? Would this you permit?

There’s much room to play with here. In other words, you
Can adjust your perspective and get into a
More allowing place where less justification
Is needed. You can get a whole lot more work done
Through alignment than by working hard every day.
People who work less have more. How can this be true?

Those who don’t seem to work hard at all and are rich
Have figured it all out. It’s about alignment.
They have tweaked their vibration to where they receive
With the least bit of effort. Let’s not be naïve
To the leverage there is in being content.
Those who work their butts off say that life is a bitch.

So, it’s not about action so much. That’s unless
You act while in alignment vibrationally.
Energy, attitude, vibration, and feeling
Are the elements that can bring you everything.
There does not exist one finite pile of money.
It expands exponentially by happiness.

Recession and depression, and thoughts of worry
Flood the minds of the many. Reality then
Is made up of our focus and our attitude.
Just as thoughts of good bounty elevate our mood,
A big shift in reality will take place when
We allow it to happen spiritually.

Pain

Concentrated Misery

Pain is the braking of the shell that encloses
My understanding. Just as the stone of the fruit
Must break open so that its heart stands in the sun,
I must know pain. Can this be true for everyone?
How can the depth of my sorrow feel so acute?
Agony is the truth that my heart exposes.

Yet, if I knew not my pain, could I know wonder
In my life of the daily miracles that bring
Me much joy? And would I accept the seasons of
My heart, even as I’ve accepted those I love?
Through the winters of my grief, my awakening
With serenity shall not be cast asunder.

Much of my pain is self-chosen. The physician
Within me prepares a bitter potion to heal
My sickness. I drink this remedy in silence
And tranquility. The healer’s grip is immense,
But it’s guided by what the unseen can’t reveal
To the healer or my self-imposed condition.

The hand is hard and heavy. The cup that is brought
To my lips, though it burns, has been fashioned of the
Clay which the Potter has moistened with sacred tears.
Can there soon be an ending to what now appears
To be hopeless? It depends a lot upon me.
I accept the lesson that my living has taught.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines

Heartbroken

The night is immense but of a different kind
Of expansion that makes of my soul a vacuum.
Once the night was of splendor. It can be no more.
I could write about the way my life was before,
But tonight I’m content in expressing my gloom.
If I’m paralyzed fully, no peace shall I find.

The night is starry and the stars are blue, and they
Shiver in the distance. The detergent night wind
Revolves in the sky singing. I did love her so
And sometimes she loved me too. I suffer the woe
Of not knowing in what manner that I have sinned.
Loneliness is the bitter price she’d have me pay.

Through the nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her profusely under the endless sky.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes? To think
That I do not have her pushes me past the brink
Of feeling that I’ve lost her. Need I wonder why
I no longer partake of her feminine charms?

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Love is so short. Forgetting is fretfully long.
Another’s she will be as she was before my
Adoration. My senses continue to try
To perceive her. I hear in the distance a song,
But I can’t make the music make things as they were.

The Genius Of The Crowd

The All Knowing Public

Treachery, hatred, violence, absurdity…
There’s enough of it in the average person
To supply any given army any day.
Those who excel at murder preach, and what they say
Is that killing is offensive yet they have none
Of the virtue they speak of. All eyes plainly see.

Those who hate with a passion and do it quite well
Are those who get to teach love. Is this ironic?
And those who are the best at war finally preach
Of the peace that is needed. Their eloquent speech
Often manipulates the body politic.
Negativity sadly is not a hard sell.

Those who preach love have no love, and those who preach peace
Don’t have peace. Those who speak of God incessantly
Do need God. Beware the knowers and the preachers.
Those who read books are also dangerous creatures.
People who detest or are proud of poverty
Are a drain on the life force. Connection must cease.

Beware the average human being today.
There’s enough genius in their hatred of others
To kill you, me, or anyone. No solitude
Do they want nor can understand. This can be viewed
As a tragic existence if one so prefers.
It’s an understatement that life’s not a ballet.

So Now…

Final Recollections

Do I care about people? Do I have a heart?
Life has thrown me into a conundrum of doubt.
I write words to express, but they’ve all come and gone.
I have only my memories to reflect on.
All my life I’d been hoping to figure things out.
Now I know that I’ve been insane right from the start.

The phone vibrates. I tremble. I can’t get used to
Random contact by randomness of entities
That see me as a prospect for making a sale.
I respond but by now I’m as slow as a snail.
I arrive quite unsatisfied and on my knees
To repent for the things I continue to do.

There’s a leak in the toilet. It’s a reminder
Of my slow steady wasting of infinite grace.
Things could have been a lot different if I had
Been with my own a righteous family comrade.
All the sins I have committed now I must face.
I’m surprised that a random soul would call me ‘sir.’

Once the life force within me was ever so bright.
Unbelievably sturdy and fast on my feet,
I had time to waste… and I did, to my regret.
Is it true that I have not a single asset
Spiritual in nature or even concrete?
Can I find anything in this world I’ve done right?

Finding Lost Feeling

The Heart Of Depression

Things are not the way I want. It’s getting me down,
And I’m not in a position where I can see
How to get what I want. What on earth should I do?
I keep repeating this until my mind turns blue,
But I need to do something or I’ll never be
In fulfillment. Yet I can’t help wearing a frown.

I have this thing all backwards according to those
Of a better vibration than I can produce
Here and now in my agony. It makes no sense
That when I feel like this nothing good will commence.
In fact all is against me if I don’t make use
Of content with my journey. My higher self knows.

The journey is the destination. I can know
That I can find fulfillment each part of the way
To the way that I’m after. I’ll do everything
In my power to entertain thoughts that will bring
Feelings of satisfaction and not of dismay.
Focusing on what’s missing is not how to go.

What I want is unfolding, and I’m satisfied.
I am in the receiving mode and ready for
The next piece of the puzzle, and then the next one.
They won’t come if I’m troubled. I can’t be undone
By the present which isn’t so tragic a bore.
What I wish with a pure heart cannot be denied.

Anxiety And Depression

Personal Hell

The Dead End I have reached. There is nowhere to go
That is not without torment. “Struggle is okay,”
Would say friends if I had them. “We all can relate
To the bitter taste life has. When in a lost state
Know that you’re not alone although it seems that way.”

Could there be a ‘friend’ inside me who I don’t know?

What I feel is reality, and it is now.
Contemplating ending it all, I find relief
In the knowing that doing so may curse my soul.
What if it is already too much less than whole?
My own negative thinking I know is the thief
Of my spirit. I’d feel better if I knew how…

So we all go through hard times, and I would do best
To be patient with myself. I deserve a break.
Some rest and relaxation and good exercise
When I’m feeling much better is proper and wise.
I must move this damned body while I am awake
Whatever that may look like and rightly expressed.

I must force myself off the couch and on a walk.
I can create something from the pain that I feel.
Things that make me wonderful, blessed, and unique
And the things I appreciate counter the bleak.
I become all the better throughout the ordeal.
Therapy for the psyche is positive shock.

One Of Us

The Penalty Of Belonging

“What’s Your Social?”, it’s asked, and there is a response.
Everyone knows the drill and will play by the rules.
‘Your Social’ is unique enough to cast a spell
On the physical consciousness. It does this well
It’s expected that all behave like molecules
That are totally driven by their needs and wants.

It’s a personal question, so one must take care
Not to disclose the puzzle piece of the heartbeat
To unauthorized persons. No one wonders why
Nor is there any problem. By law all comply.
Can one mess with a system that cannot be beat?
Anyone thinking they can had better beware.

One Of Us or of any is meant to be one
Of all ones to be thought of… meaning everything
From the one who is singular to all there are.
One need not know their oneness by looking too far
Into rational thought and literal meaning.
The conceptual mantra can get a lot done.

It’s no mark of acceptance – just of inclusion
Within orders created by one’s circumstance.
To be known as One Of Us feels like I belong
To something that has meaning. All that I’ve done wrong
Tells me strongly that I will get no second chance
To behave in a better way with everyone.

Hope?

The Fuel Of Continuance

Almost all of my life I’ve been mentally ill.
This profound revelation comes at a late stage.
I have made poor decisions that caused harm and grief.
In a fit of psychosis beyond my belief,
I have severed my roots. I am left to engage
In extreme self-analysis. It is no thrill.

I’m face down in my own crap, and my, what a mess.
It would take me a lifetime to straighten things out.
But I’ve already screwed up this life as it be.
Can I find a solution somewhere inside me?
Quickly I was approaching the terminal doubt…
That I should not have been born. I feel less than less.

What I wanted my whole life I already had…
Loving parents, a fine home, and family life.
I flushed that down the toilet. Now, having done so,
I am haunted by thoughts of where my soul might go,
But at least I’d not be here to cause people strife.
I recall only times when I’ve made people sad.

My big plan is to clean up the big mess I’ve made.
With the help of my God I can get this thing done.
I shall pay off my huge debts and own property
Through the special talents God bestowed upon me.
All that I ever wanted was to be someone
Who is loving, and I am still on that crusade.

The Machine

Interdependent Fragility

Critical is the nature of all that is real.
Life maintained is a symphony of submission
To process… it’s profundity, having known hell.
Painfully, my own story is pleasant to tell.
The revealed Magic Realist and I are one.
Intertwined human troubles I rightly must feel.

Easily I am grateful now that the world view
I allow to possess me with its circuitry.
Already with my deep guilt that I cannot hide,
Ignorance of reality, never implied,
Yet the interdependence is made part of me.
I digest the late wake up call. Can it get through?

Never mind a life crisis to forecast the end
Of a thing become tangled in self-awareness.
Knowing now its fragility, I taste respect.
The finite probability has the effect
Of defining the issues I need to address.
This complex human puzzle I must comprehend.

Surrender this old body to forces divine.
The coming machine cycle is due to occur.
The grand clock of existence is mine to express
Through the real me evolving. I can’t go for less
Than the grace necessary to be as it were
In eternal alignment with all that is mine.

The Superior Race?

Problematic Supremacy

Don’t believe what your eyes see. This man is supreme
Just because of his white skin and powerful genes.
As he looks right straight past you with only one eye
One can know he means business. He’s willing to try
To take over the country by violent means
Because he bears the right to go to the extreme.

Just what oath are you keeping, you ignorant fool?
…The one that says stupidity shall ever reign?
Then you’re making good progress but only for you.
You can shoot your damned eye out. What else can you do?
As a gun safety instructor you draw disdain.
May your oath keeping cohorts sign up for your school.

Those who preach white supremacy can you explain
How that concept can settle in your vacant minds
And then grow into hatred beyond all belief?
Why is there no other race causing so much grief?
Take a look at your own race with trash of all kinds.
If you idolize this jerk you’re truly insane.

I was given the lowdown some decades ago
From a jerk with a hair of hatred up his ass.
He warned me there’d be bloodshed. The coming race war
Is a threat that is possible if we ignore
The raw truth of the matter. This bitter impasse
Leaves us ever divided and steeped in our woe.

Feminine Drought

The Malignant Masculine

To be one with the contrast that is part of me…
Is it my sin to think that we all can be one?
Christ knew nothing of hatred. He knew only love.
Why do modern day Christians have every kind of
Nasty defect of character under the sun?
How are those of true faith so not able to see?

It’s all been documented throughout history
How the hatred of women and Christian values
Have been forced into marriage. The resultant child
Is a sick ideology where the reviled
Are half the congregation of whom they accuse
Of bringing sin to mankind originally.

The far right are the hypocrites. Like the Nazis
Who believed in male dominance, republicans
Have become the new billboard to promulgate hate.
Religion is a power tool used to berate
Anything that is not male or white, and their plans
Are to subjugate nonwhites and women with ease.

It is the patriarchal biblical word view
That has become the enemy of humankind.
We know Eve was created as an afterthought.
Think of that implication! The mindset is fraught
With existential illogic. Fear the sick mind
That may be of your neighbor who just may hate you.

Do not covet your neighbor’s wife, ox, or donkey,
Or anything of value that some man may own.
Women should not have authority over man.

This bullshit from the bible is where it began.
This is why we’re psychotic and violence prone.
Our survival as one race may not come to be.

The Eighth Deadly Sin

The Rampage of Self-Loathing

If I could deal with my sins, I’d not need to write.
Should I count them a blessing for creative work?
And is my darkest nature subject to concern
Of a soul who would read me? My will is to learn
What it is that upsets me. I’ve gone full berserk
Throughout most of my living. It’s been a huge fight.

There are now seven deadly ones. Once there were eight.
Back in times medieval the big change was made
Perhaps due to aesthetics, Seven is more pure
And more easily remembered. One can be sure
That the eighth must have gotten people so afraid
That they dropped it completely to safeguard their fate.

All of them wrapped into one is what I’ve become
Now that I as an old man review my sick life.
In my weakness I’m not the risk I was before.
It’s a blessing that I can’t abuse anymore.
It’s no wonder I experience so much strife.
I’m a step below the level of lowlife scum.

To Despond is the eighth sin. It’s now a disease
That is treated with counseling – not the preacher.
An outlook that is hopeless and marked by despair,
Chronic gloom, and depression is the lack of care
I have given to goodness. I am a creature
Who, in life’s recollection, is brought to its knees.

Uncivil Mitosis

Painful Growth

Red and Blue come together to form a union
And escape from the tyranny of monarchy.
One nation undivided with territories
With their own constitutions and racial disease
Has remained but a battlefield. Lord have mercy
On this land most bedeviled by contradiction.

I would not have thought things could turn out quite this way.
The illusion of brotherly love was intense.
Psychedelic were those days of Reverend King.
Now, the dream of America is not a thing
That resembles inclusiveness. Does it make sense
That a part of society serves as its prey?

Liberals and conservatives, blue folk and red…
The confederate and union troops on the field
Also make up the government and places high.
Blatancy is becoming. Here’s the reason why.
It is only through battle that we become healed
So that we can remember and honor our dead.

As it has been it will be. No change can occur
But the ongoing process of cell division
And the up and down cycles of racial hatred
Is something that I’ll ponder perhaps ‘til I’m dead.
I alone have the right to make the decision
That allows for my freedom as I would prefer.

Pro-Life?

The Viral Hypocracy

Secession from the Union is sadly the role
Of the people in leadership in certain states.
Racism is an ice cold determination.
Ruthlessly the psychosis will never be done.
It matters not the path nor danger that awaits.
Every kind of rebellion is locked in the soul.

Which states will lead the nation in counting their dead?
With extreme desperation it is a contest
To placate the defiant ignorant to know
But to curse everything about the status quo.
The contempt for authority that is expressed
Is sufficient to keep all from moving ahead.

Mostly victims are children in these sick places
Where the spread of the virus increases by day.
Hospitalized children is specific red states
Are the highest reported. The leader who hates
Is in fact the worse killer. If he has his way
The bug will only kill those of certain races.

Gut wrenching are the stories that pour out of hell.
One must deal with intolerance to common sense
And attraction to living instead of disease.
What happens when the nation is brought to its knees?
Would the scourge of hypocrisy be as immense?
It takes more than a vaccine to make people well.

Nigger Season

The Benefits Of Civil War

If I walk outside my house I may be shot dead
By some teen with a license which is his white skin.
It may be for no other reason than I’m black,
And a crime such as that is well worth an attack.
What can I do about my original sin?
Following this dark sequence is done with much dread.

But I have to go through it. I have not the choice
But to work out this puzzle witch fucks with the mind.
It’s not that I’m heartbroken. I’m now wide awake
To the hate that is due me. No hand may I shake
That is not mine in color. In this can I find
Some perverted assed reason for me to rejoice?

No I can’t. So, it’s best that I piss and move on.
Survival is a given until it is not.
I remain just as helpless as decades ago.
Civil rights was a pipe dream, and as the weeds grow
Hatred lingers and forces itself by gunshot.
‘Seems we’ll never live up to the manicured lawn.

The procession of seasons that nature provides
Is severely augmented by issues of race.
Responding to the gut punch, I find some relief.
And my role in the picture is that much more brief.
My death may be related to some lame court case.
That’s where I am. I now leave it up to my guides.

A Reason To Live

The Struggle To Not Die

Four A.M. and I’m lonely. Not much else is new.
Rain is forecasted, and it will last through the day.
To me, that is refreshing, for parched is my soul.
One more small separation would be nature’s goal
To protect each from others. I feel in the way
And too old to recover from my feeling blue.

There’s so much I could die about. Life given me
I have wasted on foolishness and causing harm.
My own filth is my dwelling. I’ve no energy
To move waste from this body… at least completely.
My estrangement from family should cause alarm.
People I know must look upon me with pity.

I’m said to be emotionally immature.
I digest all my labels as well as my food
Which gets stuck on the highway with each twist and turn.
A perpetual pluming disease I discern.
Medicine cannot help me. It comes as a rude
Slap to my face. I have but the choice to endure.

A bullet in slow motion is headed toward me.
Should I step out of danger if I think I can?
Reflexes must take over if they function well.
Is this life that I’m living one absolute hell?
I’m still here for some reason. I’ll stick with the plan
That I must have blind faith in. That’s how it must be.

Missing Inaction

The Norm Of Inequality

When a white girl is missing, all are up in arms.
There are many resources expended to find
Every clue to her whereabouts. Amber alerts
Are broadcasted profusely, and the thing that hurts
Is that black and brown females are left far behind
In the blessing of God’s grace. Everyone it harms.

Every standard young white couple out on the trail
Is a thing of great value and such a fresh sight
Until something turns ugly. The man is believed,
And the woman’s whole take on things is misperceived.
If this couple were black, would the system be right?
One or both of them surely would end up in jail.

There’s no knee-to-the-neck justice for the white man.
He may bullshit his way into running scot free.
A fake twenty dollar bill is just not the same
As a white woman’s murder. Yet he bears no blame
Until things are so obvious for all to see.
Institutional racism is a dark plan.

 To ask if there’s a problem with anything here
That is written or written of is but to jest.
My whole purpose in writing is to explore truth.
As we look to the future, it is in our youth
That the cycle be broken – not just not expressed.
We as humans can avoid a future austere.

A Call To Deep Rest

Requirement For Detachment

I must use the word ‘I’ but I does not exist.
And it baffles the rational mind easily
To consider who I is at any moment.
Characters we must play; the body may resent.
If we just keep on acting and show no pity
We may need to befriend a good psychiatrist.

I am not the performer. The roles that I play
Represent parts of myself who act out of fear.
I am not the damned poet that I’d love to be
Nor am I my well crafted personality.
What I am truly is something sacred and dear.
I am that which is programmed to stand in its way.

Sadness happens to everyone once in a while
And is brief in duration, whatever the cause.
Depression is a different animal, though.
It’s my body informing me that it wants no
More to do with my avatar. So it withdraws
Into a state of disease to where I can’t smile.

When the body says, “Screw you,” and it is ignored,
Then in retaliation it will be depressed.
Depressed means that a Deep Rest is clearly called for.
I must answer that calling. My act is a chore
That I use for survival. Yet there’s no conquest
That is of more significance than self explored.

Aster * Risk

A Perceivably Precarious Pickle

Everyone that I’ve ever know will hate my guts.
It’s a given. I don’t have to figure that out.
In the brief time that I may have left, I’m assured
That I will be the enemy. Those who’ve endured
My abuse will be thankful and gleefully shout
When I’m gone because I’m prone to driving folks nuts.

You do that to me also though. This quid pro squat
Leaves someone more shorthanded. This Risk with a face
Tries to mingle among the real thing and behave
In the ways of true stardom. No love can it crave.
Once The Risk is discovered, a quiet disgrace
Permeates like a wet fart that offends a lot.

In some ways I am like you colorful breeders,
But something fundamental is missing in me.
Clueless, I’ve sought a lifetime the answer to that.
Yet you normal ones know me, and this tit for tat
With the mind and emotions I play piss poorly.
In the game of relating, I’ve few cheerleaders.

So I’ll just keep on hiding amid you aster
Trying hard not to dis you inadvertently.
You and I spell disaster and should never meet.
I’m an old pissed off bastard who cannot be sweet
Anymore. It is bullshit as far as I see.
My true self is the one thing that I must master.

Pony Ride

Dark Cycle

Things are dead at the clubhouse, or maybe it’s me….
In my desperation a big gamble I took.
Now that I’ve made the foolish decision, I’m stuck.
I’ve grown closer to some. To others, I’m a schmuck
With a streak of incompetence. I’m not a crook,
But I need to be watched now, and rather closely.

Any time of the month is condensed down to one
Interrogative moment as I sit alone
With my phones disconnected. I want no contact
With the world of the living. It’s lethal impact
Feels strangely like rejection by people unknown.
I can know not the scope of the damage I’ve done.

Physical are the symptoms. The tight cramping pain –
Intercellular pillows releasing life force
In the deepest parts of me – is what I endure.
Institutions remind me that I am impure.
My net worth, nonexistent, is now void of course
In a network of gossip and righteous disdain.

There’s a knot in my gut as I straddle this rope
That my feet have slipped off of. It’s jagged movement
Makes my gait somewhat fated to going around
And around as I rummage through my dark background.
I can choose to give honor to this day’s torment
Or to see things another way, guided by hope.

On The Brink Of Becoming

Unavoidable Excitement

Life gets pretty exciting as tightness gives way
To a lack of resistance. By one single thread
Does my wealth withered ego hang on to some thing
That will open the floodgates and easily bring
Tons of wealth headed for me. I’m sorely misled
By what life has to offer that I must obey.

Take your internet job search and stick it up where
Daylight never does enter. I’m not a damned slave.
I delight in my attitude being piss poor.
Suppose I interview you, you ignorant whore?
You are one third my age, and the way you behave
Is as if I’m some dipshit in need of a prayer.

“Get your sorry ass solvent, and pay your damned bills!”
Yes, I do get the message, but kindly fuck off.

Desperation is dangerous for all involved.
And the more I am fucked with, the less gets resolved.
I don’t feel like a creature that feeds from a trough.
I’ll avoid people judging me because it kills.

So, my phone remains unplugged. I’ll have no contact
With the world of disaster that I’ve created.
Well cocooned in my workspace, my value must grow.
I have asked for the universe, and I can know
What the world cannot tell me. I’ll rely instead
On belief in Becoming one who can attract.

A Spoonful Of Contrition

A Most Selfish Act

I must know that I’m worthy although I’ve done wrong.
For my soul, I seek justice, but I must live on
So that I suffer vividly in solitude.
All who own me know they have the right to intrude
Upon my conscience all through the night until dawn.
My regret become karmic is where I belong.

All must seek retribution for what I have done.
As my life caves in on me, all that I should know
Is that some small redemption exists for this soul.
I don’t ask that the balance of my life be whole
But allow me the substance to pay what I owe
Otherwise, my existence is much worse than none.

But I can’t get there from here. I know for a fact
That I must have the feeling before conditions
Start to manifest for me. My sorrow blocks it.
How do I balance karma if I’m poorly fit
To function as a human among sacred ones
Who provide my life lessons with relative tact?

Universe, please connect me to all I deserve.
I have no fear in asking; just guide me somehow.
With my head hung in sorrow, intense is my shame.
I hate that I have no one but myself to blame.
Can the Law Of Attraction still let me allow?
Or am I just a screwed one with colossal nerve?

Though I can be facetious in this agony
The damned knot in the stomach is losing its voice.
If it’s silenced completely, is my life ended?
Or will I find relief from existential dread?
Seeing myself as worthy is my only choice.
I cannot turn by back on deciding to be.

The State Of Allowing

The Awareness Of Bliss

In that state of wellbeing I most want to be…
Where I find some relief from the problems I face.
“Lack Of Money” – the sign I flash unconsciously
Keeps the good life from coming. This hurt part of me
Is the subject of complete financial disgrace.
What I want is to be more financially free.

So, this drum I’ve been beating is quite negative.
It puts me in a cold sweat. I can’t keep my head
In the sand for much longer. Things only get worse.
As my thoughts become dangerous, I feel the curse
Put upon me by myself. Each moment I dread.
It affects my digestion. It’s no way to live.

My vibration is fucked up. I can’t deny that
Nor refrain from profanity. All that I feel
Has a purpose that spirit has asked me to share.
Those who know they’re not worthy must know that I care
For those suffering as I do. This Shit Is Real!
How do I engage myself in mortal combat?

Well the answer is simple. I can take a break
From my hell through a virtual reality.
Fantasy therapeutic and most creative
Will allow universal forces to then give
All that I have been asking. I just have to be
In The State Of Allowing. Too much is at stake.

Rain Is Right For A Monday

The Periodic Psychic Cleansing

I appreciate rainfall as much as sunshine.
If to me there’s a difference between the two
Then there’s something wrong with me, but not on this day.
It is time for the business of slipping away
To a deep introspection. Whatever I do
Will be worthwhile in spirit. This day will be fine.

Rain is such a fine cleansing of heart and of mind.
Nature puts things in order. Her ways outweigh those
Of the whole of humanity. Therein I learn
To succumb to the rhythmic patterns I discern
In the simplistic trickling as surely it slows
The functions of societies of humankind.

For those souls in the rat race, Monday is the start
Of a week of performing the best that one can.
Companies are the backbones of economies.
We The People are droplets they need to appease.
All together we flow. Every woman and man
Is the priming the pump needs. We each play a part.

Let the rain be the cover that I need today.
Gravity is its calling. The times are severe.
I’ll learn how to discover this world and my place
In its intricate workings, and may it erase
The effects of exhaustion because of my fear.
May my life that is dirtied be cleansed in this way.

The World Not My Own

Among Alien Life Form

Why don’t I stop my whining. Things are not that bad
Given I’m in my own world where no one belongs
Nor would want to spend time here. I feel the same way
About having to deal with people every day.
I am grateful that I can keep track of my wrongs
And how lousy I turned out to be as a dad.

To be sociophobic is not a disease
But a means of survival for those who do harm
To others through the mind that is severely ill.
Do I harm others because it gives me a thrill?
Might as well it may, because I sound the alarm
Of intent of the not well as everyone sees.

I’m afraid of humanity – mine most of all.
I am part of a species yet so alien
Am I to all its mores and odd behaviors.
Intellect is not instinct. It only ensures
That the pain will be something I’ll suffer again
And again for atonement for playing it small.

As the race battles rage on across the frontier
Families are the structures that will become more
In touch with their realities. Self and other
Is the realm of existence where life must occur.
Might we get through this well having done it before?
Alien, I am part of a species austere.

Lose Yourself

The 'Self' Does Not Exist

Lose Yourself In This Love… You will find everything.
In This Love, when you lose yourself, all will be well.
Lose Yourself in the moment. Do Not fear the loss.
You will rise from the earth and meet up with The Boss
While embracing the heavens. In bliss you will dwell
With others who are like you, and may angels sing!

Lose Yourself and escape from this frail earthly form.
This body is a chain, and I, its prisoner.
 I must smash through the prison wall and walk outside
With the kings and the princes. No dream is denied.
Never mind what others back on earth would prefer.
Grieving over the loss of folks is quite the norm.

Find escape from the black cloud that does surround you
Then you’ll see your own light as bright as the full moon.
Enter now into that silence. The surest way
Is to Lose Yourself each moment of every day.
What is your life about anyway but a strewn
All about mess of memories that you accrue?

My own life is a struggle. For myself I speak –
Not for anyone else here. It isn’t my place.
I have been someone naughty and too often mean.
My own silence I run from. I cannot be seen
In the light of most others. Am I a disgrace?
One’s own self loss is personal and quite unique.

The Hereafter Is Here

There Is No Need To Search

The Hereafter Is Here. If I live it in fear
Then my life is of horror and has no meaning.
That it does in the first place is misconception.
All partake of this silly game. Sometimes it’s fun
Treating death like a breath of fresh air in the spring
When it is much more sacred than it does appear.

Don’t go looking for death in the graveyards at night.
Consciousness doesn’t hang out among dirt and stone
Yet it may on the cheap screen for entertainment.
Death occurs all around us. The fatal event
Can happen in an instant, and it can’t be known
How and when it will happen, which seems only right.

Everything that has meaning in form physical
Is the dust of the flat earth and will remain so.
Any means of survival requires energy
Otherwise it will definitely cease to be.
When mine runs out completely, then it’s time to go.
The dark tunnel of light is the next birth canal.

If I’m gone but a brief while before my return
To this earth man made wretched, then there is the chance
That I’ll start with a clean slate to try this again,
If this is my last life on earth, I await when
I’ll hang out with the angels, and we shall all dance
Happily ever after and without concern.

Cave In

Inner Escape From Outer Turmoil

There cannot be a pain worse than surmounting debt.
As the tonnage increases it takes up more space
In the places my guts were before their seizure.
Should I act out in panic, more harm I’d endure.
By my credit score I am consumed in disgrace.
Every phone call or message I’ll take as a threat.

No wonder I’m so weary and pissed of a lot.
Energy that I would have for creating things
Is diverted to struggle finding strategies
To reverse severe bleeding through tense arteries.
Embarrassed that I cling on to life’s apron strings,
A fine candidate for employment I am not.

Life is caving in on me. There is no escape
Short of something most tragic or a miracle
Like a change in perception so that I will hear
The exact steps I must take to mitigate fear
And the guidance to exit my fecal canal.
I’m a far cry from being in much better shape.

If I don’t find a hustle or some employment
In the next few days, things will get way out of hand.
And I don’t have an answer, nor am I afraid.
I must pay for the foolish decisions I’ve made.
May it cost me my life. That would be more than grand.
In survival, my task is to learn to repent.

Life Or Death

Choice Or Sentance

It’s a matter of being – or not being here.
In one tenth of an instant all life could be gone.
Then what happens thereafter? Don’t go there so fast.
Though the grips of electrons at best only last
But a non-fatal flailing… do curse the new dawn.
Obstacles are withstanding. I can’t disappear.

Fascination I’m left with – it’s all that remains –
For the movement of particles… or anything
Well accustomed to light speed. I live for the spark
That gives honor to contrast between light and dark.
Only when it gets awful, destructive thinking
Leaves me languidly livid – the worst of all pains.

Living just for this moment, relief I do find.
Distraction from rejection is re-translation
Of the latter to loveliness, but at a cost
To the hurtful part of me who is rather lost
In this world become nasty beyond all reason.
Can creatures like electrons be known to be kind?

 If ever the thereafter consumes my yearning
For the pain to be over, the present is one
That cannot be mistaken for past rotten deeds
Perpetrated in darkness for my selfish needs.
That I get to remain here, true justice is done.
On no thin thread of mercy I’m willing to cling.

Exit Methodologies

The Brightest Way

A black man wouldn’t hang himself. That would be like
Jewish ones suicidal wanting to be gassed.
Some will hack at their wrists. Others go by the gun.
When it comes right down to it, to get the job done
So that one doesn’t fuck up, it has to be fast…
Like electrons – not slow as in taking a hike.

My perception of self and all that I perceive…
Indeed everything I know or thought that I did
Dissipates into nothingness. I know but pain.
Logic dictates remaining would be inhumane
To the rest of hell’s residents. Heaven forbid
That I go while unnoticed as I alone grieve.

Some use cigarette burn marks to fuck with their skin.
I mean that in a kind way. I would do the same.
But I’ve fucked with this website for too many years.
It’s not quite as effective. I’ve shed enough tears
Speaking out but not one God Damned person I claim
As a point of connection, much to my chagrin.

A poet I’ll still call myself even as I
In one last burst defiant to stark nothingness
That this world thing and all I know is and always
Has been and will be. How dare that I covet praise!
I’m a drop in a strange bucket and nothing less
Than a weary old nigger just wanting to die.

On Beating The Blues

Endless Cycles Of Gloom

An old man on a job search is death wish engaged
At full throttle straight into the darkness of hell.
Able bodied I am with an excellent mind
But this world doesn’t see that. In essence, it’s blind
To what I have to offer. I’m just a hard sell
To the age of the phone app. Indeed I’m outraged.

But who gives a bat’s dropping among hell’s elite?
Having spent the last few weeks as a prostitute
On the road and in offices for interviews
That upset and degrade me, I’ll not self-abuse
As I sense that’s the intent because they can’t shoot
Me for sport or for pleasure. Still I’m in defeat.

Sent way out to the boondocks through Amazon Flex
With a carload of packages on gravel roads
With no God Damned thing guiding me but a phone app
Then the fucking phone dies. The whole day’s turned to crap
I bent over and puckered for copious loads
Of the dark seed of Satan in virtual sex.

I’d take this as a joke played on me with a smile
And forget like a bad dream what’s happened to me
If I were a lot younger – not old and depressed.
Vows I’ve made to my doctors were not made in jest
But when push comes to shove one would have to agree
That to ask for a breastfeeding isn’t my style.

I cannot be employed, yet Magic I create.
I have many fine talents and education
That I’m still paying off after decades by now.
This life hates my damned guts. This fact I can allow
To solidify suicidal decision.
But for now, I’ve decided to nourish my hate.

When I Have Fear

The Illusion Transcendent

I have fear unbecoming a creature of God
That I still may have many years left to endure
Bloody hell on this wretched earth. My humanness
Is a curse – not a blessing. I know not success
To be worth my pursuing it. Quite insecure
Is the thin thread I dangle from. This life is flawed.

When I fear that my thinking will go on this way
To the point of considering ways to check out…
And when some reassurance that I here belong
Having made life a failure by being so wrong
In relating to rightness does not come about
It’s doubtful I’ll be here by the end of the day.

When my guts choke what feeds them perpetually
And their out of phase rhythm defies natures role…
When complaining to doctors leads to the dead end –
Absolute like a brick wall, deeper I descend
To that dark, choking space. I’m not one to console.
If God would deem it worthy, I would cease to be.

Thought becomes intervention. The things that I’ve tried
And failed at most horrendously are stepping stones.
“You just need to hang in there…” That’s so God Damned trite,
But this prison has strange rules that I cannot fight.
These insults are acceptable to my weak bones.
With my life’s final chapter I am satisfied.

The Real Me

At The Brink Of Awakening

The performance of someone who seems to be me
Is audaciously tricky that it would attempt
To tempt me with the promise of full possession
Of what I have already, yet it has but none
Of the pure essence of me. The ego unkempt
On a world of stage acting has such need to be.

Its craving for acceptance renders it unseen.
If it lets down its armor this may not be true.
Ancient is the fine art that the ego knows well.
Its sole purpose for existing is to compel
Itself and perceived others to perform on cue.
If they don’t then the actor can be rather mean.

What it manifests matters but not a whole lot.
It may take reaching great heights to then realize
That it finds no contentment. So does it matter
That all hopes, dreams, and wishes surely must occur?
Both viewers and projectors are what are the eyes
Running a second story with another plot.

The Great Powerful Wizard Of Oz needs a rest,
As its body and mind grow weary of the act
That it thinks it must maintain to make a big name
Of itself on some world stage. It is not the same
As the one who is nameless. Staying in contact
With that one ensures me that my acting is blessed.

The Reason For Madness

The Origin of All Mental Illness

Many go to psychologists thinking they’re ill.
Doctors know they aren’t crazy. They’re simply confused.
People’s lives become so complex that they’d prefer
Being dead to escape the pain that they suffer.
Life gets too complicated, then folks are accused
Of some mental imbalance and loss of free will.

Because it causes suffering if not controlled,
Inundation of detail we want to avoid
At all cost, as it, on its own, grows and mutates.
Normal people end up with too much on their plates.
The Complexity Problem indeed has destroyed
Many otherwise happy lives… And it gets old.

When a few known catastrophes are added to –
Like the loss of a loved one, your home, and your job –
You may find it unbearable to carry on
‘Til the next damned moment, let alone the new dawn.
Grown adults become children. We break down and sob
Out of sheer desperation while feeling like poo.

So, just like the balloon blown up too much will burst
At the point where it’s weakest, we are quite the same.
The cure for all complexity is found within
Where the self knows simplicity. There I begin
To release the anxiety and the self-shame
 Because as things are going, we ain’t seen the worst.

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.

Rebound From Failure

To Err Is To Learn

Before Saturn’s return to the place in the sky
Where it was at my birth, I have already failed.
As my hopes and dreams vanish, the worst of my fears
Is that time may have run out. I’ve wasted some years
Derelict in my duties. This fog has prevailed
A long while undetermined. May I wonder why?

“What do you mean exactly,” the wise one will ask,
Knowing that all have screwed up by thirty or so.
What would be recommended is diving within
To dredge up all that which I can only call sin.
I may then write it down because it’s good to know.
I could make it a rather significant task.

Documenting in detail the ways I’ve gone wrong
Is an exercise not only in good hygiene.
A component inherent is spiritual.
Any plan then constructed is beneficial.
If I stick to it, in time, a change will be seen
In my life as a whole, although it may take long.

Little things I can focus on – work I can do
Of a trivial nature. As I complete each,
Incremental progress is its own just reward.
I’ll do best if I keep some self-loving onboard.
Hanging fruit exponential is well within reach.
Failure is something everyone gets to go through.

I’m Done With The World…

Resolute Abandon

Closing my eyes on this world and everybody,
Then, they’re all dead and gone. Do I dare make that so?
Or do I reach out willingly to those in need?
From my own human nature I want to be freed.
Many things I have done, but I’ve nothing to show
That can make any difference others can see.

I hope this is illusory, at least in part.
Were I not of some value I could not exist.
Everyone has a place and their work to be done.
Doing something worthwhile could be barrels of fun.
No more should I gain from it. The point would be missed.
Selflessness in one’s service is true to the heart.

Worthy I am as others are of loving grace.
In the depths of compassion is where it is found.
I may be disillusioned by current events
And prospects for a future that makes human sense.
Can I let the momentum start messing around
With my health and wellbeing? I’d be a nut case.

Four o’clock in the evening depicts my life’s day…
Sailing into a sunset that’s much prettier
And not nearly as visible as,say, high noon.
Before it sets completely my life I’ll attune
To the needs of my species as I would prefer
Rather than giving up before sailing away.

Getting Focused

Clarity In Each Blink of the Eye

Intellect turned against me; my focus unclear…
Psychological processes have more value
Than the ones existential. One worm of ill thought
In the mind become weakened welcomes the onslaught
Of disgust with humanity. What can I do
For the health of my psyche that I hold most dear?

Fleeting thoughts and emotions consume my life force
If I don’t pay attention to wonderful things
That are happening everywhere not in my head.
If I gave life more notice I’d feel much less dread.
Everything in the universe and in me sings
Of our interconnectedness with divine source.

I’m too full of myself. Can I say that to me?
I’d resent it from someone else. If I’m in need,
Then others have advantage and too much control
Over what I experience. My only goal
Is to be more of my best and indeed exceed
What I’m worth as an asset to society.

Suffering is a process just as existence.
One takes place in the mind; the other, everywhere.
The moment of awakening can be sustained
Through preventive self-therapy. I can be trained
To become who I am. Should my mental health care
Draw the worst from within me? It shouldn’t make sense.

There is substantial evidence scientific
And medical pointing to proof that we all are
Better at what we’re doing when we feel our best.
Consciously the decision to not feel depressed
Is the one I must make that cannot leave a scar
On the soul of this sensitive lone lunatic.

Let Go!

It's A Flush

Deep spiritual cleansing is done at year’s end.
The completion of one cycle welcomes the new
With profound expectation that life may improve.
What on God’s green earth does it take for me to move
Past all past reawakening and get through to
That which is of most essence devoid of pretend?

In the past year I’ve learned how to write fairly well.
My opinion is fantasy to the degree
That I rate recognition. Others do much less
And gain love and respect. If contempt I express
Then the karma created cannot let me see
The next year without clinging to the past year’s hell.

 Learning how to let go of the life I create
Is a process encumbered by urge to sort out
What I need to get rid of that’s holding me back
From a possible future of feeling less lack.
Memories reoccurring bedevil all doubt
That my humble existence is governed by fate.

Nothing has any meaning, and life makes no sense
Unless others come part way. But if not at all,
Then it’s all up to me to survive and to thrive
In apparent aloneness yet fully alive.
May the gift that I offer some day not be small
Yet my growth in this new year be strong and immense.