Tag Archive | lonliness

Pain

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

Aug28

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.

So Now…

Jun12

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

May24

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.

One Of Us

Apr23

“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.

A Reason To Live

Nov10

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.

Pony Ride

Sep8

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.

Death Rattle

Jun6

Stay Alive. That’s a challenge. I’d better not fail.
Chances are I won’t do that, but chances are that
I will die in the process through no fault of mine…
Not even indirectly, which would suit me fine.
Let the shit happen quickly. The drop of a hat
Is a reason acceptable for me to bail.

As the brunt of life’s karma comes on at full force…
When there’s no one to go to; all bridges are burnt,
And I can’t find an answer to save my own soul,
Have I left any reason to aim for a goal?
I must still think I’m worthy, because if I weren’t
I would not be attuned to a special resource.

As the hat drops, the shoe falls. I know not which one
To entangle the horns of with my intellect
Or the brute force I muster when misdirected.
Anyone who would say that I’m better off dead
Hasn’t suffered like I have and has no respect
For the foolish and how in err they get things done.

The Death Rattle I feel, and it hangs fairly low.
In the pit of my stomach is where it begins
To erupt through the heart chakra into my throat.
When denied every platform I need to promote…
I must know that it’s karma for all my past sins.
Hopefully there’s an answer my living can show.

So… Live Your Life

Apr24

Who whispers the answers to what I haven’t asked,
Knowing that I seek guidance along my own way?
If my way is my own, should I not be the one
To reply to my questions? In doubt I must shun
Solutions I come up with each and every day.
I know not what I’m doing. This is my forecast.

“Live your life so that fear of death never enters
Your brave heart or your spirit. Live and beautify
All the things in your life. Respect all whom you meet.
Love your life. Be of service. Ignore the drumbeat
That is harsh and discordant, and never deny
Your alignment with your truth, as spirit prefers.

Find your joy and be grateful for all that you’ve got.
Gratitude is the attitude worthy of grace
To help you get through tough times with relative ease.
Grovel not to another as if their feces
Is of glorified essence. Self-pride do embrace.
If you cannot feel grateful, you suffer a lot.

You will sing like a hero your going home song
And not long for more time to relive what has passed
In a different way. The regretful one weeps
For the loss of the dying self. The wise one keeps
In the heart memories of well-challenged contrast.
Know that life is a blessing that doesn’t last long.”

The Saddest Lines

Mar19

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.

Defeat

Mar1

Don’t undo my undoing or my solitude
Nor aloofness. Dearer are you to me than one
Thousand triumphs and sweeter to my heart than all
The world glory I could have. Do knock down the wall
That protects my protection. Your work can I shun
If it shows me the falsity I have pursued?

Take away my self-knowledge and stark defiance.
Through you I know I’m yet young with swiftness of foot
Not to be trapped by withering laurels. In you
I have found my aloneness and joy overdue
For the scorn followed up with negative input.
If my pride attempts speaking, don’t give it a chance.

Take my sword and my shield. In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be in slavery,
And to be understood is to be leveled down.
I would be but a pauper if I wore a crown.
To be grasped is to reach but the fullness of me
Like a fruit to be eaten. What is there to dread?

Defeat my deathless courage, my bold companion.
You shall hear my song, silences, and feeble cries.
None but you will speak to me of beating of wings,
The urging of the seas, and such meaningful things.
With the storm we’ll both laugh, and what’s in us that dies
We’ll dig graves for them. Then we will stand in the sun.

Let Go!

Dec31

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.

Subjective Concerns

Apr3

Should my work become viral… that fever ensue?
This delightful delirium dared to be caused
Is the dream of my ego. What value have I?
At best, I’m called a wordsmith. Can that satisfy
What I feel I deserve? Should my effort be paused
Due to lack of ‘the basics’ as well as a clue?

What if I get the illness and can’t pay my bills?
Will my creditors know then that I do exist?
And should I lose my life, do I dream of that now?
Contemplation eternal is soothing somehow.
If survival accurses me should I persist
In this thing that I’m doing? The thought gives me chills.

In contempt of a rational means of access
To the ways of the spirit, have I made the choice
To be languid in leisure? Today, as it seems,
I am not quite in touch with my most cherished dreams.
There’s no reason to prove to the world I’ve a voice.
I can suck my own dick. There’s no crowd to impress.

My subjective concerns are not only my own.
Fear becomes human nature and how it evolves
Through processions of eons. My dark memories
Of past blunders while soulless cannot give me ease
Nor can they honor daylight. Consciousness dissolves
Every dream ever spat upon. I live alone.

Negative Conclusions

Jan5

Learn To Cry! Your prescription disqualifies me
From the positive outlook evasive to some.
Is my vision distorted? Do you know the cause?
Can the clue to what is now be found in what was?
Stick a dick in my sick mind. See if you will cum.
Fear and doubt plague the present. How can I be free?

Try to find some compassion? Untether my heart
From the grief, pain and sorrow to others I’ve caused
In my fight to be righteous in my twisted ways.
Give me hope for the future. Bullshit me with praise.
Seeking outside connection, true progress is paused.
If I must go on living, I need a new start.

My conclusions are baseless while dwelling within
This homemade dissolution I may well deserve.
Hopelessness is an option. I need but one more.
May my life provide many that I can explore?
Negativity teaches, if I have the nerve,
To prepare for its lesson then let it begin.

It’s My Pleasure

Aug6

It’s My Pleasure. It’s not that I want to relate
To the general populous. I speak my truth
From a place where few humans are willing to tread.
I spend much of my time there. To most I am dead.
In the place where my heart lives, am I that uncouth
As to let those outside it determine my fate?

I relate to my darkness. I see it play out
In what is called reality. Myself I see
In the lava of hatred. Its volcanic ash
Has the taste of my writings retrieved from the trash.
But, again, It’s My Pleasure. I’m willing to be
The small voice from the darkness. That’s all I’m about.

It just feels good to do this. I know it makes sense…
Quite a bit more than spending time eating the war.
Unaware of the soundbite, it knows not of me.
To be grateful I’m unknown is not to be free
From a darkness that I have encountered before.
If I write, who will read me? I toil in pretense.

It’s My Pleasure… a saying uttered in response
To someone having said, “Thank you for what you do,”
Is a strong held assumption that I make with ease.
Army weapons could silence me. Who would that please
In this place become third world? That could well be you.
Does it matter that my speech is clothed in nuance?

Please Don’t Go

May26

Mental maladjustment is sometimes what it’s called.
To lose all the connection to all that we know
Is to live in sheer agony. I can confess
That I know what it feels like. The mind is a mess.
It cannot function healthily nor can it grow.
In the living of life, one becomes unenthralled.

How would I comfort someone who’s feeling this way?
Simply because I’ve been through it, maybe I may
Offer some bit of clarity. All things are one.
When one cannot find within a sense of union,
A small shift in the thinking may better convey
That all are special characters in a big play.

We may all be mere pop-up’s on life’s big touch screen,
Popping in for a brief moment, then popping out.
But we all are the message we send to ourselves.
When one feels disconnected, it’s best that one delves
Into some form of practice to mitigate doubt
That the Myth Of Identity is the machine.

Every cell in The Body and person on earth
Has its duty to this life. How else can it seem?
Conscious obliteration of self can be done
In a way not so tragic, and it’s often fun.
We are not individuals. We are the Dream
Of Creation. Don’t leave here not knowing your worth.

The Magic Realist

A Poet's Path

Tag Archive | lonliness

Negative Conclusions