Ghostfriends

"Ghostfriends float through February, faded, fallen
Colder winds through our hearts, faded, fallen
Skin melts back to reveal naught but black
within us all, withering the soul, breathe the pollen
Our life culminates within a crack, faded, fallen
Allergic to the dust, beings reek of reddish rust
We are the Ghostfriends, see us but we're not here
'cause we have so much fucking fear, the lights
they're on, but no one's home
You could say that we lost our hands, we can't
feel
'Cause we're the Ghostfriends and we aren't
real"

Common as the Sun

    The deceptively gradual sinking of this generation's faded capacity for anything of relevance, beyond one's self, is gaining speed and acuity. A degredation of "higher thought" is quickly developing popularity, and with it, tumbles many other essential anthropological "terms". The capacity for art and the beautifully basic human urge to further everything we know, rationalize, and interact with, is being dropped, as if it were a white-hot iron. Instead of wanting to become or to create, we claw and scream for any miniscule drop of carnal pleasure we can soak up with our ravenous sponge. We forsake ourselves in a disturbingly self centered race for whatever makes us "feel the best". Instead of striving to add onto this one, single planet of which we inhabit, we kill one another, and ourselves, in an attempt to reach a pale and sickly state of faux nirvana. We drink ourselves into disgusting states of idiocy, and we are consumed by lusts and fucks. We talk about love as if it were as common as the sun, but we have never seen the sun. Our society blurs into a mixture of lies, addictions, hates, and stupidity in a vile obsession with gaining control of our own pleasure.

    So, our future is bleak. What should we do? How can we save ourselves? I would say it is too late. We are all caught in the sinking sand of our own lazy and addicted sponge. There is no hope, there is no escape. Who cares, though? 'Cause I feel alright.

Broken and Poor

"Thoughts make me a slave,
can't control the train,
no escape inside the grave,
vessel meant for pain.

How can this be real?
Straying from the plan,
It's all that I can feel,
wish I was more a man.

My ability to speak,
it's always wrong,
why am I so weak?
Please make me strong...

My heart has reached it's length,
such a sad state, broken and poor,
just give me some strength,
I can't do this anymore."

Aldrew

"joy: a simple act of fate
fate: blown by the wind
if you're one day late
you might find
all your joy at end

what you need you hold
so don't look up above
and if you've not been told
don't throw away his love

please don't let him slip
don't drop and crawl
please
don't bite your lip
and watch him fall

regret, like an asp
consumes tenfold
and
within your grasp
is hidden gold

no coin flip nor wheel spin
just hold him tight
'cause
rarely chances come again
so please
please do

what's right"

For my best friend.

My Star

"I saw you standing there
with the golden sun upon your hair
I thought that I was blind 
by your shining light

But now I know you're not 
who I thought you were
You're a brilliant star
(You're a brilliant star)
You're a brilliant star

behind a thousand more

I want to feel your warmth
like I never have before
I want to hear your voice
above all the noise

I never thought I would find you
but now that you are here
I want to make it clear
that you're my star

And now I know you're not 
who I thought you were
You're a brilliant star
(You're a brilliant star)
You're a brilliant star

behind a thousand more"

Listen to it here.

Loss

Loss of personality is a devastating experience akin to a dark, consuming depression. A chunk of your spirit atrophies and decays into a vicious torment. You are left with all the rotten, misery infested terrors, which you call your thoughts. And you'll always know that deep down inside you're untouchable, and deep down you've watched as the violent alterations ripped nature down in a whirlwind of mass desolation. Tearing you into a mangled, scarred ball of writhing puss, while you could only watch the mirrors burn down around you. Warming your hands for a time, the flame quickly flaring up and dying away, nothing can resurrect it, your flame has ended far beyond time. The flame of your soul, who you are in the heart of your hearts, is ripped away from you and torn to dust. If you light the fires early, they will be extinguished into the infinite nothing. Losing yourself is indescribable, words can never suffice for all the pain, loss, anger, and addictively poisonous melancholy. Regret for all your empty, golden flames. Wasted time is like a shooting star burnt out and hurled away into nothing's wake. You are stripped of yourself, like a snail from it's shell, and you are trapped in every foreign crack. You live in a hell, merely a dark fraction of a pitiful human being. A lonely feeling wrapped inside a body of grim misunderstandings and pointless interactions. When your hope melts into guilt, and you've lost the glint in your eyes, and spark on your face, it's the most awful and morbidly disturbing fear I have ever had.

Crack

"A family that is forged from lust,
is a family born broke from greed,
a lack of meaning inside of trust,
a family that forsakes to feed.

Little could be more shameful,
than waste of a heart and soul,
mere impact rolls like rainfall,
fear fate for fating a role.

Squandered loss of dreams,
from a single sins vile flaw,
flies sins to flames and screams,
leaves me left in searing awe."

Please, Let me Stay

"In the safe haven carved within her covers
empty inside from drifting into the fray
I wish she knew I loved her
because she might not feel this way

Her noose hangs like silk from space
she knots it more each day
I wish I wasn't out of place
because she might not feel this way

Her dam is breaking stone by stone
she sees the water is gray
I want her to know she's not alone
she doesn't need to feel this way

She's lost inside the deepest desert
and I wish to the stars
that I could once just show her
how I want to heal her scars

If she'd just let me stay
because she might not feel this way

She might not feel this way"

Voyage into Pathos

"Waves of bitter sensation swell in a deafening cacophony of shattered peace
in a shameful storm of trembling teardrops tumbling through a sky so bleak
angry streaks of pure white flame tearing the dark in a deafening release
cancerous chaos risen from a deep sea of despair into an impeneterable peak

My white sails wave onward tossed and torn within my seared soul water
regret rusting away at my battered bow in the remorse of unabated rain
through the eyes of angels all hope of surviving an escape from slaughter
seems a strain which is stemied in it's doom: a hope held high in vain

Celestial beings: decieved, for though the storm of pathos tosses 'round my ship
fleeting feelings born in brevity bear no sway on course of destination
my rudder is my action in it's turn I contain complete control within my grip
no dissenting emotion alters who I am, all actions are my only definition"

Your feelings don't define you, your actions do.

Paroi Déception

Verse 1:
"Another handicap, and my failures are still around.
People, never satisfied, are always looking down.
Thoughts running rampant in my head, 
all odds, and I wish I was dead.
Nobody knows how what I've done, could ever be right, 
and in all this dark, there's no light."

Chorus:
"All paths are now blocked, all bridges burned.
No one can help, no one's concerned.
I should have known...
A wall of disappointment, I built it alone.
Words lost in emptiness, nothing makes sense,
feeling helpless.
Collapsing me down, 
it's over now..."

Verse 2:
"A life of affliction, fueled by
mental restriction.
Help me to learn, to know
this addiction.
No one will know why I did what I did,
no will know how to take down my wall,
but if you drink from my cup, I promise
you'll fall. Bound to the ground,
I'll never see the sky, but it's all okay,
'cause one day I'll die."

Chorus x2

A song I'm working on.

Solstice for the Weary

"The sun displays it's reddish rays
through the shrouded leaves
bursting through stoutest gaze
and every shadow cleaves

In meeting, darkness gives it's way
providing warmth and aiding sight
the sun defines the day
and vision to beauty so bright

What better cause than the sun
showing all is good and right
dispersing any need to run 
but every need to stay and fight"

It can be hard to live in the moment, to have clear vision for the beauty around us, but when you do have a single moment of clarity, it is an event of infinite beauty. It makes life worth living.

Heavenly Friends

"I sit alone 'neath a speckled sky
listening to the whistling wind

the stars above me flutter and fly
but tonight they're my only friend"

Forsaken Lullaby

"I dream of dreams gone by,

shaken by the wind,
where thought and life collide,
and belief with action blend,

a forsaken lullaby.

Symphony of boundless loss,
broken though I try,
memories nailed upon the cross,
I've put them there to die,

a forsaken lullaby.

I drop no thought of worth,
illusions fully fed,
given unto birth,
to dance among the dead,

sung low from the sky,
a forsaken lullaby.

A song I wrote."

Listen to it here.

Forbearance

"Incarceration of the mind,
by searing pain through skin,

is enough for men to leave behind,
life and all which lies within.

Be it of a worthy cause,
to struggle and to fight,

to bear our world and it's flaws,
or judge our final rest as right."

Who is to say, besides those beyond the grave?

Pearly-ou

"When it seems the cold wind blows away the last strength that staves all fear,
I will always be right here waiting to lift you back up,
I may not be much but I will try my best to be you're cheer,
I will catch every tear within my own cup.
You are the reason behind every rhyme,
you are the sunrise I will walk into,
you are a beauty once in a lifetime.
They say the world is our oyster, now I believe I know it is true,
'cause I found out the Pearl when I found out you."

I swear it's true.

Flunked NaPoWriMo

I haven't been able to keep up with NaPoWriMo, sadly. Dealing with too many personal issues. I find I forget to write my poem for the day, and when I remember I pump out one of those two bit poems, I was trying to avoid, again. So, I think I'll just call it quits.

But an amazing poet, and my best friend, is doing NaPoWriMo and a damn good job at it, if I say so myself. Check him out @ www.pepsiboy81.deviantart.com That's REAL poetry :)

Haggard Marionette

"Puppeteer masquerading me, so maliciously malignant to my inner core,
searching sincerely for some way to sever the strings setting my soul at war.

For now my solitude seems significant to save the people I hold dear,
from this baneful bastard, that is, my sick, sadistic puppeteer."

Anhedonia

"Burned so many bridges, I've lost count,
no damage can ever, to my spirit, amount.

I've destroyed and blocked every door,
robbed me of life until I was poor.

What kind of fucking life is this?
Sleep, eat, shit, piss...

I've wasted so much, don't even know how,
and whatever I had, well it's all gone now."

Day #3 of NaPoWriMo

"Today the cold outside is all that's real,
for today it seems it's all that I can feel.

Today the cold is my fullest plight,
it leaves me not worth of word to write."

Shit.

Where is Superman?

Carl Dent was just a boring man. Nothing special about him. No friends, no skills, nothing really. Just a sad and lonely man.

One day he found a suit and put it on. Almost instantly, Carl was gone. Superman stood in his place. Carl felt happy for the first time since he was young. Superman immediately went downtown began talking to random people, hoping to make his first friend. It worked. Superman was charming, witty, funny, and happy. He made a friend named Louis. They had supper together, and Carl was a very happy man.

Back at home Carl was in the best of spirits. Superman picked up his old Cello, which Carl had never been very good at, and played beautifully. He was ecstatic. Carl was now Superman. He was perfect.

Suddenly, Carl felt very faint. It felt as if his insides were on fire. He chugged a glass of water, but nothing happened. He yanked off his suit in an attempt to cool down. Superman was gone. Carl was back. His insides felt normal. With a sigh of relief he went to bed.

He woke up, sad as usual, until he remembered the suit. He grabbed it, and put it on. His insides burned as if the fury of hell were trying to break loose. He screamed and yanked off the suit. Carl would never be Superman again.

His phone rang. No one ever called Carl, this made him very curious. He answered. It was his friend Louis asking if he would like to meet at the bar, tonight? Carl nervously said "Yes." After hanging up, he sat down and wondered what had happened to the suit.

 He saw the Cello he had been playing the night before. He picked it up and attempted to play, but the horrifying screeches that were produced brought him to a halt. Superman was gone. A wave of despair washed over Carl.

He met Louis at the bar later that night. Louis instantly recognized a change in Carl. After a few minutes of drinking Louis asked, "Is something wrong? You don't seem yourself." But, Carl could not have been anymore himself. What Louis should have asked was, "Where is Superman?" Carl said he was fine.

Louis tried to associate with Carl as long as he could, because of the remarkable impression Superman had left on him, but Carl was not Superman. Carl was Carl, and once Louis realized this, he abandoned him. And Carl was just a sad and lonely man.

Day #3 of NaPoWriMo

"The sun rests above as the heavens golden crown,
atop the clouds are dwellers of all that's up high,
underneath, squirms the world which always is down,
I envy birds for the taste of wonder, as they fly,
they see the underworld and it's people who drown.
Upwards, the stars have never hidden their guile,
mocking man, because of his inevitable frown,
and causing the stars to don a disturbing smile."

Funny how disillusioned I was, I actually believed I was worth something.

Just false hope for the hopeless.

Day #2 of NaPoWriMo

"Driving drunken tired tears,
sickly sunken all alone,
abstract ashes fiery fears,
frozen fierce motley moan.

Forest fate,
you are
too late." 

Day #1 of NaPoWriMo (A Little Late)

I have always

ripped up

everything I

was every given,

why should

I not

accept the consequences?

I should be

three-hundred

damned

feet under

Roasting in the confines

of my own darkly,

twisted

mind

Yet,

I have not yet been

condemned

Why?

Here I talk about

my punishment

but they say

words are

worthless

I must

act

But, I don't know what

in the fucking hell

to do

I have no one to guide me

only those who would

condemn me

why

should I

argue against that

it is what I deserve

I see two options in

my horizon

Action

or

Suicide

One I know how to accomplish easily

the other would require a will

and a strength above

my own

if

someone

would just show

me the way, I would try

to act

and

not

die

"Novus Purpose Poetry" and the Purpose of Art.

"My poems sing like nursery songs,
come join me, won't you sing-along?

I post them here on the slightest whim,
it's time to change my thoughtless vim."

So far, my "poems" have been very, very poorly written. Think of an indefinite theme, throw in some cheesy rhymes and big words, and voila! You have a clumsily thought out, shallow, rhythmically challenged "poem". In other words: a big, steaming pile of shit. That's not what I want. That's not what anyone wants to read, and if they do, there's already boat loads of it slopped all over the internet. From this point on my poetry is going to change. It will have a clear decisive theme, a rhythmic meter, and a correct rhyming scheme. This will probably mean less poetry is posted, but it will be worth reading when it is. I am going to change my poetic style and I refer to this change as my "Novus Purpose Poetry". Some would say I should attempt Free Verse, since it is simpler and I wouldn't need to worry about rhyming. I have nothing against Free Verse, but I am much more inspired by standard poetic form. I believe switching to Free Verse would be the easy way out. But, I will finally reflect the correct function of art.

"In a decaying society, art, if it is truthful, must also reflect decay. And unless it wants to break faith with its social function, art must show the world as changeable, and help to change it." - Ernst Fischer

I believe that quote sums up the crux purpose of art. Especially since, as far as I know, every society has been corrupt and decaying. Art needs to appeal to it's audience with beauty and simplicity, whilst delivering a message at the same time. It's needs to challenge or influence the audience's personal beliefs and ideals, and teach them a lesson, or show them a new perspective. If it does not accomplish that, I would throw it on the trash heap of "modern art". I do believe, however, art that is simply beauty for the sake of beauty is certainly acceptable, but I believe beauty delivers it's own message.

I am going to begin work on a massive poem which will be split into several different parts. As to how many, I am unsure at this point in the game, but it's definitely going to be a tough grind for me. I hope it will be an enjoyable and influential read for you. Thank you.

Unquenchable Verve

"What gives rise to that most capital call,

supreme purpose and predominant sway,

subsumed within our spirit, impetus of all?

Some simple satisfaction, to esurience allay?

Or is it the hunt which provides our purport?

Would cease of the search form a sinister folly?

Or perhaps exists a more marvelous report?

Is it force to be of a fallacious endeavor: jolly?

What spawns the grounds for each inquest I task?
Why does sense seem essential to mortal temper?

Could it be that reason is truly a delusive mask?

If withdrawn, would it reveal a mystical splendor?

The search is infinite, speculation will grow,

I must relish my hunt, for it is all I will know."

The timeless question...

The Stick that Killed the Rabbit

"Touch the stove, it is hot,
seared your skin, I told you not.

Learned the hard way, now you know,
pain is truth, within you grows.

Shouts and screams rains remorse,
defense and fury: spawns of force.

The carrot is the noble trick,
all men abhor the loathsome stick.

Before you now assume their trust,
advise them softly, now you must."

If you would like to advise me without threats, anger, or force I will probably give your advice a chance.
If this confuses you this might help: Carrot and Stick Idiom

A Tree that is Me

Yes,
I guess
you know best,
but why don't
I trust in
instructions
you gave?
I don't feel
hurt
'cause you gave me that
help,
but I don't feel
clappy
sappy
happy
I feel like a tree
a tree
that is me
I can see other
trees
and see all I see
but I've got no
feet
and I've got no love
all I have
is a tree
that is me
but I do have feet
so
why only can I
see?
Why am I not
free?
We use feet
to meet
but I haven't met
and I've got no love
just myself
and I'm a bum
"Don't worry"
you've said
"It will come"
but I do worry
and it hasn't come
and I see all the trees
but they can't see
me
sometimes it drives me
mad
and I've got no love
and I
I am sad.

What is so wrong with me?

"A man who deemed his mind as spent, and
never believed he was truly whole, he
doubted his own dream's ascent. Yet, is
rich within his momentous role, and
even if at times he feels shoved, he
will always be honored and always be loved."

Sometimes, you are much more than you think. This type of poem is called an Acrostic Poem.

Elation passed Sensation

"I wonder if I feel,
or if I'm just defeated,
I'd like to think I'm real,
but,
my ambition is depleted.

Elation has passed on,
sensation lasts no more,
why is it that they're gone?
and,
what let them out the door?

How can I live so hollow?
What drives my satisfaction?
only will I coldly follow,
yet,
what is my sad attraction?

It seems to me that since I wonder all these things,
deep within my heart craves back it's wings."

Do you ever wonder, sometimes, if you possess any emotion, at all?

Wrong is Right is Wrong

"I breathe well intent

I think

But as they say:

The path to Hell is paved with good Intentions.

As a PC chip

that has malfunctioned,

or

the birth of the

ugly duckling,

I am somehow

hideously 

lost within 

my own confines.

What I try and think

is right,

bites me back

as a rabid dog

is wrong.

Virgin of my purpose,

I have devoured

my angel wings,

with swift descent,

I try 

in every way,

to rid myself

of this ever foul

smoldering

smog.

Sorry

Forgive for 

being so

utterly

devoid of 

understanding,

but might

I ask you this?

If all I believe as right

is wrong,

am I 

so purposeless,

so pointless,

so pitiful?

Pathetic."

Sometimes my attempts to help are flawed, and that is detestable.

Grandeur Regarding an Eve

"Gnarled branches of a great oak against the pale backdrop of a cloudy sky. 

 Luminescent street lights glow orange, casting light on the road and any passerby.

The wind chills the skin and rain sprinkles on the glistening leaves, which once were dry.

The beauty of a serene evening so profoundly captured in the few tears that I cry.

The shadows cast a peace so calm, though I stand here alone, for a moment I fly.

Cherish the day, cherish the night, cherish the world, for a day will come when we will die.

The allure of the grand is simple, anyone can find it, all you must do is try."

Life is a beautifully intricate adventure, only you can write the story. Only you can decide the happiness of the ending. If you were to die today, would you be remembered tommorrow?

Pity the Messenger of Beggars

"We never saw the cold,

the sheer truth of their mold.

We start to comprehend the words,

so bold,

yet lost,

for the birds.

We ignore the simplicity of truth,

but we hear it's shout echo into void.

Our laughs,

so utterly false,

so deleriously enjoyed.

Inside the chasm so dark,

beyond what we choose to see,

pity the messenger of beggars,

over all we choose to be."

Just remember: we're all human.

Reflection

"Wrinkles etched from woe,

barbate forlorn bark,

rivers downward flow,

anguish made it's mark,

stole away the glow,

replaced with only dark,

my reflection status quo:

extinguish ecstatic spark."

The only thing that matters is what's on the inside.

Unseasoned Dawning

"Time to start anew,

gather every thought,

mixed emotions,

all askew.

I've found a reason to change,

so long,

it's overdue.

New paths discovered,

have been untrodden,

a fresh beginning,

the past is spinning,

miles and miles away.

The sun rises,

a fresh new day,

the future looks so dazzling,

take on unseasoned dawning.

Take your seat,

as it takes your breath,

and live with all new meaning."

Few things are as refreshing and inspiring as a fresh beginning.

Trapped

"I'll act a false role,

to hide the fact I'm trapped,

in my own skull.

The worst kind of jail,

every attempted escape,

I fail.

Created for swift destruction,

agonizing entrapment ends all means of construction.

Reduced to my knees to beg,

speech ceases to segue,

it blares,

unending,

in my head.

I tried to end the shame,

but in the end,

only I'm to blame.

Cut for Cut,

Flame for Flame,

tear the skin to kill the pain.

Please,

End my hurt,

stop the rain.

In the distance,

the day I'm free,

when my thoughts let go of me.

Blood of the soul,

fills the stormy sea,

within my skull.

Wriggle out,

my will is wrapped,

ceaseless doubt,

in my thought's I'm trapped."

To some, their body is a temple, to others it is a prison.

The Hands of Fate

"A praise of sorts to a friend that I hold dear,

a breed of man that seems to me a generation lost,

if for him I had one wish it'd be these words to hear,

for cause of him I count it joy that our paths had crossed.

There was a day my heart had ached for a companion to be,

that is when this dear soul by fortune befriended me.

Born to poverty he had all rights to act and bitter be,

but had not I known I'd guessed he was of royalty.

His thoughts and deeds, day by day,

proved his boundless loyalty.

Never could I ask of him a more noble friend to be.

Closer than the sun and stars,

partners till the end were we,

hours did we devote to playing on our guitars.

A secret dream of his a musician to be by trade,

all day to play for crowds and folks to hear,

but no faith had he in the compositions he had made,

I'd tell him people would have loved his songs,

if only he were here.

A valarous man, sad but precious, and my only mate,

I wish it were as simple as changing a clock,

to change the hands of fate, it crushes me so,

that it is something only to be viewed after, 

for you see the other morn,

I found my only friend hanging from a rafter."

Never take anyone for granted.

Drowning in the River of Acheron

"Motivation

and,

Inspiration,

surreptitiously supplanted by,

desperation

and,

suicidal

ideation.

If potential,

is so sadly

squandered,

why should I

carry, 

carry onward?

'Stop!'

'Talk!'

Say you.

But would it not,

certainly serve

you

alot,

if I cut the silk,

so seductively

restricting me,

to this torment

termed terrene

paradise.

Slit the silk,

that binds

my torture,

ferry me

away

to Hades,

my home."

The River Acheron is a significant river in Greece, and was called 'The River of Pain and Suffering" in Greek Mythology. When someone died in Ancient Greece, they would have a gold coin put into their mouth. This was so that they could pay Charon to Ferry them across Acheron to Hades, if they couldn't pay, they would wander the shores of Acheron for eternity.