She comforts me through the end, the silencing of a mind weary of all imaginable. The simplicity with which she moves and flows, the ease of her demands, the tranquility of her slumber; all mesmerizing to a soul tortured in every moment, desperate to find any respite, even temporary. The need for that next rush, the newest reason for abstaining from void.
She lulls me in with whispers of love, peace and a future of great worth. My mind reels, the beast screeches and beats at the bars of his cage, hungry , angry, demanding to have what it wants now, to destroy all else. The poet looks on and suffers in silence, the futility of his words a burden of truth.
Her eyes pull me deeper into a mindless haze, the silence of void reaching through to devour all imaginable, intoxicating is its grasp. Survival instincts flare, an ember of life lodged deep in the pit of me, ineffable yet terrified at the possibility of being snuffed out, rejected, lost in the marvel of another.
Her arms wrap around my neck, holding me tight. Her lips lead in the ceremonial dance of love, a promise, a beginning, an ending, a kiss of death.
Diary of an Immortal
In the beginning, there was only void. At least, that is what they like to say these days, silly mortals; as if anyone could possibily understand such a state of being while still existing. I don’t even understand myself, but at least I am humble enough to admit it. And I’ve been around since it all started. From the time of primordial man to the days of the rat race, I’ve seen it all. Not much has really changed other than the scenery, and the precise mechanics upon which it all works.
I don’t remember being born, but I’ve never heard of anything happening before my earliest days, nor have I met anyone older than I. I think it’s safe to assume that I’m a god.
THE god, perhaps? Maybe, but who is to say. I don’t make a habit of blowing my own ego out of proportion, I learned the value of a humble existence long ago. Or was that just yesterday? Hard to say really, the days just fly by.
See, no matter how long you live you still have to actually live, to go through the motions of day to day life in order to survive. Being an immortal, having any kind of high profile life proved impossible to the masses. The number of times I’ve had to fake my own death is utterly obscene. These days I make it my business to live on the road, a man of simple pleasures and simple vices, a life proved difficult enough to satisfy my timeless desires. One would think the taste of rum would fade upon a tongue who’s tasted it endlessly, or for the bite of a cigar to fade to a dull tickle. But no, these sensations remain consistently foreign to my ancient being. And thank god for that.
Anyway, after awhile the faces began to all look the same. There was always more pain when I knew their names. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my time it’s that all things are subject to change. People come, people go. Many don’t stay, few ever find out who I am. There’s beauty in the simple twists of the tides, but the pain of losing one who is close always remains the same. So, like the steppenwolf, I walk this earth mainly on my own, no family or friends to call my home.
And so I leave on a somber note, this tale of an immortal, lost in the sands of time.
Some words ain’t made for a song
The same one’s you’d swear came out wrong.
But in the pit of the soul,
Where embers burn hot and low,
They’re the one thing that you’ve got.
Lyrical chemicals to put even gods on the spot.
Blue ink, death sink,
The mystery of how we think, don’t blink!
To be, we see,
the visual memory
Of our hearts at play.
A thousand poems for pen at ride,
Not a one a song to silently abide.
Cheap tricks of me,
Plain to see,
A dance, a trance,
My soul, another chance,
To write it all anew.
Trapped in the cacophony,
No drugs you see,
Endlessly would destroy of me.
I hold forever the rhyming beat,
My soul’s endeavor,
her heart to keep.
But pretty words are all I have,
To woo this life,
From Satan’s dust, the sounds of time,
Holy water, Rust.
The only thing that keeps me on,
The throbbing beat of rolling drums,
Crushing concerns with pounding compassion,
Washing away trivial expressions.
None, a thing, to heaven’s grace,
Nor at all, to hell’s warm embrace –
Face the snake: knowledge to save you
Let go and forsake all sense of control
The monster will show
But the hunter will save all for your heart to taste.
So the story rambles on, another crazy celestial sing song,
Of desires unfulfilled, by a penny’s worth of will, to set her right again.
The mountains will crumble, but the earth will ever rise to win. And all will dance every on. Rock a bye baby. One day, maybe.
Torn eternal twixt darkness and light, a balance of destruction and creation. The infinite now: ever present, ever changing; Forever a mind in motion. Forever a life remade. Nothing remains the same.
Soldiers of Creation tread lines of light to lead the way,
to rip away all veils of false responsibility.
The only voice to heed, listen, the one we stamped out within.
The child was scorned, told to wait, no time to play…
Hell hath no fury like the tantrums of destiny.
Unleashed, the torrents will flow and wash away false bliss and treachery.
The Source within shall flourish and spin, speaking Truth at a whim!
For in all of time there is no true sin but to silence the child within, letting them suffer through till the end.
The somber mechanistic reality we’ve created for ourselves: a system of progress eternally seeking higher efficiency, where one is eternally moving towards a deadline, an accomplishment, another point in the future that doesn’t even exist yet. This is not inherently flawed, as one needs to set a course to go anywhere in life. But it all to easily leads to forgetting ones self in that moment. Instead of being present in that moment and actually living a soulfull existence, we zone out, we day-dream, we run on auto-pilot while our body mechanically finishes the tasks we’ve set out to do. Obviously that’s an inevitable part of life, but by doing so we dwindle, our passions are forgotten and left to rot in the depths of our subconscious. Moment by moment we adapt to this new normative level of living, and we give up more and more of our self empowerment, the eternal fire of our soul dwindles. Some may scoff at such an idea, but it is truth. Think back to days of youth, when all of life was vibrant and energized, when days were long, and summer was an eternity in bliss. When there was no fear of missing deadlines, making rent, affording gas. Getting a speeding ticket, falling out with a friend, failing a test. You may think, well this is adulthood, you have to deal with these things now. And in some respect, this is true. But when that fear weighs on you, and drains you bit by bit, you lose yourself. We always have a choice to give in to that fear. When the final curtain draws to a close, it won’t matter at all. Nothing will, except for all that you are. Or what is left. That’s our choice, the crux of our moment in time. Do we choose to live in light of life? Or do we fall into the abyss of a zombified hive mind. The choice is ours. This story is about that choice, of remembrance. The undertow will always be pulling, desperate to drag you down. But we are eternal in this and all moments, and nothing can defeat that.
All that is, an exchange of energy, a swirling shimmering pool of light and color. This is the beauty we forgot to appreciate. This is what we took for granted.
But fret not for all is still ours to accept once again into our lives. None speak truth more than the one within, beneath the masks and charades. Love your life, you’ll laugh when you feel alive again.
What was once forgotten slowly falls back into the light, our focus of existence.
A unity of infinite possibilities, now trained upon one goal: a revolution of reality. A massive shift into the next cycle, 1 of a million and more. After all, change is infinite. What once rose from the ashes will inevitably fall back into the void, recycled for another age.