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The Encumbered

The lowly fates are sealed;

Our societal masters have already decreed. 

Souls belonging to Macedonian soldiers,

Whom road for the Alexandrian cause,

Hearts of Poets and pious scholars,

Revolutionary thinkers and scientific tinkers,

Cast again into the River of Lethe,

Fate chosen by Moon-Spewed back into vessel anew. 

Perplexed to find ourselves shunned, unrecognized in the courts of Kings.

Wisdom is eternal, accrued lots will perish.

We ourselves are our own kings, though all of you forgot.

Since I have sense, as well as you:

For what gifts indeed have you that others do not?

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Not Without What’s Within

I spent a year in torment and another in limbo.
Between bottles of scotch and an earful of bimbos.
I had sworn off sentiments and living for others.
Woe’d the stain of women, including my mothers.
But something had come and graced the inner light.
To live and die for my beloved man’s celestial right.
Then out of the ashes my heart is reignited.
A personage like myself has been sighted.
Despite her beauty and our emotional volatility,
perhaps a time to explore untapped tranquility.
Whatever to come, let us seek to embetter ourselves-
and place our bitter pasts on these dusty shelves.
Together we strive for a better world to live in.
So let us go forth; but not without what’s within.

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On Melancholia

‘Tiss a strange thing, is it not?

Being drawn into despair.

The timely sensation comes when one is most alone.

It is there to remind you of your vulnerabilities, weaknesses, mortality.

Yet it is the very thing that makes us fearless.

The emptiness, like the churning stomach in need of substance.

The resentment, a mocking voice within holds you prisoner.

A deranged captor tormenting the kept.

Reach out and touch vise; reach within and think thrice.

The low howl of the nightly wretch cry on.

The dull drums of deaths nigh sincerely sung.

A yearning for salvation is met with apathy.

As you once had turned your back on the world, so they in turn you.  


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Ex Lives

When I am judged, will they be harsh on my punishment?
For having the Gnosis, for knowing between good and evil;
Yet still committing acts of mindlessness in pursuance of sensation.
When my life is nullified, will they take into account the pains of imprisonment?
Will I ever forgive myself?
The enduring of man, separated from his half, cast into aimless mortality.
Do I do these things to blend in, like a Chameleon on my Path of Many Colors.
Or is that just my excuse to remain here?
Are my past lives so horrid of things, and is that part of me vicarious?
In pursuance of the questions, We stumble and weep. IMG_2191

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Saturated Souls Seldomly Settle

Look at them there.

Pointing, charting, analyzing unto death.

Everyone’s trying to sell you something.

Every month we owe money to someone we don’t know.

Consuming, breeding, tantalizing unto death.

Distractions are ample. Be it games for the people or new shopping malls;

Our gaze is ambiguous and fixed this way and that.

Humanity is the sickness of the Earth.

You there, what is your purpose, I beckon.

The fat man behind the counter is made to service the company and the customers.

Somehow he is okay with his baseness.

Is it ignorance? Lack of understanding?

No, he is merely comfortable in his conformity.

He makes ends meet, all the food is affordable, and within proximity.

It could be worse, he thinks to himself as he imagines being homeless-

or having been born in a less developed impoverished nation.

Yet he never imagines how much better it could be.

We could be better.


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Of Both Worlds

Conjured through your visceral fears.page42image256

Son of Charon, I siphon the Earth.

The blade at the jugular. 

Keeper of the gate-Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Surrender the throne; wanton greed be not atoned.

Summoned by the spoken word

Mediator of the Father, this heart beats louder than most. 

The impulsive righteous hand. 

Son of Jon; Downtrodden with the simple and humbled. 

Into the beggars hand I give and your love I take.

I am pestilence and the prodigal son.

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Lessons Of Old

page6image256Through my fathers hand I learned the art of shrewdness and manipulation.
“Always be on the lookout,” he would say.
I was a secret operative and was scolded for being caught.
By observing shadows and reflections, I could watch them discreetly.
Most of these creatures you cannot trust.
When I’d get into scuffles at school, he’d pick me up and say
“Which hand did you use?”
After, he would smirk inside and see his own rebellious youth.

I was to be more observant than observation.

Though I am to become an owl preying over my environment-
I had to appear just as oblivious as the mouse.

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Laws of a Pessimist

-Observe shrewdlypage27image1136
-Take in completely
-Contemplate death frequently
-Seek malice not, yet know its vicinity
-Fight back, lacking equity and mercy
-Swear thy enemies eternally
-Give your heart rarely, and yet verily
-Intrinsic is Good and Evil, use them synonymously
-Know oneself and purpose entirely
-Forget not your memories
-Stay on path with Fate and Destiny
-Always posses a contingency
-Dream lucidly and remember them vividly

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Dreams So Perplexed

Wakened and stirred by scents and sounds;

Mémoires of nocturnal scenes come with platters of sentiments,

Lucid Interactions, and divine apparitions .

Some say they don’t dream; Truly, they do.

One simply ceases to dwell upon them when waking.

Perhaps imagination left them, from the gloom and dregs of society.

Choose not to overlook one of life’s greater mysteries;

Open thy eye of terra firma,

Latch it to the ethereal and forever see.

Do not run from- but to that which seeks you.

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Devil On My Shoulder, Angel Adjacent

tormentA man had placed his hand on my right shoulder. The rings and watch on his hand play and dance in the sunlight. He whispers in my ear that he is glad I’ve chosen to disregard others, “Why bend for these creatures that would not stir for you?” Turning round to gaze at the faceless voice, he appeared in illustrious garments, a suede custom suit entreated anyone to believe him of important stature. He smelt clean; lustful. Hair sleeked backwards, bringing your eyes to his affixed gaze of yellow green retina.

She turns away. A tear falls from her eye, perfectly timed so there was a chance I wouldn’t notice. But I did, however. As she walks away, she doesn’t glance backwards at my moistened retinas.

The unknown accomplice hands me a cigarette and lights it with a golden embroidered lighter: “Forget her. Let’s grab a drink, my new friend.” His oratory flowed so smoothly from his tongue that I could not bring words to agree nor deny, but rather began to walk with him

Sitting amongst the sots, the 2nd drink came and went as quickly as the first. After some time, he signals a familiar woman to keep me company. She sits very close, she make’s men forget about the world. A reached hand is placed in lap, whispering softly into my ear. Estranged sounds exchanged, we leave together anyway. He gazes out, from behind a pool table He smiles, and I smile back, a curt nod is shared.

Upon awakening, I take notice to the ceiling, shadows move and patterns fold. Moving my head carefully, as to not provoke pain, a strange woman by my bed pulls up her pants, kisses me passionately with cigarette stained teeth, and swiftly leaves. He walks past her unnoticed, enters my room, lavish in appearance as last observed. A gloominess follows “See? Did you not enjoy yourself?” When I speak, the scents of liquor, nicotine, and foreign saliva expel from my words:

“I figure not. Although, I am still unsure of myself.”

Turning left, I take notice of the picture frame sitting on my nightstand. Me smiling next to an angel. The thought of better days resonates within. Closing my eyes, the memories grasp me refusing to let go, constricting the mind. I feel myself moving to the back of my mind. A hand falls on my shoulder. With eyes half shut, I take in a different man not recognized. He is tall, thin, weak in appearance, and dressed in unappealing  worn clothing.
“Would you not rather live for her, than anyone else?” a sweet love radiated in him. The sun had shone upon his eyes, lifting one into rapture.Words become difficult to bring forth.

“She still cares for you, she does.” he says. “Remove yourself from any equation; live for her.” The sleek man in the corner of the room proclaims that love is a weakness, “A sickness, like a passing cold.” ominous vibrations extrude form his voice.

The man to my left stands, a blinding light shines from his cavity. They glare at each other, ready for battle eternal. Shadows danced on the ceiling, forming many hands they extend toward the light. A pushing and pulling, splitting and tearing at the center. The fighting reaching a pinnacle, brings a blinding crashing brilliance. Knocked back to the ignorance of bliss, I am fast asleep, dreaming of days when there was fullness of heart.

I awaken, but falsely, feeling weak, somewhat sick.

And the men, but gone. “Just another dream,” I admit.