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The Pale Rider

Walking into to town the others see me coming.
They turn with askance at my rider who sways to and fro.
Head down to shun the sun with the brill of his cap.
Though I be the sober, he be the other.

Drinking water from my trough, he journey’s to the bar.
Avoiding the others at stools end.
Deep in contemplation he seems to be.
Not a glance up, nor the tip of a cup.

Back on the saddle he sways to meet the days end.
Leaving town they bid farewell and see his hollowed eyes.
Not knowing whither to he goes, or from whence he came.
We leave prompt all the same and he asks for no ones name.

I steer him here and there as if I know the way myself.
Wishing on the stars we meet our journey’s end on the moon itself.

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If I Could Give You the Stars and Outer Space

What sort of love is this?

Do you think of me when the morning dew hits?

In my arms do you feel any bliss,

A sudden need for a kiss?

There is love, but of what kind?

Confused passion for we are blind.

We are the scars left on another over time.

Or have we settled-assuming true love we’ll never find?

I feel no warmness from you.

When times of happiness are seldomly few.

Why do we return expecting something new?

My inmost thoughts you pretended you knew.

I don’t want love like your movies on lifetime.

You should already know me without a lifeline.

I wish we had met at the right time,

Never really felt you to be all mine.

You fight yourself from change.

Both of us can’t seem to act our age.

But I somehow found a way,

Into my soul- things I cannot convey.

If this is what I’m left with,

I’ll have nothing at all.

Love has become some myth

Leading me unto the Fall.

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From Bitter Submergence, Loving Enlightenment.

This life it weighs on thee.
Bound to material,
the physical we endure combatively.
Earth-born all is ephemeral.

Ancient works uncovered,
only intensify a burden.
We are fallen angels unfeathered,
—of that I am certain.

Two into one, of three we be.
Yet unto one a return,
and of three they see.
Of transcendent planes we yearn.

Mortality the prescription,
sense perception an unawakened state.
Past loves I’m missin’-
dwelling on the things I hate.
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Of those from within,
and those of without.
Some just trying to win,
others filled with doubt.

On heavens light we pretend,
the end we cannot comprehend.
Seek and ye shall find,
an aeon not bound by time.

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It’s the bottom of the 9th and I can’t find my bat.

Two roads split off from here,
never felt so open, nor so near.
Too late to breathe, too little to adhere.

My life is a colored path of missed taken steps.
Swallowed my share of mistaken breathes,
all of which I aim to keep, souls I chose to reap.

A darkness held me,
and you always told me,
if I only knew how to be set free.

It came from within,
didn’t call, a pretentious way to win.
Never required science, no nuclear fission.
Just a willingness to see a tardy vision.

Been dead all this time,
Frankenstein’s monster I was a mime.
Most intelligent, all pain, all grime.

Giving life to a thing that had past,
the weight of someones world like steel ballast.
Sunken down the river, hoped you’d never last.

I cursed you like the sun,
a scorn you could outlast.
Now I sit in lament,
wishing you could leave just as fast.

Yet I come as soldiers torches burning the night.
‘Come out my dawn’, unaware you’d adorn a fight.
A war lost-one of attrition, a beggars fiction.

Time is a selfish bitch.
All you did was wish
for a time I was yours,
and emptiness was no lore.

Can’t seem to hold a beat,
liquor knocking me off my feet.
Let us be absolved-be let free.

No longer alive and not nearly dead.
Wish I could take back all the things I had said.
Yet that is the sentiment of time,
no ones truly yours, you are not mine.

So feed your fancies from a screen,
only hope you won’t hear me scream.
Cannot fathom, cannot see,
on this bar stool I’d rather lean.

‘Why are you being nice?’
‘Why do you like me?’
You are the fire that thawed the ice
after years to you it wasn’t likely.

Oh how stubborn the scars that refuse to fade.
Or are they reminders of better days?
No just a reason to stay away.
Four years lost but still love-always.

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World’s Apart

I’d dilute the love I hold for you, if spoken verbally.
For what beats within so sacred—words destroy eternity.

Taunting lover! How you turn me this way and that.
Not meeting my gaze, constant pursuance on His mat.

Look once—let me drink the blackness of your iris.
Look once I plead, you’ve stirred in me a crisis.

Oh, how much I loath and despise the physical.
And yet without the material, we would rise helical.

Intertwined in space; existing for each other.
Both of us love, neither of us lover.

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Farewell

This is how we say farewell.
All the love and moments vanish,
to the toll of a wedding bell.

Take my hand, take my love,
Kept me away, lead me astray.
Never had the chance, nor the say.

Cowardice, with that yellow heart.
Will I play the villain, when you
speak of me to your fresh new start?

Nothing-it meant nothing at all.
If professing your love is so easy,
don’t come around, don’t call.

After everything he had put you through,
the tears, the pain,
All I found was something True.

Goodbye my displaced Queen.
Seek thy unhappiness, misfortune may marry.
Just like you, I bid adieu, from behind a screen.

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People

“Look at the people: elbows, knees, earlobes, crotches, feet, noses, lips, eyes, all the parts usually clothed, and they are engaged in whatever they usually do which is hardly ever delightful, their psyches stuffed with used matter and propaganda, advertising

propaganda, religious propaganda, sexual propaganda, political propaganda, assorted propaganda’s, and they themselves are dull and vicious. They are dull because they have been made dull and they are vicious because they are fearful of losing what they have.

The people are the biggest horror show on earth, have been for centuries. You could be sitting in a room with one of them now or with many of them. Or you could be one of them.

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Every time the phone rings or there is a knock on the door I’m afraid it will be one of the disgusting spiritually destroyed useless babbling ugly fawning hateful humans.

Or worse,on picking up the phone the voice I hear might be my own, or upon opening the door I will see myself standing there, a remnant of the wasted centuries, smiling a false smile, having learned well, having forgotten what I am here for.”

-from Betting on the Muse: stories and poems by Charles Bukowski.

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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?