Sunday, July 27, 2014

Sympathy for the Creator.

I hear of these people talking to God,
Artists, politicians, writers,
I try to believe but the message is odd,
From these preachers, quarterbacks, fighters,
I sit in my home and send God a plea,
A hope that he will speak back,
I ask if He is pleased with me,
Are there any virtues I lack,
I don't hear a word or even a sound,
But that is for the best,
No time to tell where my soul is bound,
While He's busy watching the rest,
We are free, free of will,
To never look God in the eyes,
But He can see, the blood we spill,
He can hear their cries,
The feel of pangs,
Of hunger and thirst,
The sting of the fangs,
Of men at their worst,
The fear from a rape,
The anger in homicide,
The smell makes him gape,
From a camp built for genocide,
Children are sold,
For bags of crack,
And I am so bold,
To ask what I lack,
So if you ask me where has God gone,
He's been ignoring you for years,
He probably has other things to focus on,
And can't see you past His tears.

Searching.

Adrift upon the sea of madness,
Pulling up driftwood dull and brittle,
The bows crack as easy as the waves,
Soaked with a thousand madmen spittle,
The maps reads: Here there be dragons,
magic, adventure, gold and more.
Should have known the sea of madness,
Never yields what you've come to it for,
This treacherous sea has no answers,
Grey haze blocks the sky serene,
Set sail for calmer waters,
To find the stars of which you're keen,
Surely if there are answers,
To anything they're in the sky,
Always seeming just beyond reach,
To those who never learned to fly,
Prometheus brought men the god's flame,
He was punished as if a vandal,
Hermes will you be punished too?
If you grant mere men winged sandals?
To dance on cloud; make love with stars,
To bathe in moonlight and sun,
Just beyond a cloud not far,
Mankind and love are one.

Goals.

Shall we?
Would we?
Could we?
Use everything we have to become what we should be?
Should you?
Would you?
Could you?
Take the effort to do what you could do?
The world owes us nothing,
And we don't owe it,
I'm satisfied with a smile,
And people to show it,
At using my potential,
I've never been the best,
But at living simply,
I've passed that small test,
No car to be found,
Work a shit job,
Try to mug me,
There's nothing to rob,
Learned a lot,
Information is free,
Material things,
Mean little to me,
So if you're light in your pocket,
But heavy in soul,
No need to say sorry,
You have a different goal.

A Question of Faith.

There was once a young man who wanted nothing,
But the dream was one day that he'd want something,
A reason to be alive and roll out of bed,
A simple point to focus all the thoughts in his head,
A woman,
A job,
A way to pass the time,
No worries,
Or sobs,
He just puts it into rhyme,
A challenge,
A chore,
A mountain he can climb,
A simple way of life,
Not something divine,
A sign,
A shine,
A way to cross the line,
To accomplish something more than nothing would be just fine,
Because fine is a way we forget how to feel,
Always question others motives or our sex appeal,
We appeal and kneel to something much bigger,
Pleading for a reason to not pull the trigger,
To a figure much bigger; something like God,
Someone to spoil the child and spare the rod,
I believe there's something out there but feel quite odd,
Because all they seem to do is smile and nod,
Not joking,
Still choking,
On that old token of fear,
A fear of whatever queer thing brought us here,
This isn't christian propaganda not even near,
So all you silly zealots can hold your cheers,
Relation,
Realization,
The sensation from faith seems akin to masturbation,
A long-term shame with short-term elation,
Each one our own way of reaching for salvation,
Masturbation or salvation we're just coming to terms,
That one day we'll all be food for worms,
But there's one thing for which everyone yearns,
A way to pass the time until the world burns,
Yearn then burn,
Each in turn,
No easy way of knowing if we'll ever learn,
If the injustice of the world makes your stomach churn,
In about 100 years it won't be your concern,
So enjoy your time not just your faith,
You can worship Shiva, an amoeba, or Bobcat Goldwraith,
But life's right here come and have a taste,
Find a good way to put your time to waste.

It's Love. (Rough)

A feeling,
A word,
That burns with a touch,
Appealing,
Yet blurred,
If said  too much,
It's love,
The best,
Sometimes the worst,
It's love,
A test,
Dive in headfirst,
Find it,
Hold it,
But not too tight,
Bind it,
Enfold it,
And it will take flight,
Nothing as fickle,
Nothing as strange,
Nothing as hard to mend,
Always a sickle,
Waiting down range,
To bring it to an end.

Reflection.

I always try to find some hope,
just a simple man trying to cope,
live a simple life at the end of my rope,
It would probably be easier to just elope,
But running away isn't my style,
rather put up with some shit than turn the dial,
try to be pleasant but all the while,
end up missing the target by about a mile,
most people just don't see the love,
that I have to push away when it comes to shove,
acting like I do doesn't fit like a glove,
defensive about offensive things I'm not proud of,
But such is life, c'est la vie,
and maybe I'll never even find the key,
the key i need to make people understand me,
Just so tired of trying to be what I can't be.

Worry.

Worried and worried,
Why do you worry?
Just to fill the space not consumed by fury?
To keep up with a life you live in a hurry?
Is the judgment of your peers like facing a jury?
Judge,
jury,
and executioner,
Heard luck is a lady but never been to bed with her,
Need wisdom from the wise men not gold and myrrh,
Have a hard-taught sickness and there is no cure,
Where are your thoughts?
Where did you hide them?
You need to find them to know what’s inside them,
You’re never gonna find them at the end of a crack stem,
Or deep in the folds of your mother’s dress hem,
Own yourself,
Own your life,
Don’t own a life that’s rife with strife,
Try not to end up at the end of a knife,
Stop your worry and you'll die old with a wife.

There Are.

There are 3 shadows watching me in my room.
My past, my present, and impending doom.
There is a creature hanging from my wall,
Its name is mirror and I don’t like it at all,
There is a bed but I lay on the floor,
Since she left I don’t use it anymore,
There is a picture hiding in my desk,
Of a time when I didn’t feel as grotesque,
There are memories stewing in my brain,
Some filled with joy but more with pain,
There is a hunger here in my soul,
Trying its best to fill in the hole,
There are many things I hold close to my heart,
All of those things are tearing me apart.