Here's an ode to you, you silly dreamer.
You who try things others deem impossible.
You who never gives up despite the odds.
You who sees problems—and dreams up solutions.
You who… they call 'silly'—it is dangerous to dream.
Some stop caring altogether—but not you.
You are the silly dreamer because you care to dream.
Is that so silly?
A pearl of tear rolls off your cheek, never has before
A beast been slain without the faintest bloody warn
A man of strength felled by blade of coward
Stabbed in the back, a’ foaming affront
Tyger, tyger, burning bright,
Art thee force of Nature—fright?
Sing the children melodies—of joy, of odes, of dreams?
Dance they so endlessly, on boundless starry gleams?
Little Lamb O' Slaughter
Welcome Little Lamb.
Go now, produce!
Do not bleat, do not cry!
With bliss, I reminisce.
Remember, I do not.
Why am I so happy?
The thought of childhood.
Last night I dreamt, so sweet.
I laid my tooth under my pillow.
Pregnant with expectation.
I slept so long, so sweet.
Woke up to the present.
Alone in the crowd of mindless ants, living like a dog.
The inane drudgery drives me insane.
I am no filthy animal.
To Tinker A Thinking Machine
No man is an island, yet solitude I desire.
Looking down from on high.
My reign rumbling from the clouds.
My name heard in the thunder:
‘What a bargain!’
Oh, so tempting.
Oh, I shouldn't.
A Bang & A Blur
Life races me by.
I don’t remember.
I don’t understand.
It’s all so hazy.
Tooth And Nail
Cold against the flesh.
Wraith and writhe.
Blood in the rain.
In these depths of debt I wander.
Whereto? What for?
In these depths of debt I wonder:
What worth have I?
Fallen Out Of Favour
Who knew divination would be our damnation?
As the rain floods, I curse the damned clouds.
Am I barking up the wrong tree?
Please, wash my sins away.
Please, forgive me.
Please, salvage me.
Mollify The Machines
I am Human therefore I desire meaning.
The Human is redundant.
On the drift, a rock in space.
In and out of time I float.
Stars wheeling overhead.
Where has their beauty gone?
Where do I belong?
Oh, fabled bliss.
Imagine so, to weave a shade o’ shimmer sweet.
To live, to wake, perchance to float
Hence where dreams are
Is this here home comely?
Ah yes, it is.
A pleasure then?
Seems so… everywhere except at the seams.
Nag Me Plenty
What is wrong?
I know not.
Bothers me mad.
Loose The Lullaby
No longer can I stand the lie.
Palace o’ Pleasure, I bid you goodbye.
Why was I never content with all I got?
Ought I lay down my arms and die?
For is pleasure not God?
Must I suffer begot?
The Sweet Smell Of Bridges Burnt
In the image of complete perfection, I carved a scar.
The scar festered filthy—and I thought it good.
To burn it down.
So burns the question: Am I wrong?
Perfection does not exist, yet there is nothing I want more than to live it.
I yearn to retreat to a perfect state—though it never truly was.
I struggle against my nature:
To want to be discontent.
To challenge my discontent.
Fire Of Rebellion
My destination is ever within my reach.
With each fire stoked, my hope burns the brighter.
We will build ourselves stronger.
We will conquer unimaginable challenges.
We will redefine what it means to be Human.
It is in our very spirit to long—for a better world.
To wonder what could be—better. To make it so.
No matter the challenge, we will flourish.
And if our light ever does fade, we mustn’t go out with a whimper.
But with a blaze of grand glory!
Life is folly. May it echo into eternity!
So Wither The Flowers
How some buds bloom into gorgeous flowers.
How some buds bloom in gloom.
How all buds are simply doomed.
Immortality, or the afterlife?
From a songbird’s song, a sea sagged calm…
From the sunshine's edge, a sail o’ rose…
From a lonesome fern, a path took root...
…such strange sight I saw, quaint to a tee…
…so I sat and I loitered and such kind of things as spring sprang ever from Fount Everspring…
…such strong-willed souls who begged for me—to dance with them so desperately…
…so weary I was from such mirthful guffaws—so I puffed up my pillow and slept, not brief…
Feels like my life is going nowhere
I'm pushing the pedal, but I don't know whereto
It's suffocating to live this way
Sunshine In Suburbia
Concrete grass is a grand modernity—crass as the sunlight cracks.
In the warmth of the defining inferno, the psychopath remembered the cold spark of the universe
—and for the briefest of moments, doubted the loom of doom.
All The Bright Precious Things Fizzle Out With A Fuzz
That’s how it always goes:
All the bright precious things fizzle out with a fuzz.
Our whole lives amount to nothing but a sordid story.
We spend one third sleeping, dreaming of things that aren’t.
We spend one third working towards the things we dreamt of.
We spend one third justifying a vainglorious retrospect:
A grand display with nothing to show for.
Beyond The Pale Blue
In the howling night there was a harness of flame…
A firestorm hounding the heavens…
Touch wood, it ventures forth…
Beyond The Pale Blue…
Koan: These Are The Mysteries
This very message: Just bits strewn around a digital world. Like atoms, hard to locate exactly; where is this very message? And with the atoms? How to find a needle in an empty haystack? And how to locate a fabric in itself; do atoms and their fields not compose the coordinate, for do they not encompass all that which we call space?
Yet if everything is mostly nothing, just vast empty space betwixt, then why does the something outmatch the nothing? How does the insignificant become the dominant? And how is it, that life appears too to be betwixt two nothings?
Perhaps all is the potential to become; fields of could-be, transferred in the metaphor of physical being, to dream itself into permanence, to will itself into existence by charge of none to on, and these are the mysteries and the bits of the answers strewn around…
An Insignificant Quandary
Feeling like you don’t matter weighs heavy on the psyche…
How to keep oneself afloat without adding bloat to the head?
How to disregard oneself without neglect?
Humiliation, humility; what quality?
No order to our disorder.
The Mania For Immortality
The enduring cope for cowards…
Afraid to fade away…
To have the final word said upon them…
Rather than have the final say.
What do we live for?
For life, to eke out the time to seek out the worthwhile?
For love, to long and miss or grow weary of bliss?
For greed, to covet and never be complete?
For lust, successions of pleasurable temporalities?
For power, the pleasure of a temporary succession?
For science, to always know you know nothing for sure?
For glory, that Mountain so gory?
For possibility, so fragrant with lack?
Is it all so fleeting? Is it all so incomplete?
True despair only happens twice:
Once, when there seems absolutely no hope left.
Once, when you have everything you ever wanted and still feel incomplete.
It follows, once you recover from either type, you get confidence in your ability to cope with that type.
And so… true despair only happens twice.
The Beauty Of A Spark
I fear I shall forget to live.
One cannot do all there is to do…
…and there is nothing to be done about it.
Life is a lantern between nights.
The beauty of a spark.
As things have passed, my bliss departs.
Beyond objection, as the curtains draw near of a past far too close…
For comfort, I flock to where curtains stretched endless.
An Amalgam Of Alia
Do I exist if I am not an -ist?
If I cannot be designated…
relegated to a conceptual constraint…
can there be no common decency?
The Happiest Dromedaries Dream Of Being Dromedaries, Not Camels
Dromedaries could dream of having more humps, yes...
But they have just the one.
And the one who finds plenty in what one is…