- Published on
All of My Yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
- Published on
If you knew.
Maybe you do.
If so, you should know.
Like I know.
I sleep and wake up.
It's churning my gut and setting the course for my day.
I am so afraid to speak of it.
I like it and I hate it.
And it hurts; in so many ways, it hurts.
I want you to feel like I feel.
Deal and squeal and reel in the same way,
Pound and yearn and ruin your day.
And still when you sleep,
Wake up to know it might always be this way.
Maybe you do.
If so, you should know.
Like I know.
I sleep and wake up.
It's churning my gut and setting the course for my day.
I am so afraid to speak of it.
I like it and I hate it.
And it hurts; in so many ways, it hurts.
I want you to feel like I feel.
Deal and squeal and reel in the same way,
Pound and yearn and ruin your day.
And still when you sleep,
Wake up to know it might always be this way.
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I sleep on it. I wake up and think on it. Consider it. Fodder it. Entertain it. Sustain it. Dismiss it. Then I sleep on it. Dream on it. Inspired by it, I wake up. And I linger on it, tinker it, cuddle it, and nurture it ... my heart's full of it.
And the days drift, and I lose it. Then I regain it, pulled from a coil of a dream of it. Then I desire it. I repeat it. And I recycle it. and praise it. And I go on to shape it, imagine it, but never fully grasping it.
I owe it, a birth into existence; hence the persistence. I'll never grow it, and I know it, but I put all my hopes on it ... until the day I die.
And the days drift, and I lose it. Then I regain it, pulled from a coil of a dream of it. Then I desire it. I repeat it. And I recycle it. and praise it. And I go on to shape it, imagine it, but never fully grasping it.
I owe it, a birth into existence; hence the persistence. I'll never grow it, and I know it, but I put all my hopes on it ... until the day I die.
- Published on
Come along this way
To the other side of sanity,
An escape from mundanity
The winds of calamity,
Opening wardrobes,
And triggering episodes
That will get me committed
Admitted,
Off to lands of ecstasy
My very own dark fantasy
c2018km all rights reserved
To the other side of sanity,
An escape from mundanity
The winds of calamity,
Opening wardrobes,
And triggering episodes
That will get me committed
Admitted,
Off to lands of ecstasy
My very own dark fantasy
c2018km all rights reserved
- Published on
Behind art is a mess
Behind genius is anybody’s guess
I embraced the madness and endured the torture
Pain was after all progress,
And I was its martyr
You were delicate when you came,
Your face like muses in a flame
You personified beauty and grace
And you blossomed in a strange place
So alien to me,
Everything I wanted to be
I became the ground in which you were nurtured
And with my nutrients you flowered,
And came to tower above me
You couldn’t get enough of me
And I gave you your color,
Stained from the fluid of my veins
Beauty is pain,
And a rose by any other name?
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The poem was written by romantic poet, William Wordsworth, and is one of my favorite poems. The world is obsessed with beauty, and there is no shortage of poems in praise of pulchritude, but not many people take time to acknowledge those not blessed with beauty.
Wordsworth's poem is a quiet appreciation of the the woman who often goes invisible. It has all the comparisons to nature a romantic poem naturally has. Compare the line, "fair as a star when only one is shinning in the sky" to Shakespeare's, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, thou art more lovely." While Shakespeare lifts his love's beauty above nature's best, Wordsworth's beauty is given a sort of "backhanded compliment." Sure, you can be fair as a star, but only if there is only one to compare you to/no one to overshadow you. He's not claiming she can outshine stars/nature, but that her beauty is more understated.
Considered part of Wordsworth's "Lucy" poems series, it is considered a meditation on loneliness and isolation--an appreciation of someone no one else sees except the poet himself, who admires her from afar.
She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
Wordsworth's poem is a quiet appreciation of the the woman who often goes invisible. It has all the comparisons to nature a romantic poem naturally has. Compare the line, "fair as a star when only one is shinning in the sky" to Shakespeare's, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, thou art more lovely." While Shakespeare lifts his love's beauty above nature's best, Wordsworth's beauty is given a sort of "backhanded compliment." Sure, you can be fair as a star, but only if there is only one to compare you to/no one to overshadow you. He's not claiming she can outshine stars/nature, but that her beauty is more understated.
Considered part of Wordsworth's "Lucy" poems series, it is considered a meditation on loneliness and isolation--an appreciation of someone no one else sees except the poet himself, who admires her from afar.
She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!