cdasil

i once read a poem & never felt so unworthy of literacy ...and yet never so pleased to feel so. those among us not receptive to the power of words need only find one such piece; they'll never see these placid symbols the same way again how, i thought, could so much emotion be transferred by so tiny a collection of scribblings? a few squiggly lines in that word & no straight lines in this one, but the ones just before; some grouped here and others still, yes, right here; a few spaces in between & a lonely dot at the end. two-dimensional variations on a theme, nothing more, on the page in front of my eyes and yet... and yet appeared a w

Feelings never felt before Make passing through my door a war. Reality will complicate What the free have never sought before A newer state of mind emerging Answers had begin to fade Doubtless once, questions creating A lock that memory forbade A slight hatred begins to grow Submission fought, but never shown Ineffability now forms Desire of what once was known A shard of old identity Floats atop the sifting sand Never still, and ever fighting, To regain some essence of solid land

To shed… is this the task of the broken soul? Tattered, and covered in its own remains, The essence once forgotten – so central, creating its later form – Believes in its unconquerability; its immortality once more, So that shedding the rubble & ash of former scorching becomes possible, Allowing the essence always present, To kindle once again… Its formlessness made it no less real, though this was forgotten. And though the task is never really itself to end – The shedding of the soul’s form to reveal its formless essence  – The end is already known: to be, and yet be not; A formles

Formidable emotions never tire, and never cease to ramify, Especially for those who feel outside the range of Emotion’s Eye. To be a victim, or victimize?  A false binary for those wondering why. Your soul knows the extent of your actions and deeds. And all that you truly deserve will heed, No desire on your part, no wish or cry, Save for selflessly severed ties. To sever, to end, to cut, to die, Lends no hope to future lives. How can hope be born again from the ashes of a scorched soul?

Undone I come to be done up I’ll re-cover the treasure dug You ask me why, it’s no longer there And I reply, ‘do not despair’ That which you seek I desire not You’ll get it only when you rot And then you’ll long for it no more Believe me I know what’s in store And yet you choose not to deny It’s harmless, why would it belie? So knowingly, you take the step Beyond that line you wrongly crept My friends will come for you at night It’s not that they’re afraid of light They’ll pull you down and bring you up You’ll wish that you were one of us And you will never see me aga

Build your bridge to the Cities of Gold Over the Darkness eternally old You wish to compete with the Being so bold? The Darkness includes, the Cities withhold They may appear bright, they may be a sight But only a sight your dreams have controlled Unholy mirages for your Reason to scold For the Darkness takes all, even extolled And the plan you consider has yet to unfold Do you truly believe its bearings will hold? A moment of hate for the doubt so unrolled But finally your Faith is beginning to mould... For too many believe that the Darkness is cold! That it execrates Fervour, and to Hell has it sold The Cities are phantoms, it

Lacklustre erudition, allusion to a politician,   Genius of false populism whom Ideology imposed, Upon the people of conviction, whose virtues worked against division,   Against exclusive quick decisions that Ideology proposed. And with a black and white rendition of all that grey had once partitioned,   The ideologue's’s adverse affliction would never cease, or be exposed, For less than revolting depictions – adversaries in sedition,   Stitching the social incision where Ideology reposed. Mendacious inclusive remissions, peeled from the politician’s   Denial of his cor

Save for all our alienated work, ostensibly created by those who don’t appreciate it, a certain happiness ensues when finally we’re paid our dues. Then we are able to choose, among the propagated clues for the answer that was generated prior to the work, created by our addiction to the ruse that happiness loves to excuse. Desires, when not expiated, never fail to be abused. When incessantly pervaded all our dreams become subdued. So alienate the execrated, appropriate the decimated spirit that is ever fated to be eternally misused.

Beliefs that say there's just one path Beliefs that say there's just one end A system built upon what one Imagines God would not defend We never cease to speak for Him We never seek to understand All we wish for is our Truth A wish that only Fear commands So what is it that we expect When false inquiries fail to find An answer to the question begged From the primal infant mind? A species of intelligence Is that what we're supposed to be? The more beliefs become entrenched The more our thoughts seek to be free.