Remember Me as a Time of Day

I think this is one thing that everyone can write about. It applies to all of us, and depending on who you are, it rules us too.

Time. How strange that in the same moment things can feel like they are comming down to the minute yet the hours dull and transcend, unfamiliar and intangeble...that it can be so far away.

And when those moments finally come they seem to come only when you're off guard...like, "So soon...?"

Moment. Did you know that its one of my favorite words? Moment. Its capacity alone can be so dramatic. So much can weigh upon it, yet it remains so often overlooked. I kind feel like a moment. It fits me perfectly, heh.

Remember as a Time of Day. Remember me a moment.

Hopefully not one of those moments you regret...

Anyway,One thing I mourn is the slaughter of time. So much of it dies meaninglessly, wasted, when it is now that needs to be considered. The earth pays the price for such. We all do. How can it be acceptable to live on like this?

The time to be seized is now. Nothing can wait; we are far too disconnected. Not a second of agony can allow to pass by unnoticed.

I have something deep in my heart I wish to write about; but that is an entirely different subject...and for an entirely different time. My selfishness intercedes; no matter how necessary these cries in the night must be heard, now, I cannot let my time-frame be seen, my limits revealed...because I am a fool.

My question is, would you wait? Or would you seize this stranger's words

right

now?

I close my eyes and clamp my ears to the verdict.

Bury The Sound

The earth reverberates. I stand soley in its lamentation, living, breathing in its suffering and affliction of detachment- your tears are my own, your blood is in my veins, and your sight is mine as well. Our ears are one. I shake my head and sigh at the one futility I cannot let go...

Ο πόνος μου είναι ορυχείο.

This one sigh is felt by the earth and the earth alone. No man can recognize this tangent in me, nor can he discern...

In this way, the earth and I are kin.

There are ghosts in this dimension that observe such whims...If only I could reach out to them. They are intangible.

I run from the noise, I bury its destruction.
Though the sounds they shun are the screams of agony...
I run from their gluttonous laughs- laughs that devour the very souls of the ashamed.
They dismiss the echoes of grief. Their ears prick at the accents of malice, for which they hunger to be entertained.

I run from the noise. I bury its destruction.

In me.

They relish in it. It is the lavish golden calf.
What comes in the silence of forsaken
a healing peace, the angels' passion
a strain of paradise.

Of which you refuse to know.

O latent earth, the blood poured out upon you is poison
like the words of the belligerant...
Shall you fade away in the deafening silence
before you were ever known?

Scraps

Rain
how it floods the soul
where profanities bubble up from deep cracks
of past and present
over the surface
yet letting something of a piercing grace
take its place.

Cheers
Here's to the outcasts and castaways
the derelicts and lepers
to the refugees and vagabonds
Cheers
Oh how you travel such roads of color
Will none comprehend?
You are a monument against arrogant eyes
standing for the core of humanity.
You are the light of the world.
Let us drink in better days.

Sojourns

As the present unfurls...I begin to realize just how crucial memories are to this being. Its an essential part of who this one is, influencing hopes and dreams for the future... at least they used to.

Now I suppose its just an apparition...The concept itself is quite interesting I suppose; some refuse to let the past affect them and I wonder if it does anyway. I shake away from what I desired for in the future because I couldn't have it in the past...
Do I really don't want it or is i something else?
I wonder how much this applies to others...memories, that is.

And yet it is said that if your heart is far too submerged in memory, you'll never be able to break the surface for your dreams. Makes sense..

Somehow, I no longer want to find the arrogance to make assumptions on the rest of humanity anymore. I just don't seem to have it in me I guess.

I keep looking for any trace of a path...everyone else seems to just follow one set before them... mine lies in something alien. This concept of destiny... scary...yet at the same time, romantically exhilarating. If I could just find it.

How fragmented and contradictory. Sigh.

In A Sort of Cruelty

Time is faceless in a sort of cruelty,
inhuman yet not to blame...
I laugh in futility at my own wanderings.
Such meaningless words behind
half-conjured attempts for meaning themselves

If only the world would breathe...

I wait in longing for thunder and earth to contend
once again,
though these lips have never tasted harmony...
there is a subtle rhythym that says one while living...shall not.
Explicit cries echo in the stubborn darkness......
that I myself wrought.

Heh,

Will I not wake up?

Wherever I go
There I am.

Untitled

Here are the remnants of the warm bite of wine,
echoes on the tongue and rhythms in my mind.
The sharpness of the day and vagueness of the night
evolution from a fading era running from old light.

Fleeing from the ancient strands of heavy shaded fact
Rooting from a heart contrived of deeply shattered pact.
I am but a resonance of evanescent thought
standing solely in this sea of what such silent things have wrought.

I cannot fathom, I cannot breathe
what the tastes of closeness are and why the blood will seethe.
The strands of silver in this heart know of more than dust.
Yet ash is of my being and its gaze still blurred by rust

Obscured and yearning for the crossings, yet knowing of the calm
Not longer chasing after chains imbedded in the palm.
And here I stand in stillness, in solace I do see
the universe within them all, my devotion breaking free.

Running down the face of solitude, a prison of one's own
Behind a mask concealing joy and such adversity alone.
Wreaking contraditons, the epitome of a soul
that walks a path of forests where the twilight rays still roll.

Here one kneels unknowingly to enigmatic shame
Fading in and out of significance, in memory of bane.
And despite suppression, of such ill-depicted whim
One laughs in realms of oceans, left to requiem.