Written Word/Whore of Old Ideas

I find I fear the written word, that whore of old ideas. I find I fear, indeed my dear, that written word of mine. I find I fear with dire dread the writing of a tale, that thought of fickle failure near that does drive me to despair.

I find I fear that written word that would show me to the crowd, that motley mob of cruel humility there to drag me down. I find I fear, indeed my dear, that written word of mine; thoughts that dance inside my mind rarely make it past my mouth let alone to the page to be read or shout.

I find I fear that fickle fate of trying to be more.

I find I fear my written word and my muse so damned and divine, for if I write, or if I speak, I must claim what’s mine. So I sit with dire dread and put to page this bloody pen and carve this path of mine.

Here I sit in dark despair the future so grim and clear. The failure near, drawing fast as the words of mine appear. Yet still this written word of mine that flows so oft doth no disappear.

It does not fade like some spirit gone against the day, it does not flee this fear of mine that dawning of the light; so with dread so known and fear so clear I put upon this page these words of mine. Words I know so well that drives me to a rage.

Yet still I fear that written word, that whore of old ideas. That bloody spirit that claims clarity and within this thought there is a clear disparity, and obfuscation of the truth.

I fear that written word, this old muse of mine, for nothing is known and little is clear, the old liar of the times. The words that twixt and twine about our souls and clutter the clarity of a mind. Words and intent, one might claim to know both and be so frightfully bold.

I however know little of the harlot except that she calls this bleak mind of mine home.

Broken & Shattered/Going Forward, Crawling Back

Broken, shattered, going forward, crawling back there is no home, no place to hide. No regrets, nothing but pain, falling slow, fading away.

Falling to pieces, falling apart, the night does fall, dawn does rise, all is dust and life has passed me by.

Broken, shattered, going forward and crawling back, there is no home, no place to hide. Nothing but regrets, pain is gone, replaced by an empty numbing tide.

Hollowed out, left alone, clinging to faith with nothing to hold. Life is fading, light is failing, oblivion is on its way.

Broken, shattered, un-moving, no more pain, no more hurt, leave me to rest, leave me to sleep, no more doubts, no more regrets, not a single thing to keep.

Jumble in My Head/Mess Inside My Brain

Running forward looking back the path remains the same

The track though changes all the time the curves straighten into circular lines

It makes no sense it’s a jumble in my head, topsy-turvy inside out

It’s a mess inside my brain

I run the track and I walk back looking forward along the path

The path that never remains the same on the singular consistent track

It makes no sense this jumble in my head things don’t remain from one moment to the next

This topsy-turvy, inside out, this upside-down circle, this route that can’t get straightened out

It’s a jumble inside my head it’s a mess inside my brain I can’t get a handle I can’t stay sane

I wish I knew the rules, I wish knew the game but it never remains the same

This topsy-turvy inside out jumble inside my head, this mess inside my brain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P.S.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also this on my deviant art, along with a lot of older poems and stories. I’m going to be trying to keep the two in sync as I post for now one (as I should have been doing from the start really)

http://zip0186.deviantart.com/art/Jumble-in-My-Head-Mess-Inside-My-brain-669632864

 

 

 

Only I Remain

There is only I, for We have vacated and They have left, the husk that was known has long be gone to shadow and waste for Me has gone to take to task Who, those that dared destroy the Us by siding with Them. Shadows and tatters and little bright fetters, only I remain, to sing a tune and dance at noon while drinking the moon away.

I remain to sing and dance, sing this tune, and I can eye the world view, see the pollution of the that was once belonging to My or Me, either or don’t you see? I can see just fine, and yet at times I perhaps wonder if this poison has caused me to be blind, the images a perception of a hallucination of a fevered troubled mind, as I dance at noon and sing this tune, with only shadows and tatters and little bright fetters to call a place of home.

But Me was cruel and They were quite mad, Us was foul and Them never cared to say a kindness or offer a passing aid, perhaps perhaps I’ll sing them back one day, with this tune I forgot but remembered but only just made. Cobbled together of broken pieces of shadows, little tatters of light and bright shiny fetters I’ll simply dance and dance until all comes back, and They returns and Me is new, Us and Them no longer fight but become We once more, and perhaps with this I will be restored and eyes will see clear past the haze the shady dream scenes of troubled tortured days that pass at night in tattered painful frights. Yes, until then I remains, to sing this tune and dance at noon and drink the moon away.

 

For the Glory of My Muse

Out of hope, and out of time, this life of mine it’s empty, it’s bleak but I’ll find my way

My way to that glory at the mountain, that light found at morning’s peak

I’ll stop my mourning, I’ll stop my sorrow, I’m sorry I’m not sorry but it’s done now it’s over

I can’t do it anymore this mad dash for inspiration has left me empty, my muse is weary

The words I write do get so bleary, she’s tired of my dreary ways and she’s so thin

Her skin is wrinkled and she’s wasted away, she’s no longer young like she was that day

That day I decided that my path was right this path I write and I never knew it was wrong

How I mistreated, how I would write something only for it be trashed, deleted

I spurned my muse, and second guessed my nature, and now I’m in that shadowed valley

With fear looming over me, I take another step, upon those stairs leading to the peak

Outside of this darkness this mourning bleakness, wearied and depressed my muse is mute

But I know what to do, I know how to fix it, turn my back on the shadow and walk to the light once more.

I’ll find what I need to make my muse laugh and smile, and be like what we had before when she whispered those stories of old forgotten years into my head, my sleeping ear

The trip won’t be easy, she’s telling me not to go not to risk my gift that gift that I spurned by trying to this thing, this thing outside my nature

But you see I must, this mourning is tiring and sorrows are getting droll I see my muse getting old and we haven’t lived even a half-life as of yet this isn’t a choice but a task

So, out of hope and out of time I’ll find a way to carry this empty life of mine to that glory on the mountain, that light found at the top of morning’s peak

Perhaps once that light baths over us once again, once again to me my muse will speak, that’s all I want, all I need, to hear my muse again, to hear her speak

 

What do I know?

What do I know?

It’s a simple a question, asked and answered

Yet such a simple question brings such a doubt to the soul.

What do I know? Said in a certain way, in the right kind of tone.

Becomes an insult, to things I’ve yearned to write and show.

It’s true however, what do I know?

I barely know myself, I’ve yet decided if I am friend or foe.

I know my fear however, I know my sadness, my guilt and tears.

I know my paranoia, how I jump in the night, at any sudden sound that gift of fright.

I know my joys, in a certain way, some are light, able to be shared and see the day.

Some however, I’m still learning, some I’ve yet to know, still buried in those shadows inside my self, my hidden soul.

So yet some ask, what do I know?

To this I say, not much of yet, I’ve a lot learn, so I read for I’ve no way to leave

To travel and experience

To go and see

So they ask, what do I know?

I know little, for the world is wide, and filled with questions that rattle inside my mind.

I know enough to to know I’ve yet to know at all, who I am, and how it is I shall rise or fall.

I know enough to ask the questions I need, I know enough that my curiosity was planted long ago

A budding seed

So, I ask myself, what do I know?

Not enough yet, not near enough

I’ll never know enough.

Muse (Chained)

That muse of mine has been silent for a time

But no more

Chained to me, chained to this place I see

She’ll talk for sure

She’ll inspire me

Be it with blood, or glory to come

I’ll have a story from her lips

Something new, nothing old

Or else it’s time to leave her, my old muse

There in that darkness, that bitter cold

If that’s the case I’ll find something new

A muse that will speak, and speak to be heard

Not this weak willed thing that stutters and whispers

Incomplete tales and stories that could never be told

Behind my Eyes (My Muse does Laugh)

The shadows are in my mind, behind my eyes

The itch is there, in my fingertips

I see a story, barely forming

Waiting to be born

I want to hasten it, make it quicken its turn

But alas, however much I try it comes no faster

It will come in due time, and not a moment before

Yet I can hear my muse laugh in my ear

As I sit and wait, a day, a year

The story I need, the story I want

Its there, right behind my eyes

It makes my fingers itch, with want, with need

To fulfill the story, to make it breathe

But it sits, a seed inside my mind

Waiting til the time is right

For me to let the words in

For me to give it life

Worldview

I have followed the path of honor,

and I have found the end

The end of it is nothing

for it was never there to begin

I have found honor to be a lie

Valor a thing of myth

Goodness a pipe dream

We see

In those filthy vapors and the mist

There is many things in this world

That do indeed exist

They however do not include

The shining swords

and bright kind words

That we hoped for when were children

Those tales of honor, those tales of glory

Something told to make light of the ugly

There is no such thing as Valor

And Honor is a lie

Goodness the worst of all

For nothing in this world is kind

Purity, the greatest offender

Offering the falsehood that never was

Tainted from birth to death

As all us humans are

From our first to final breath

We are corrupt, for we can learn

We are cruel, though we hide it

We are greedy, and we embrace it

I do not absolve myself

Nor think myself above

I just feel I see clearly now

Lies dispelled

The truth revealed and to be reviled or revered

As each would choose their own

Empty Air

I sit here and stare

At the empty Air

And wonder what it is I wish was there.

In that spot, that empty air.

Perhaps a muse, one to inspire my word and make me dare?

Dare to try and dare to do.

Dare to live and do more then survive.
Dare to thrive.

Or perhaps I see, in that empty air, a lover instead.

One to make me see the world, one to make care.

One to make me feel like more than words on a page.

One that might set me free of my own dreadful cage.

Oh I sit and stare at that empty air, and wonder what I wish was there.

Not that it matters, not that it changes.

The air remains the same, no wish comes true.

Nothing is there in that empty air.

No matter what I do.