Sunday, September 15, 2013
Oh, world
Not yet so wise but not so naive either,
I am, as you may not see,
a child no longer.
I see the stumbles and where you fall.
Unbeknownst to you,
I have seen it all.
Is it not a bit ironic that the loss of precious innocence
now redeems us into the light?
Indeed, innocence,
that had once shielded from otherwise overwhelming darkness,
now sheds to uncover
a soul ready to take on the truth of the world.
And yet
it is in knowing that one becomes vulnerable
for knowing the truth has the power to free and enlighten the soul
or darken and encase it.
Power
lies within choice.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
B a r e d
What are we
'neath the self-portraits we make of ourselves?
Tell me.
Who
do we become
do we become
when all that we consider to be us or ours
d i s i n t e g r a t e s
into just plain
us?
us?
Just you.
Just me.
A question.
More questions.
More questions.
Questions to come.
No use trying to be subtle.
No use trying to be complex.
Life gives.
Life takes away.
Simple as that.
And the pain?
The pain becomes the cure.
The pain becomes the cure.
The cure to our naivety,
to our senseless pretending,
to our self-destructive pride.
It humbles us
into the beings we a r e.
And when we can finally look at ourselves
and s e e
into the beings we a r e.
And when we can finally look at ourselves
and s e e
only then can we fully accept
the wisdom of our very
existence.
and even our
darkness.
the wisdom of our very
existence.
Incomprehensibly
beautiful,
with all our imperfections;
wounds,
scars,
bruises,
beautiful,
with all our imperfections;
wounds,
scars,
bruises,
and even our
darkness.
Why else will we yearn for the light
if we have not been
in
d a r k n e s s ?
in
d a r k n e s s ?
Friday, January 04, 2013
Truth Is
Truth is,
while we drift, seemingly alone,
on our separate clouds of ecstasy,
we hide from
what lies
within the depths of our own humanity.
Voiceless,
or so we deem,
the souls of those that lay before us.
Oblivious, are we?
So into oblivion we shall fade.
Truth is,
we believe in our own ignorance,
proudly, stubbornly so.
Faith and goodness,
and all we hold on to,
futile
till through the fires they go.
And if they remain
shimmering, glimmering
amidst the ashes of deep cold scars,
so shall they rise from their heap
and forever be
with the immortal dust of stars.
Truth is?
Truth is,
whether it stands tall and proud
or hides silently
behind the dark foreboding of clouds
So we search it,
twist it, paint it, stretch it,
for all it cares
but we shall only see what we want to see
while truth
mourns in the corner,
laughing
at the loss of our sanity.
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