Tag Archives: soul

Considering Decay

I found a bone
I brought it home
It once walked over dirt and stone,
It held a creatures flesh and skin,
It was partially the vessel the soul had traveled in.
I found a bone, a bone called sin.
I found a bone, the bone was dead.
Though alive in my head,
To me it said:
“What I was, I no longer am,
Though you hold me still I stand,
And one day will become the sea and land.”
I set it down then to display,
How it still stands, in a way,
How it still moves, and runs and plays.
You’ll see this too, if you consider decay.

Stationary

In an end unto our own
Tells not the knell for whom to toll
When endangered, runs from home
One forgets to secure the soul.
Up all hours, a sleepless night,
No rest until dawn, none till twilight.
There is none to be found, why seek?
It is as unreachable as the moons keep.
The ship that is sleep brings no rest
Though it ferries you to dawn,
The waves it rides, reveal at their crest,
You’ve been stationary in this ocean all along.

Nihilistic Optimism

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Life is pain and then you die.
Why should I bother to even try?
Days pass by quickly,uncaring.
They do not ask how I am fairing.
It makes no difference, this or that.
It won”t take much to see where I’m at,
In the ocean cold.
Slowly sinking, grasping soul.
Treading water just prolongs,
My end, the bottom, where I belong.

But life is joy before you die!
And joy and love! Still we cry.
Something so fickle and sweet as life
Becomes fermented and stale with time.
One should not wish it to be forever
That it should continue, ending never.
We all end up at the bottom it’s true
Before then I’ll be with you,
Spending the happy hours,
Loving, laughing, avoiding sour
Looks and words that would stain
Our souls if from within they came.

Let the day pass by so quickly!
I’ll not be one who, sickly,
Sits and waits and wastes the time,
What little we have, like a slime,
Trapped on the edge of the ocean, not in it,
Not loving life, but afraid of it.
Life is pain and darkness frightening,
The end comes quickly before the ripening.
In this small time, I’ll make the most
Never fearing the inevitable ghost.
No sorrow in death. It is and it must.
Then we live on, after first turning to dust.

Who Reach into the Soul

   There are those who watch our souls from beyond the shadows and behind the vacancy of night, who, wishing to become one and unbeknownst to us, plot to enter and twist the silent minds laid before them, that lay unguarded, for their foolish owners dare not believe in the thieves that threaten at every turn.
   Where shadows speak the spirit longs to flee and I with them, for who knows the length of arm the ones who reach into the soul?

What the Water Gave Her

“So lay me down in the flowing cold,
Sweeping away, I am but a soul.
All that’s left, the beauty around me
It’s its own beholder; it surrounds me.”
So what is given her but fear and lonely dread?
All hope abandoned here, once immersed, one is dead.
But to rise above the waves, one can dream,
And she surely does.
Though little more than that it seems,
Her safety she dearly loves,
Enough to stay on is this mainland,
But will she live with her head in the sand?
What she’s left with is what the water gave her.
Which is little more than enough to enslave her.
Floating by, amongst, beauty that draws in,
She rests her mind as she dreams within.

An elaborate take on my fear of water, and partially inspired by the Florence and the Machine song: “What the Water Gave Me”

Fires of Conspiracy

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From those in power,
We are different.
The smell is sour,
The taste, a bitterent.
The throne ought be mirror,
Not what casts a shadow.
The occupant peers ore’,
Their hardened hearts to harrow.
In furrowed wakes behind,
They planted in the soil
And the dirt that is our minds
Seeds of greed that despoil.
Their labor; our sweat and blood,
Their currency; our souls.
Just one night, a violent flood
To overthrow their thrones.
But will we stand
Against the tide?
Our bloody hands,
Their secrets hide.
No more behind a face so strange,
We’ll find one more familiar,
Shown in the puddled rain
To be one that is similar.
The last dark night, the red dawn shows
Whose hands that did conspire,
Death and greed with war in tow,
In ash recently expired.
From those ashes who’s to say,
What tree we’ll see to grow?
We, the ones to prune today,
Decide beauty or thorn show.

Pain We Keep

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In the light of those that were,
Something else is there inferred.
Evidence before us burned,
Dark secrets there interred.
I dreamt the secrets then, were ferried,
To the opposing shore were carried,
With spoken words not yet buried
In our foolishness we tarried,
With the crushing guilt of what remains.
In our silence nothing gained.
There was no joy or peace. Only pain.
Our souls that day saw naught but rain.
This is the bed in which we sleep.
No peaceful dreaming, restful, deep.
No turning tide, no faithful leap,
This is the pain that we must keep.