Robert Morpheal
2011-04-07 04:36:40 UTC
050411A
------------
The way a bird tries to fly
with broken wings,
while the cat circles in
closer and closer.
There is nowhere to go,
and no way to get there,
as fear becomes paralysis
anticipating the jaws of death.
------------------------------------
050411B
-----------
You never appeared anywhere
to invite me as you did,
except in a dream,
where we appeared in a different time,
somewhere before I was really born,
in antiquated places,
where such dreams were possible.
I always knew
I was born into the wrong time,
the wrong space,
the wrong space time of any when,
where I never find you,
and so the desire to wander away
always consumes me everywhere.
Now I regret
not having tasted your lips,
knowing I will never see you again,
because dreams are as final as lives,
having their own peculiar goodbyes,
and leaving us with losses
that are as real as any others.
-----------------------------------
050411C
------------
I envy those most who are wealthy enough
to escape into the more intense distractions,
living where money turns sins into ecstasies:
those varied tastes of freedom,
sold as indulgences by our modern day priests.
The miracles performed by saints are over rated,
some of us having done more astounding things
for which we will never be remembered.
One has to have one’s bones gathered up
into a beautifully crafted reliquary for that.
One feels every wound one has ever suffered
somewhere in one’s bones,
where one is constantly trying to shake free
from everything that is trying to pull one down,
including one’s primordial ancestors.
I do not really care what happens to my broken bones
when I am finished, having no use for them.
Make relics of them, or burn them to ash,
it makes no real difference to me,
they were always my pain, not your’s.
----------------------------------------------
050411D
-----------
There are the things you want to know
before you die, as if you can take with you
something of the experience,
to have it in the eternal infinity of it all.
All of one’s life becoming the last request
of someone doomed to be executed
at some immanently appointed hour.
There are the truly most cruel
who would deny the smallest chance of gaining
even the tiniest breadth of such experiences,
always demanding something or anything else,
in the contrariness of that incessant torture
that passes for inquisitions disguised as love
meant only to consume away a life.
The worst of it is that they will deny you
as much as a choice as to how to be tortured,
fearing you might find something to enjoy in it,
thus evading their entire purpose,
which is only the finality of dust and ashes,
breaking down your joyous enthusiasm
with an endless torment of disappointments.
------------------------------------------------------
050411E
------------
I am weary of poets who say what they ought to say,
saying nothing of the truth of anything,
until you cannot tell the difference any more
between poets, politicians, and business men.
So I have turned to all the forbidden phrases,
that conjure up all those frightening demons,
that make you turn away from my words in horror,
as if such things can never be said.
You see my deformed and diseased phrases
fearing they might infect you,
making you a leper, disfigured, contorted,
a vile spirit, cast out from their midst.
I might contaminate you like an atom bomb,
penetrating your skull the way x-rays penetrate,
making all the kinds of ugliness visible,
before it is all hidden away in the grave.
You see I found there is no cure of any sort,
for all the world’s pain,
and it will hurt and hurt forever,
each generation ending in the same conclusion.
The endless reproduction of futility,
the way candles are lit and snuffed out,
and in between all the unanswered prayers,
and the failed struggles as to any real freedom.
You try to write your name in the sand,
watching the sea rise up and wash it away.
Eventually a wave rises up
washing away a galaxy as if it never happened.
---------------------------------------------------------
050411F
----------
There was no love in those eyes,
and every time I turned around
you were gone.
I had failed to addict you,
with forbidden substances
and other forms of intoxication.
You did not want to addict me,
with whatever might enslave me
to your most secret desires.
It is the way that it is,
and denial will not set you free
from this sentencing.
You are as condemned as I am,
but you chose another prisoner,
leaving me to a different executioner.
This is the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth,
with or without any mention of a god.
----------------------------------------------
050411G
------------
I think of all the things I still want to do
that will never likely be done,
and I dread adding you to that list,
thinking that we might never really make love,
before we complete our cycles of decay,
becoming less than the fallen of previous seasons
plowed deep into the fields.
Strange how tastes change
along with the passing away of years,
as does the preferences for scents,
to something more earthy.
Composition becoming decomposition,
in the increasingly cruel months
as follow the dead of winter.
Too much has become ploughed under,
as the furrows start to be ploughed into the brow,
betraying too many years of planting
all those abortive seeds that never grew
into any kind of blossom.
A mind stream into an endless sea,
where it all disappears.
Nothing really being saved,
and endlessly counting the losses,
while hearing of the lucky
who were never called into battles
that can never really be won,
with all their nameless dead
fallen like the petals of a rose.
-------------------------------------
050411H
------------
When I count up all my broken beliefs,
counting you among them all,
it is as if mountains have crumbled
down into endless grains of sand.
I could not have imagined
there were so many beliefs to be broken,
when I was young and looking
at all those hopeful new horizons.
It is what you cannot possibly see
beyond those thin stretched lines,
that changes everything,
when you eventually step over them.
You look back to where you came from,
wishing something had been true,
knowing it was only those illusions
that had led you to a future.
If you had known,
you would have never chosen to come,
never really arrived,
and you curse them for tricking you.
--------------------------------------------
------------
The way a bird tries to fly
with broken wings,
while the cat circles in
closer and closer.
There is nowhere to go,
and no way to get there,
as fear becomes paralysis
anticipating the jaws of death.
------------------------------------
050411B
-----------
You never appeared anywhere
to invite me as you did,
except in a dream,
where we appeared in a different time,
somewhere before I was really born,
in antiquated places,
where such dreams were possible.
I always knew
I was born into the wrong time,
the wrong space,
the wrong space time of any when,
where I never find you,
and so the desire to wander away
always consumes me everywhere.
Now I regret
not having tasted your lips,
knowing I will never see you again,
because dreams are as final as lives,
having their own peculiar goodbyes,
and leaving us with losses
that are as real as any others.
-----------------------------------
050411C
------------
I envy those most who are wealthy enough
to escape into the more intense distractions,
living where money turns sins into ecstasies:
those varied tastes of freedom,
sold as indulgences by our modern day priests.
The miracles performed by saints are over rated,
some of us having done more astounding things
for which we will never be remembered.
One has to have one’s bones gathered up
into a beautifully crafted reliquary for that.
One feels every wound one has ever suffered
somewhere in one’s bones,
where one is constantly trying to shake free
from everything that is trying to pull one down,
including one’s primordial ancestors.
I do not really care what happens to my broken bones
when I am finished, having no use for them.
Make relics of them, or burn them to ash,
it makes no real difference to me,
they were always my pain, not your’s.
----------------------------------------------
050411D
-----------
There are the things you want to know
before you die, as if you can take with you
something of the experience,
to have it in the eternal infinity of it all.
All of one’s life becoming the last request
of someone doomed to be executed
at some immanently appointed hour.
There are the truly most cruel
who would deny the smallest chance of gaining
even the tiniest breadth of such experiences,
always demanding something or anything else,
in the contrariness of that incessant torture
that passes for inquisitions disguised as love
meant only to consume away a life.
The worst of it is that they will deny you
as much as a choice as to how to be tortured,
fearing you might find something to enjoy in it,
thus evading their entire purpose,
which is only the finality of dust and ashes,
breaking down your joyous enthusiasm
with an endless torment of disappointments.
------------------------------------------------------
050411E
------------
I am weary of poets who say what they ought to say,
saying nothing of the truth of anything,
until you cannot tell the difference any more
between poets, politicians, and business men.
So I have turned to all the forbidden phrases,
that conjure up all those frightening demons,
that make you turn away from my words in horror,
as if such things can never be said.
You see my deformed and diseased phrases
fearing they might infect you,
making you a leper, disfigured, contorted,
a vile spirit, cast out from their midst.
I might contaminate you like an atom bomb,
penetrating your skull the way x-rays penetrate,
making all the kinds of ugliness visible,
before it is all hidden away in the grave.
You see I found there is no cure of any sort,
for all the world’s pain,
and it will hurt and hurt forever,
each generation ending in the same conclusion.
The endless reproduction of futility,
the way candles are lit and snuffed out,
and in between all the unanswered prayers,
and the failed struggles as to any real freedom.
You try to write your name in the sand,
watching the sea rise up and wash it away.
Eventually a wave rises up
washing away a galaxy as if it never happened.
---------------------------------------------------------
050411F
----------
There was no love in those eyes,
and every time I turned around
you were gone.
I had failed to addict you,
with forbidden substances
and other forms of intoxication.
You did not want to addict me,
with whatever might enslave me
to your most secret desires.
It is the way that it is,
and denial will not set you free
from this sentencing.
You are as condemned as I am,
but you chose another prisoner,
leaving me to a different executioner.
This is the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth,
with or without any mention of a god.
----------------------------------------------
050411G
------------
I think of all the things I still want to do
that will never likely be done,
and I dread adding you to that list,
thinking that we might never really make love,
before we complete our cycles of decay,
becoming less than the fallen of previous seasons
plowed deep into the fields.
Strange how tastes change
along with the passing away of years,
as does the preferences for scents,
to something more earthy.
Composition becoming decomposition,
in the increasingly cruel months
as follow the dead of winter.
Too much has become ploughed under,
as the furrows start to be ploughed into the brow,
betraying too many years of planting
all those abortive seeds that never grew
into any kind of blossom.
A mind stream into an endless sea,
where it all disappears.
Nothing really being saved,
and endlessly counting the losses,
while hearing of the lucky
who were never called into battles
that can never really be won,
with all their nameless dead
fallen like the petals of a rose.
-------------------------------------
050411H
------------
When I count up all my broken beliefs,
counting you among them all,
it is as if mountains have crumbled
down into endless grains of sand.
I could not have imagined
there were so many beliefs to be broken,
when I was young and looking
at all those hopeful new horizons.
It is what you cannot possibly see
beyond those thin stretched lines,
that changes everything,
when you eventually step over them.
You look back to where you came from,
wishing something had been true,
knowing it was only those illusions
that had led you to a future.
If you had known,
you would have never chosen to come,
never really arrived,
and you curse them for tricking you.
--------------------------------------------