Tag Archives: death

The Bounty

Charred wood and ash stirred to bright gold embers
violence begat flames that fold in tongues
crack like whips in darkness to inspire lust
the night takes the fire into its lungs

Thoughts are loud – though they remain unspoken
silence is where the sane call their home
the madness restrained surely dies inside
or there resides like eyes free to roam

The sounds of life are encumbered with death
all felt the time plundered as an offense
the cliff ending while they keep running on
absence becoming something immense.

But finality waits for tomorrow
they will travel no more after this
Three weeks to create a friend from nothing
one rope to end it all in abyss.

Exist

Exist within the existential crises.

Are you afraid of death, and the end to it all? 

I think that fear is a very reasonable response. We exist for such a tiny period of time and then we don’t. Death is a scary thing to come to terms with, even if you have beliefs in things like an afterlife.

I have found myself crying for hours because of this thing that I cannot avoid. Death is inevitable. Logically I should put it out of my mind entirely since my thinking about it will only burden me mentally and physically which in turn shortens my lifespan further.

Isn’t it interesting that the primary reason we are afraid of dying is that we have so much that we love in our lives, you don’t want it to end, but then waste time being afraid and sad which leads to not engaging with the things that we love. It’s amusing to think how counterintuitive that is.

Focus on what you can control and let the things that you cannot control go.

Don’t leave space for dread. Actively focus on the things that you love. Allow those things to fill that space. Utilize your time the best that you can so that, at the end of it, you won’t feel like you missed any opportunities to enjoy living.

Return to the Earth

The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts

When we’ve reached bitter end of this tome
and the waters of life have met with drought
the throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out

No matter how many miles we may roam
or to what causes we may feel devout
there is always the same end to our route
The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts.

Siren’s Call

An old sign hangs disheveled off the brick wall
broken neon tubes that spell out, “Siren’s Call”
one of two steel bars still screaming, “please, don’t fall!”

The bricks bleed rust down the side of the building
as if more than mortar was used for their melding
mineral substrate to match the signs welding.

The doors below rot in a weak wooden frame
years of struggle have warped them in knotted shame
discarded pallets no one wants to claim.

Once there were souls that lived behind those old doors
warm embers to subdue the cold bricked in core
but there is no life in that place anymore.

Propped on failing beams, it looms over the street
scouring at all the faces it might meet,
those lost vagabonds cast astray at its feet.

Daylight overwhelms the chaotic city
the sun, arousing beauty from the gritty,
would never touch those bricks, though moved by pity.

They found comfort only in the nights embrace
the moon and the stars having a softer face,
evening found this menace to be a sad place.

In the darkness those hidden lights would turn on
some stammered prophecy of the coming dawn
as if ashamed that its life had long since gone.

Fracture : Absolved

Find hands hidden in darkness to clasp tightly
fingers collaborating on a rhythm
Forgotten forms awake shining brightly
forging ahead with their own algorithm
forced to light all these things we find unsightly
fracturing the spectrum as would a prism
folding luminosity impolitely
founding between the light and dark a schism.

“Are you broken?” one will ask filled with concern
advancing further in the fragmentation
abstractions of color all they can discern
“Adventures are journeys with cracked foundations
ardent intentions will find intent returned.”
Approaching closer they refuse cessation
accepting each other as a lesson learned
and ascending to their annihilation.

Six Tenets

One should always communicate honestly
One should always be humble
One should always treat others with respect
One should always act with passion
One should always be thorough

Pursue love with intentions that are thoughtful
Give what you request of love with respect
Let love given find you humbled
Bind your love tightly with honesty
Let the love you share be thorough
Fill the spaces between with passion.

Should you serve as a mentor, be humble
Provide guidance and feedback honestly
Gift your knowledge as well as your passion
and when you do, ensure you are thorough
Embrace all criticism thoughtfully
Find growth in the soil of mutual respect.

Find success hidden amongst your passions
Tackle all your tasks thoroughly
Your best attribute is honesty
Accept your greatest success humbly
Share the fruits of your labor respectfully
Look on to your next venture thoughtfully.

As you get older, live your life thoroughly
Discover treasures in your buried passions
Adopt the changing world thoughtfully
Overcome challenges respectfully
Let mornings and sunsets keep you humble
Reflect on how you evolved honestly.

Remember to treat your death with respect
Enjoy your history thoughtfully
Prepare those that you love thoroughly
Express your death as life lived passionately
Enjoy the end in its honesty
Die with a life that leaves others humbled.

Love yourself with humble honesty
Love others with thoughtful passion
Love life thoroughly and with respect.

Relativity

There between the stars
are lights from afar
stars themselves
blackened by distance
dulled by time
and lost to naivety.

A certain level of corruption
foreshadows their revelation
some darkness within
siphoned from the void without
to leave these distant galaxies gasping for air
with us greedily grasping at their corpses
and calling it power.


The audacity.


A corpse can’t smell a corpse through its fetid remains.

Waiting in Queue at Verdun

We stand waiting for a break in line,
Staring the thousand yards at our spines
Through BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM violent hues in bloom;
Metallic rain that levels the pines.

The captain calls out over the sounds,
To send another out to the hounds,
BOOM-BOOM the bombs crawl, BOOM-BOOM and they fall;
No more will I see them above ground.

Hearing my name sends ice through my veins
I breathe deep and embrace the insane,
A last act of violence, sulfured silence;
I hear nothing, nor shall I again.

A Fly

Wind blows gently across the plane,
It’s soft hands sifting through the grain;
A golden ocean crashing endlessly,
Relentlessly splashing,

Colliding with the setting sun,
Deep purples on the horizon,
Lulling the world to sleep with hues of blue,
And sweeping clouds askew.

A depression hides in the field.
A secret quietly concealed,
Some wandering soul now lost to the earth;
A cost assigned at birth,

A body of anxiety,
Now bereft of society,
Become a bloated, bountiful buffet
All decayed and fetid.

Yet the wind still finds its beauty;
Perhaps a false sense of duty,
It circulates the smell through the valley,
Life rallied with a knell.

A perfect place for young flies,
One decides as it lands on an eye,
And then skitters about to find its place,
On the face to be mined.

It rises and lands on the cheek,
A landscape both supple and weak,
But then the cadaver struck the fly dead
And said none would have her.

Then settled her hand to her side,
Contemplated the world outside,
And enjoyed her death as best as she could.
The good life, she thought in jest.

An Ode to Rob O’Horo

He had pictures in a dusty stack,
Joy flowed out from every frozen stance
As he leapt full meters dancing the gopak.
I often think about that,
Everything I loved about him,
My favorite moments and most influential chats,
The smoke of an empty shell casing expressed as his whim.
Poor man drank himself dead
All while entertaining my young self.

More than most, his imprint is pressed upon my head,
His humor and wisdom were both top shelf;
He offered so much guidance through film and book,
When I needed it/him more than I knew,
We stayed up all night discussing his life, what it took,
And thus I learned about mine and grew.
Coy was I in response to his caring stance,
Until he took his own life, and it destroyed me, but…
Boy, let me tell you, that man could dance.