Pisces new moon low
brings end to dreamy season
leaving wistful glow
Categories
New Moon Energy
Tag: spontaneous overflow of emotion
Poetry is the answer to the question, how can words become art? Or, how can art be made of words?
Poetry is an answer to the soul’s calling. What is the soul calling for? The soul calls for meaning and meaning can only be found beyond words. But words become a vehicle to deliver the path and the path is symbolic.
Poetry is the answer to the overwhelm of emotion. The overflow of feeling is transferred metaphysically from a mental place to a physical form which can be shared and understood throughout time and space.
Poetry is the answer to the question, what is magic? Who is the muse? Where is love? How can we be free?
Poetry releases me.
Categories
Wish for Wisdom
(alternative title: fucking begging for it)
I want to cry
how is it possible
once again
to become an emotional wreck
of titanic proportions
at least still safely submerged
too sensitive
so overly sensitive!
Please!
Take the sensitivity away!
Sensory overload
at the slightest touch
and now — my imagination!
runs wildly & in wild ways
away
I’m a wreck
characters swarm my mind
barking at me
to write them down
and I cannot find my pen
where has it gone?
again!?
I cannot be barked at
any longer!
It doesn’t make me
any stronger!
I try and try
to not yearn to hear
words of kind sincerity
but again,
like salt water to quench my thirst
a taste and I am thirstier!
a taste and I need more!
Tell me I’m good
Tell me I’m GOOD
TELL me I’m good
Tell me I’M good
Tell ME I’m good
Am I good?
and even if you tell me
it doesn’t matter like it should!
because it’s my mind
that’s not good enough
to see reality clearly
to see past the real lies
deceptive tears, I moan, he cries
and I want him to pay dearly
but it’s that very fucked up mind
that wishes to take from others
in a selfish way,
to have others pay
for my debts owed –
No! No longer!
Although I cannot crucify myself
I can rectify by patiently accepting
while my inner voice still screams
I wish I was invisible
unknowable as I must be,
still the outer quiet spoke volumes
and the sound of silence resonates
reverberates off the walls
as darkness consumes
a single lamp put out
a black night falls
I was not as patient as I could
be I was not as kind as I would
like others to do unto me
A little dramatic, yes
(I wish I wasn’t so dramatic)
but nonetheless
it’s an artist’s reflection I see
Carry on
It’s not temporary happiness I crave
but full abandonment
of these unacceptable delusions
and the permanent happiness
resulting from the stainless mind
that realizes emptiness directly
Please!
Make my mind good
The Halfwit Writer 