Poetry competition CLOSED 12th June 2012 9:20pm
WINNER
Indie (Indie A)
Indie (Indie A)
RUNNER-UP:
Kou_Indigo
Philosophy
Defile and Enlighten (2/22/10)
I sweat a shadow in all despair. No one listens, so no one cares. I’ve sold my weakness to the acid rain. Grin upon me, a vile rainbow. laughing like a child amongst the clouds, so wild, vibrant. Last night I prayed upon my mother’s grave. “Come back to life, I need your grace.” So quiet and still the loud of pain. Help me recall if my death was in vain. I don’t remember what happened to the song. The guitar mourned the sadness of the trees. Poisoned by will, dying to live. Ironic still.
The dust settles in a corner of the room. Awaken the haze from my dizzy gaze. The putrescence so foul crawls upon the walls. Eying your fear, your doubt, your sin. You feel no different deep within. Helpless you lie in the cage of your mind. Writing your hatred on your hands, the lines, crooked and living, delicious, divine. Thoughts of betrayal flood your mind. Were you the only one left behind?
I refuse to believe that my end is near. I haven’t given my all to what I hold dear. Feeding on the limbs of the innocent so pure and clean. They feel no regret. Stained and corrupted, I have no other equal. This anguish will never wane. Something through hatred I’ll never gain. Retarded and damaged, I savor my days. The turmoil within devastates as it halts. The conscience panting at the struggles so far. Shutting down, forever. For forever it stops.
I sweat a shadow in all despair. No one listens, so no one cares. I’ve sold my weakness to the acid rain. Grin upon me, a vile rainbow. laughing like a child amongst the clouds, so wild, vibrant. Last night I prayed upon my mother’s grave. “Come back to life, I need your grace.” So quiet and still the loud of pain. Help me recall if my death was in vain. I don’t remember what happened to the song. The guitar mourned the sadness of the trees. Poisoned by will, dying to live. Ironic still.
The dust settles in a corner of the room. Awaken the haze from my dizzy gaze. The putrescence so foul crawls upon the walls. Eying your fear, your doubt, your sin. You feel no different deep within. Helpless you lie in the cage of your mind. Writing your hatred on your hands, the lines, crooked and living, delicious, divine. Thoughts of betrayal flood your mind. Were you the only one left behind?
I refuse to believe that my end is near. I haven’t given my all to what I hold dear. Feeding on the limbs of the innocent so pure and clean. They feel no regret. Stained and corrupted, I have no other equal. This anguish will never wane. Something through hatred I’ll never gain. Retarded and damaged, I savor my days. The turmoil within devastates as it halts. The conscience panting at the struggles so far. Shutting down, forever. For forever it stops.
the trip (2/1/10 - 2/5/10)
Day 1
Mesmerizing winters chill so calm as gold silhouettes fall over the empty rapport. The fog drifts ever so slow across this deserted highway. Traveling blindly in the slipstream behind us. The stench of human slumbers eludes me. I’m spellbound as three quarters of a moon glaze upon my dreamless eyes. The air thick with toxicity. Journey to a hell in a foreign land. I’m going home.
Day 3
The sun sinks into oblivion on the 3rd day. I’ve taken as much as i can from this place. The sadness caught under these nails wont go anytime soon. As life on this barren beach stares at the gates of prohibition soon to come, i hope to leave before i fall victim to its venomous sting. The allure it once had has faded and washed away into the sea just like all the land. I’m returning tomorrow. There’s nothing more of hell here than that of home.
Day 5
Disgust. No matter how far you run from the ugly facade it never feels any different. 11 hours ago my so called ‘haven’ felt like a sandbox filled with denial and misery. Now the closer I get to home the brighter these past four days seem. I loathe my life. I wish never to go back to it. Drifting amongst the sleeping corpses I realize what I’ve given up. A loss too great for me to handle or measure. An absent yet vague memory i’ll keep with me to satisfy the demon within. Open the gates. I’m back to the 7th circle.
Day 1
Mesmerizing winters chill so calm as gold silhouettes fall over the empty rapport. The fog drifts ever so slow across this deserted highway. Traveling blindly in the slipstream behind us. The stench of human slumbers eludes me. I’m spellbound as three quarters of a moon glaze upon my dreamless eyes. The air thick with toxicity. Journey to a hell in a foreign land. I’m going home.
Day 3
The sun sinks into oblivion on the 3rd day. I’ve taken as much as i can from this place. The sadness caught under these nails wont go anytime soon. As life on this barren beach stares at the gates of prohibition soon to come, i hope to leave before i fall victim to its venomous sting. The allure it once had has faded and washed away into the sea just like all the land. I’m returning tomorrow. There’s nothing more of hell here than that of home.
Day 5
Disgust. No matter how far you run from the ugly facade it never feels any different. 11 hours ago my so called ‘haven’ felt like a sandbox filled with denial and misery. Now the closer I get to home the brighter these past four days seem. I loathe my life. I wish never to go back to it. Drifting amongst the sleeping corpses I realize what I’ve given up. A loss too great for me to handle or measure. An absent yet vague memory i’ll keep with me to satisfy the demon within. Open the gates. I’m back to the 7th circle.
Ha ha, and here we are...
Not much to go on
seen as I've been munching
on the wrong words for ten years.
It's simpler than it was ever given credit.
How does it sound;
the difference between
BEING and DOING?
So many worries of love,
money and material needs.
So many distractions
such as love, money
and material needs.
Throw all that in to the pile
with booze, drugs, sex,
television, novels,
writing your two-a-day
cures for lonliness
and you're there...
In this place,
just where I am,
but without seeing it.
It's scary when you face yourself
clearly.
Everything harbours a lie,
that will take your legs out
when you start running.
Even this, in itself
is a distraction
from my own truth,
and in that case
it must be the same to you.
Without sounding a tad on the harsh side,
which is hard with all these bruises
and the four laughing walls,
you're an animal,
but unlike the rest of them
you have three things
on top of another three things
on top of yet another three things
that will keep you from realising it.
If I need to spell them out again
I'm going back to bed
where I can not sleep
because of you,
but mainly because of me.
Not much to go on
seen as I've been munching
on the wrong words for ten years.
It's simpler than it was ever given credit.
How does it sound;
the difference between
BEING and DOING?
So many worries of love,
money and material needs.
So many distractions
such as love, money
and material needs.
Throw all that in to the pile
with booze, drugs, sex,
television, novels,
writing your two-a-day
cures for lonliness
and you're there...
In this place,
just where I am,
but without seeing it.
It's scary when you face yourself
clearly.
Everything harbours a lie,
that will take your legs out
when you start running.
Even this, in itself
is a distraction
from my own truth,
and in that case
it must be the same to you.
Without sounding a tad on the harsh side,
which is hard with all these bruises
and the four laughing walls,
you're an animal,
but unlike the rest of them
you have three things
on top of another three things
on top of yet another three things
that will keep you from realising it.
If I need to spell them out again
I'm going back to bed
where I can not sleep
because of you,
but mainly because of me.
Help aid infected
Helen went across the waters to aid the downtrodden
But with the hand scratching her back, she got Infected
Helen’s motives were pure, but the infection spread quickly
The changes were subtle, a pasting look here of a woman moaning,
a dismissive one there of a child hungry.
Until no feeling remain of the plight of her fellow man, only payment in pain
Like a squirrel hiding nuts, little by little Helen squirreled away
With the cameras on Helen danced, when the cameras were off Helen feasted
on the riches of the land and the pain of the Haitian people she was there to aid.
Helen went across the waters to aid the downtrodden
But with the hand scratching her back, she got Infected
Helen’s motives were pure, but the infection spread quickly
The changes were subtle, a pasting look here of a woman moaning,
a dismissive one there of a child hungry.
Until no feeling remain of the plight of her fellow man, only payment in pain
Like a squirrel hiding nuts, little by little Helen squirreled away
With the cameras on Helen danced, when the cameras were off Helen feasted
on the riches of the land and the pain of the Haitian people she was there to aid.
More a genral poem about Philosophy and the idea of Wisdom and Love, than a poem striking the heart of a a matter.
For the Love of Wisdom
For the Love of Wisdom
The Philsopher is
Their existence,
Their raison d'être
For those to whom it applies
Or Daseinsberechtigung
For which that applies to.
Each thing to its correspondent
Each to their own,
Apart from when needs and wants war
When two tribes go to war
When rationality must intervene
In order to sate all stars.
The Wise.
Beyond all appearance and age
Diamonds buried within coal
And Coal to fuel furnaces,
Where each knowledge has some place
Where it is foolish to be Wise
In so little a field.
For in the Love of Wisdom
Often brings the love of words
Words to express wisdom
To convey the philosphical touch.
The Wisdom is within us all
All touched in different parts
In different degrees
In order to solve The Problems
To which only a few are pre-ordained.
For it seems Wisdom only loves some
A blind fleeting lover
Yet worthy of all our love
So it seems love brings much wisdom.
For the Love of Wisdom
For the Love of Wisdom
The Philsopher is
Their existence,
Their raison d'être
For those to whom it applies
Or Daseinsberechtigung
For which that applies to.
Each thing to its correspondent
Each to their own,
Apart from when needs and wants war
When two tribes go to war
When rationality must intervene
In order to sate all stars.
The Wise.
Beyond all appearance and age
Diamonds buried within coal
And Coal to fuel furnaces,
Where each knowledge has some place
Where it is foolish to be Wise
In so little a field.
For in the Love of Wisdom
Often brings the love of words
Words to express wisdom
To convey the philosphical touch.
The Wisdom is within us all
All touched in different parts
In different degrees
In order to solve The Problems
To which only a few are pre-ordained.
For it seems Wisdom only loves some
A blind fleeting lover
Yet worthy of all our love
So it seems love brings much wisdom.
A poem about looking at the universe through innocent eyes...
- The Snowglobe -
A tiny snowglobe in a child's hand, to them a universe holds,
Where snow falls upon a land untouched by time and age...
And in that instant, imagination's power ever swiftly enfolds,
Entrapping us in a fairytale world, like birds in a gilded cage.
Happy to be held by the spectacle before us, we do not care,
About the worries of life around us, which towards us stare.
Similarly, I long to be held by the eyes of a beloved lady fair,
Who would have the power to captivate me beyond compare.
Am I, then, like a child for my blind faith in the power of love?
Let it be so, for in my innocence my spirit soars like a dove.
Shall my wings enfold her, when she comes unto my side...
Into the world of my snowglobe, where a castle does abide.
What lies within that castle, are the delights of every era...
And nothing of the evils, which have befallen across all time.
So unlike the world we live in, this sadly tormented Terra...
More like unto a line of poetry, some very treasured rhyme!
I see it in my soul, as I hold the sphere and gaze within it,
A world all our own, to which we can fly and, together, flit.
Perhaps only in imagination this world can exist this real...
But it can live forever in our hearts if, therein, we do seal.
Thus locked away inside our souls, the magic shall endure,
And we can go there anytime, winged, to that kind shore.
Like angels we can sing the praises of the love we know,
If you would love me, despite wither the wind might blow!
Let the winds of the world blow as they may; they are little,
Merely phantoms without form, compared to mortal hearts!
Like words without meaning, or an answer without a riddle,
They cannot touch us, falling like so many arrows and darts.
When we shake the snowglobe, it causes the snow to fall...
So who shakes the world, toppling those who stand so tall?
Trust in the hand that made all things, and in love believe...
That such a power will not offend, but every trouble relieve!
Every world is a snowglobe and every god the holding hand;
Each dwelling is a castle, as the universe was first planned.
We have the power to make it magical so why not use it so,
To build a greater dawn for all, a fantasy where all may go!
- The Snowglobe -
A tiny snowglobe in a child's hand, to them a universe holds,
Where snow falls upon a land untouched by time and age...
And in that instant, imagination's power ever swiftly enfolds,
Entrapping us in a fairytale world, like birds in a gilded cage.
Happy to be held by the spectacle before us, we do not care,
About the worries of life around us, which towards us stare.
Similarly, I long to be held by the eyes of a beloved lady fair,
Who would have the power to captivate me beyond compare.
Am I, then, like a child for my blind faith in the power of love?
Let it be so, for in my innocence my spirit soars like a dove.
Shall my wings enfold her, when she comes unto my side...
Into the world of my snowglobe, where a castle does abide.
What lies within that castle, are the delights of every era...
And nothing of the evils, which have befallen across all time.
So unlike the world we live in, this sadly tormented Terra...
More like unto a line of poetry, some very treasured rhyme!
I see it in my soul, as I hold the sphere and gaze within it,
A world all our own, to which we can fly and, together, flit.
Perhaps only in imagination this world can exist this real...
But it can live forever in our hearts if, therein, we do seal.
Thus locked away inside our souls, the magic shall endure,
And we can go there anytime, winged, to that kind shore.
Like angels we can sing the praises of the love we know,
If you would love me, despite wither the wind might blow!
Let the winds of the world blow as they may; they are little,
Merely phantoms without form, compared to mortal hearts!
Like words without meaning, or an answer without a riddle,
They cannot touch us, falling like so many arrows and darts.
When we shake the snowglobe, it causes the snow to fall...
So who shakes the world, toppling those who stand so tall?
Trust in the hand that made all things, and in love believe...
That such a power will not offend, but every trouble relieve!
Every world is a snowglobe and every god the holding hand;
Each dwelling is a castle, as the universe was first planned.
We have the power to make it magical so why not use it so,
To build a greater dawn for all, a fantasy where all may go!
Ever since I first read Dune by Frank Herbert, a lot of the philosophy in those novels really resonated with me. Here is a poem I wrote as a tribute to those grand philosophical ideas.
- Where Fear Has Gone -
A Meditation upon the Self
Written as a tribute to the works of Frank Herbert
I must be steadfast and be cleared of the mind’s every tension,
For in the places between clarity and dreams, fear can be born.
I must not fear, lest I give in to that subtlest mask of madness.
Fear is the mind-killer, the dissolution of every rational sense.
Fear is the little death that brings unto us, the total obliteration.
I will face my fear, and I shall rise again like the coming morn.
I shall look at my fear, and arrive in a place of serene gladness.
I will permit my fear to pass over me, and through my defense,
And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to behold…
The path whence goes my fear, and then I will become reborn.
Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing it may control…
Only I will remain, triumphant, free of terror and above scorn.
The door of my spirit is open but the guards will keep me safe.
My ancestors look upon me kindly, and know my cause is just!
I have transcended the abominations of fear, no longer a waif…
For I have found my home, beyond that door, gaining its’ trust.
My mind affects my reality, and so shall I make of it paradise…
Walking upon a path of gold until I arrive where I wish to stay.
I must be steadfast and not falter before all deception and lies…
I shall walk my path until gone is the night and risen is the day.
What I desire to do has already been done, in the destined plan!
I have only to go through the motions, working the sacred will.
I am the hand of destiny, and all time runs before me like sand!
Once my desire has been sated, my heart will be calm and still.
When I hear a lie hidden in words, I want to turn my back to it,
But in knowing what is true, the lie cannot hope to ensnare me.
Deception shall not rule the course of my will, not even any bit,
For my eyes are opened, and once opened they surely must see.
Whatever rises, so too must fall one day, to pay for its’ power.
Let me be humble, therefore, to ascend without such high cost!
The will of a humble soul can multiply like the petals of a flower,
Blooming in its’ season without a fear of withering until it is lost.
Fear and ego are like unto fire, and can burn those they afflict…
But peace flows like unto water: bringing to us, hidden strength.
Let passion burn like fire, for it alone is meant to be that strict…
And let your spirit be like water, flowing beyond human length.
- Where Fear Has Gone -
A Meditation upon the Self
Written as a tribute to the works of Frank Herbert
I must be steadfast and be cleared of the mind’s every tension,
For in the places between clarity and dreams, fear can be born.
I must not fear, lest I give in to that subtlest mask of madness.
Fear is the mind-killer, the dissolution of every rational sense.
Fear is the little death that brings unto us, the total obliteration.
I will face my fear, and I shall rise again like the coming morn.
I shall look at my fear, and arrive in a place of serene gladness.
I will permit my fear to pass over me, and through my defense,
And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to behold…
The path whence goes my fear, and then I will become reborn.
Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing it may control…
Only I will remain, triumphant, free of terror and above scorn.
The door of my spirit is open but the guards will keep me safe.
My ancestors look upon me kindly, and know my cause is just!
I have transcended the abominations of fear, no longer a waif…
For I have found my home, beyond that door, gaining its’ trust.
My mind affects my reality, and so shall I make of it paradise…
Walking upon a path of gold until I arrive where I wish to stay.
I must be steadfast and not falter before all deception and lies…
I shall walk my path until gone is the night and risen is the day.
What I desire to do has already been done, in the destined plan!
I have only to go through the motions, working the sacred will.
I am the hand of destiny, and all time runs before me like sand!
Once my desire has been sated, my heart will be calm and still.
When I hear a lie hidden in words, I want to turn my back to it,
But in knowing what is true, the lie cannot hope to ensnare me.
Deception shall not rule the course of my will, not even any bit,
For my eyes are opened, and once opened they surely must see.
Whatever rises, so too must fall one day, to pay for its’ power.
Let me be humble, therefore, to ascend without such high cost!
The will of a humble soul can multiply like the petals of a flower,
Blooming in its’ season without a fear of withering until it is lost.
Fear and ego are like unto fire, and can burn those they afflict…
But peace flows like unto water: bringing to us, hidden strength.
Let passion burn like fire, for it alone is meant to be that strict…
And let your spirit be like water, flowing beyond human length.
Searching For Answers The Journey Within
I'm thirsty for knowledge
I sipped from a glass
Couldn't tell if the glass
Or the water in it was pure or tainted
So I only drunk half
As I look at the glass again
I ask myself
Is it half full or half empty?
Which one is correct?
Is there even a right or wrong answer?
I ask myself these string of questions because
I know the answers lies within
The answers resides in each and everyone of us
All we have to do is search
And philosphy is like a compass
To help us find our way
I'm thirsty for knowledge
I sipped from a glass
Couldn't tell if the glass
Or the water in it was pure or tainted
So I only drunk half
As I look at the glass again
I ask myself
Is it half full or half empty?
Which one is correct?
Is there even a right or wrong answer?
I ask myself these string of questions because
I know the answers lies within
The answers resides in each and everyone of us
All we have to do is search
And philosphy is like a compass
To help us find our way
Time, mortality, and the importance of having good memories to look back on as the years go by.
- On Memory's Wings -
In timeless mists, the mountain loomed above the town,
The sun's light casting the rocky cliffs into reddish hues.
And there, where soars the highest peak, a craggy crown,
The mists of time encircle, where some mystery ensues.
In my youth, I'd climbed the crevices of that stony height,
And I looked down, like a god from some Olympian domain.
Seeing tiny lives playing out before me like specks of light,
Each soul a universe unto itself, full of pleasures and pain.
How powerless, from that height, to touch the lives below!
Must the gods sometimes feel that way, though immortal?
Perhaps despair is as elemental as when the winds blow,
And hope as instrumental, as it is for every mere mortal.
I look upon my hands, now those of a woman once a child...
And think of how they gripped the stones of that mount,
Seeking safe passage, to greater heights of a lofty wild.
Was it such passing years ago, as I have lost the count?
Aye, and in my memories it is but yesterday's own deed!
Time the trickster mocks the will of gods and mortals alike,
Making memories into treasured things when is the need.
In a timeless place, my feet upon the old trails still strike!
Someplace in the mists above that mountain, in a dream,
The ghosts of yesterday still play, like fish in their stream.
Who can recall the fish of the stream, in all their schools?
And no one should think only of yesterday, save for fools.
In cathedrals of pines, the chimes are still ringing sweet,
Though my time amongst them was but a passing thing.
Yet, in part my heart is still there, walking with other feet,
The air so fresh with the scent of the forest in the spring!
Once I laughed at that day, as but a passing fair revelry,
And now I weep that it is past, and none recall it but me.
How much more weep the gods, for what they have lost!
Who mourns for them, each thing beloved that has gone?
So brief is every age of gold, and so heavy is time's cost!
Too many battles are waged, and no victory is ever won.
Yet for one brief moment in time, I would shed my tears,
For all old friends gone into the night, with passing fears.
Once I was a child, now a woman, and I see with new eyes,
But sometimes, I must pause to consider the road I left.
Each flower's colors I did not enjoy, each rainbow's size,
I now must savor, lest they be gone so fast and so deft.
These hands that once held rock, now hold past times...
So that for all of the ages will ring those bygone chimes,
That once I had heard there in the pines, one lovely day!
Those who are not gods have perhaps not a better way.
Where is our Elysium, where time ceases and beauty is?
Only where we make it to endure, in our temporary bliss.
Yet, though we cannot abide forever, whilst time sings...
We can still fly back to a golden age, on memory's wings.
- On Memory's Wings -
In timeless mists, the mountain loomed above the town,
The sun's light casting the rocky cliffs into reddish hues.
And there, where soars the highest peak, a craggy crown,
The mists of time encircle, where some mystery ensues.
In my youth, I'd climbed the crevices of that stony height,
And I looked down, like a god from some Olympian domain.
Seeing tiny lives playing out before me like specks of light,
Each soul a universe unto itself, full of pleasures and pain.
How powerless, from that height, to touch the lives below!
Must the gods sometimes feel that way, though immortal?
Perhaps despair is as elemental as when the winds blow,
And hope as instrumental, as it is for every mere mortal.
I look upon my hands, now those of a woman once a child...
And think of how they gripped the stones of that mount,
Seeking safe passage, to greater heights of a lofty wild.
Was it such passing years ago, as I have lost the count?
Aye, and in my memories it is but yesterday's own deed!
Time the trickster mocks the will of gods and mortals alike,
Making memories into treasured things when is the need.
In a timeless place, my feet upon the old trails still strike!
Someplace in the mists above that mountain, in a dream,
The ghosts of yesterday still play, like fish in their stream.
Who can recall the fish of the stream, in all their schools?
And no one should think only of yesterday, save for fools.
In cathedrals of pines, the chimes are still ringing sweet,
Though my time amongst them was but a passing thing.
Yet, in part my heart is still there, walking with other feet,
The air so fresh with the scent of the forest in the spring!
Once I laughed at that day, as but a passing fair revelry,
And now I weep that it is past, and none recall it but me.
How much more weep the gods, for what they have lost!
Who mourns for them, each thing beloved that has gone?
So brief is every age of gold, and so heavy is time's cost!
Too many battles are waged, and no victory is ever won.
Yet for one brief moment in time, I would shed my tears,
For all old friends gone into the night, with passing fears.
Once I was a child, now a woman, and I see with new eyes,
But sometimes, I must pause to consider the road I left.
Each flower's colors I did not enjoy, each rainbow's size,
I now must savor, lest they be gone so fast and so deft.
These hands that once held rock, now hold past times...
So that for all of the ages will ring those bygone chimes,
That once I had heard there in the pines, one lovely day!
Those who are not gods have perhaps not a better way.
Where is our Elysium, where time ceases and beauty is?
Only where we make it to endure, in our temporary bliss.
Yet, though we cannot abide forever, whilst time sings...
We can still fly back to a golden age, on memory's wings.
http://www.gioiosani.it/ospitate/carlos/musica/pink%20floyd%20images/pink-floyd-the-wall-2.jpg
Painting Words
[b]We all go through life painting words on one
an-others souls, all the while we do it with a
very specific goal.
Careful, those words you paint for they simply
cannot be erased,
A lasting impression they all tend to make,
words of laughter, words of pain,
they leave a lasting impression just the same.
Painting words should be like fine art,
without malice and always full of heart.[/b]
Painting Words
[b]We all go through life painting words on one
an-others souls, all the while we do it with a
very specific goal.
Careful, those words you paint for they simply
cannot be erased,
A lasting impression they all tend to make,
words of laughter, words of pain,
they leave a lasting impression just the same.
Painting words should be like fine art,
without malice and always full of heart.[/b]
Existentialism is bullshit
"Existence precedes essence." John-Paul Sarte
it all only
meant
anything
if you stayed
only happened
if my hands cupped your face
once more
before you knocked them away
knocked
me
(away)
i was only free
because you called me
baby
and tied me to your ego
leaving my hands free
to stroke it
but now you're done
(Gone.)
and i am undefined
i can no longer...
... prove I'm here
i
no longer care
if
I ever was
"Existence precedes essence." John-Paul Sarte
it all only
meant
anything
if you stayed
only happened
if my hands cupped your face
once more
before you knocked them away
knocked
me
(away)
i was only free
because you called me
baby
and tied me to your ego
leaving my hands free
to stroke it
but now you're done
(Gone.)
and i am undefined
i can no longer...
... prove I'm here
i
no longer care
if
I ever was
My Philosophy part 1
Clandestine mind that eliminates
Ideas of toilet. Don’t know about
Roses but a lot about thorn.
The word that is around us
Full of shit.
A rapper better than a politic,
a philosopher When he is on the street
with a microphone.
Mines of knowing
Ironies conceptions,
Pianist of my body
Out of tune contradiction,
Without options,
Of the law
The only exception.
My head,
my source The chronic.
the life,
to go and come
the true school
Philosophic.
Meanwhile I go like a tale
Invisible to the eyes of the dummy’s,
Specialist of the art of going unnoticed
Create conscience to empty heads is my hobby.
Like robin my arrow are unstoppable,
Because today a gang does not control,
Command only one Man uncontrollable.
That does not believe in a system,
No more hell, Me My own hero,
My paradigm, My government eternal
Unspeakable.
SENA
Clandestine mind that eliminates
Ideas of toilet. Don’t know about
Roses but a lot about thorn.
The word that is around us
Full of shit.
A rapper better than a politic,
a philosopher When he is on the street
with a microphone.
Mines of knowing
Ironies conceptions,
Pianist of my body
Out of tune contradiction,
Without options,
Of the law
The only exception.
My head,
my source The chronic.
the life,
to go and come
the true school
Philosophic.
Meanwhile I go like a tale
Invisible to the eyes of the dummy’s,
Specialist of the art of going unnoticed
Create conscience to empty heads is my hobby.
Like robin my arrow are unstoppable,
Because today a gang does not control,
Command only one Man uncontrollable.
That does not believe in a system,
No more hell, Me My own hero,
My paradigm, My government eternal
Unspeakable.
SENA
Philosophy, faith, and freedom are all entwined in this poem.
- Immortality's Fruit -
Wherefore, has man named himself as good or ill,
When fleeting are all given names of his contriving?
Unto which lofty estate, could be his fleeting aim...
When vast is the universe, and it is cold and chill,
Larger than the reach of man, with all his striving!
Not all his actions, can free him from sin's domain.
In fiery climax, like the nova of suns exploding fast,
So unto perdition goes the nobility only imagined...
To cold death is lost the mistake of classes created.
Not a savior can restore one, from what cannot last,
And in the end, what can be kept of what is gained!
Only that which is eternal: and not lost on the dead.
But why must the dead alone accept eternal things,
When the living soul is immortal, beyond even kings?
Life is not without fault, and oft we are merely cogs,
Pieces of the machine that cannot be easily beheld.
Naught can be exact even in order's masterful plan!
Let him step forth who would not just stack the logs,
The fuel that feeds the flames of creation that meld.
Let any step forth, who would not become damned!
When order becomes sterile and too insane to bear,
Then must man embody chaos, and in its' name dare.
Lest pointless become the path that leads to glory...
When too great grow the burdens of horrible worry.
None can be sated who has not appetites to enjoy...
So do grant those: lease, that are pleasing like a toy!
Allowing order to but gently keep us from far excess,
We can accomplish more, and achieve great success.
Lest in brute foolishness one may sink too far deep,
Let every soul content itself so that it may be happy.
Only in contentment can paradise be enjoyed as full,
As when we free ourselves of tedium that may creep.
So great can be pleasure if we let it increase blessedly,
Allowing each day to bring new joys, never being dull!
Pleasure brings peace, and in peace is pleasure kept,
Made perfect by the desire of all who will it to endure.
Noble is such inner fire, and away it cannot be swept,
Like passing waves are swept upon the sandy shore.
Does not every element find in mankind a dear home,
Beyond the ken of senses felt of mere flesh and bone?
Why then do we limit ourselves to one sense or element,
When they are all here to guide us past the firmament!
Life has not one form, not one substance, nor an end.
Rather, to exist is to be one part of a greater whole...
Each part is its' own universe, each mind may so bend,
The nature of it's own reality, the meaning of its' role.
Every will holds the power to make afresh what is true!
Just as once did a great spirit clad itself in emerald hue,
Radiant with mad passions, desire its' compass arrow.
More glorious than the sun, this spirit came on hither...
The light of the dawn was in her body's very marrow,
As in swift descent she came to make a garden wither.
For when Eden became a prison to man, who did toil...
In the name of vain gods, who sought to enslave all,
It was she who kindled the flame that in us does boil,
Allowing us to become free, either to ascend or to fall.
She dispelled the lie that death alone was man's fate,
By offering humanity the fruit that proved us immortal.
How long in savagery was man to linger, and to wait,
Before learning that only mere flesh is what is mortal!
Man does not die when embracing knowledge so vast,
And so who told the lie, in that bygone era of the past?
Rather, man's spirit knows no bounds, and not a curse,
But blessings more profound even than a golden purse.
The spice of joy, she did mix with the juice of that fruit,
And of that wine we all sip, when we weary of sadness.
Pleasure is the reward, when joy is the honest pursuit,
Unto which desire leads us, freeing us from all madness.
Breathing into us the wind of eternal life that we exhale,
Creating with such wonder, all art that grows not stale.
And so a sterile universe bursts into life and much color,
When we paint upon the canvas of reality with all vigor.
Letting desire awaken in us a love for all so beautiful...
That it cannot be denied, we are perfected as a result.
No creator ever fashioned so perfect a sublime model,
Whereby in joy, we may obtain salvation without guilt.
- Immortality's Fruit -
Wherefore, has man named himself as good or ill,
When fleeting are all given names of his contriving?
Unto which lofty estate, could be his fleeting aim...
When vast is the universe, and it is cold and chill,
Larger than the reach of man, with all his striving!
Not all his actions, can free him from sin's domain.
In fiery climax, like the nova of suns exploding fast,
So unto perdition goes the nobility only imagined...
To cold death is lost the mistake of classes created.
Not a savior can restore one, from what cannot last,
And in the end, what can be kept of what is gained!
Only that which is eternal: and not lost on the dead.
But why must the dead alone accept eternal things,
When the living soul is immortal, beyond even kings?
Life is not without fault, and oft we are merely cogs,
Pieces of the machine that cannot be easily beheld.
Naught can be exact even in order's masterful plan!
Let him step forth who would not just stack the logs,
The fuel that feeds the flames of creation that meld.
Let any step forth, who would not become damned!
When order becomes sterile and too insane to bear,
Then must man embody chaos, and in its' name dare.
Lest pointless become the path that leads to glory...
When too great grow the burdens of horrible worry.
None can be sated who has not appetites to enjoy...
So do grant those: lease, that are pleasing like a toy!
Allowing order to but gently keep us from far excess,
We can accomplish more, and achieve great success.
Lest in brute foolishness one may sink too far deep,
Let every soul content itself so that it may be happy.
Only in contentment can paradise be enjoyed as full,
As when we free ourselves of tedium that may creep.
So great can be pleasure if we let it increase blessedly,
Allowing each day to bring new joys, never being dull!
Pleasure brings peace, and in peace is pleasure kept,
Made perfect by the desire of all who will it to endure.
Noble is such inner fire, and away it cannot be swept,
Like passing waves are swept upon the sandy shore.
Does not every element find in mankind a dear home,
Beyond the ken of senses felt of mere flesh and bone?
Why then do we limit ourselves to one sense or element,
When they are all here to guide us past the firmament!
Life has not one form, not one substance, nor an end.
Rather, to exist is to be one part of a greater whole...
Each part is its' own universe, each mind may so bend,
The nature of it's own reality, the meaning of its' role.
Every will holds the power to make afresh what is true!
Just as once did a great spirit clad itself in emerald hue,
Radiant with mad passions, desire its' compass arrow.
More glorious than the sun, this spirit came on hither...
The light of the dawn was in her body's very marrow,
As in swift descent she came to make a garden wither.
For when Eden became a prison to man, who did toil...
In the name of vain gods, who sought to enslave all,
It was she who kindled the flame that in us does boil,
Allowing us to become free, either to ascend or to fall.
She dispelled the lie that death alone was man's fate,
By offering humanity the fruit that proved us immortal.
How long in savagery was man to linger, and to wait,
Before learning that only mere flesh is what is mortal!
Man does not die when embracing knowledge so vast,
And so who told the lie, in that bygone era of the past?
Rather, man's spirit knows no bounds, and not a curse,
But blessings more profound even than a golden purse.
The spice of joy, she did mix with the juice of that fruit,
And of that wine we all sip, when we weary of sadness.
Pleasure is the reward, when joy is the honest pursuit,
Unto which desire leads us, freeing us from all madness.
Breathing into us the wind of eternal life that we exhale,
Creating with such wonder, all art that grows not stale.
And so a sterile universe bursts into life and much color,
When we paint upon the canvas of reality with all vigor.
Letting desire awaken in us a love for all so beautiful...
That it cannot be denied, we are perfected as a result.
No creator ever fashioned so perfect a sublime model,
Whereby in joy, we may obtain salvation without guilt.
