To think! What does it mean to think?
To mull over how the apples taste?
Or ponder the coolness of a drink?
Oh, how we question, ever in haste
To learn and learn
Before our minds reduce to paste.
We learn and yearn still
For more 'cause Man won't rest. No! Not until
He's thought all there is to think,
And then he'll ask
What does it mean to think?
How again today our patron star
whose ancient vista is the long view
turns its wide brightness now and here:
Below, we loll outdoors, sing & make fire.
We build no henge
but after our swim, linger
by the pond. Dapples flicker
pine trunks by the water.
Buzz & hum & wing & song combine.
Light builds a monument to its passing.
Frogs content themselves in bullish chirps,
hoopskirt blossoms
on thimbleberries fall, peeper toads
hop, lazy—
Apex. The throaty world sings ripen.Our grove slips past the sun's long kiss.
We dress.
A lot of hue with shades of blackness
Some linear static and broken edges
Dull colors inside of that brightness
Every turn seems like an act of calmness
Would you agree that this is a liar?
Or maybe just a great pretender
When I saw it, it’s just a cylinder
But inside is a stained glass of different flush
Little windows of different colors
Sometimes a sound which makes me eager
Eager enough to look inside and know you better
I'm always surrounded
By people
Which i find difficult to understand.
The way they act, the things they say
Out of the ordinary
As if they fell from the 9th cloud
And hit their head of the asphalt.
They make me sad, they make me happy
They cry and laugh with me
Or they leave. And forget
And they are marvelous without me
While I stay miserable without them.
Yet, after it all,
I still try to understand;
Why?
Well, my two statements for today:
It's midnight
April 2 just freshly arrived and
I was actually waiting for yesterday to finish.
The day of fools, they call it
Day of lies, others say.
Yet is just a day
When we're allowed to do it
To lie
And not be judged or feel guilty
Yet it happens endlessly
Not only yesterday
But every single day of every single year.
Our mechanism wouldn't work
Without that tiny little spiral
That makes us liars
But humans.
If i had one hour left to breathe
I would do what people never do
I would stop and observe
The sky
I'd lie down on an empty road
And listen to the symphony of night
Stargazing and wishing for peace.
My eyes would be full of tears
And my heart would be shaking
But I won't move.
I'd tell the stars all my secrets
And let them judge upon me
Or understand my pain.
I'd tell you how much i do
Love you
Just for my inner tornado to calm down;
I lit up my cigarette
And put my head out of that window
Listening
To the silence of night
Telling me that
When the end comes,
It's always like this; silent.
And when the words started invading my head
I finally realized
It's time to write about myself
And how those quiet nights
Remind me
Of how beautiful ends can be
Even without words
Because every time I lay in my bed
And put my thoughts to sleep
When your nights light up over vast distances
And the days of the many be cut short,
Shall they then prevail,
Those broken gods of war,
To burn again to cinder the work of ages?
Trouble enough there has been.
Trouble further we have seen.
Here, at the end of days,
We stand by the edge of ruin.
Still, my father tells me,
The universe is vast beyond imagining.
Forever stuck with the sound of Adam's ale breaking
As the finger tips feel the swell
Relentless fluidity of movement, it has been aching.
It could forever dwell
Dehumanised because it has lost notion of language
It is and is not
Forever in the sea, lives as a savage.
It will travel kilometres for the right spot.
They reach their apex, and they break
They have emotions, and they react
It sees their beauty if it knows what's at stake
It forever knows and loves and will never retract
It becomes as raw as nature gets
It understands it is nothing but nature
It does nothing but ride the glass sculpture
Someone once told me that
none of us are actually
afraid of the dark; we're
scared of what it conceals
from us. We're afraid of
having something with the
potential to hurt us standing
right before eyes and
not registering it as a
threat
people can be like that, too.
Does anyone feel the need to listen to music?
not want.
Does anyone feel relief when they paint or draw?
Does anyone feel happier when they've had their time alone to think?
does anyone feel these things?
or is it just me
There once was a wooden house
in a dark valley
Isolated from the outside world
The walls were infested with termites
The foundations on which is was built
Cracking and Sinking into the ground
Windows were cracked
the habitants were insane
the house's condition was not maintained
Maybe its beter for the house to fall in
Because On that land there can be a new beginning
But the history cant be changed