Friday, November 18, 2011

Sinner's Repentance

To the dying heart, oh kindle that flame
Fan thy embers and save thy soul
The darkness has bound you in chains of steel
And steel of worldliness and sin
Shatter your mirror of vanity, your crystal pride
Bomb your jaded palaces and towers of ivory
Thy utopia is but a non-existent fiction
A void awaiting the collapse of the star of death
The eyes can pierce the soul of man
Yet His would judge him
But then he still gazes at the putrid mixture called self
And longs to find the tiniest shard of hope
Why should anyone even care for this ungrateful creature
Whose hobby is to destroy itself?

But He believes
Without end

Monday, September 5, 2011

And I actually express myself, but it has to be remote and abstract I hate myself

Foolish Words

Tonight I write the saddest lines
As reality sets in
The darkened sky finally envelopes
An illusion sun of despair
With a broken heart that was mended in tears
The eye cannot betray
For even the most deceitful smile
Can never hide the grief of a dying love

Tonight I reflect upon a sadder moment
The loneliness of a poor man
Attached to the fleeting security
Of a dwindling finance
And the fictional stronghold of friendship
Where social security provides happiness
But strips people naked

This evening I am moved by grief
Of every grievance that existed
As the tears of heaven and earth meet
And collide in the fusion and fission of stars
A wonderful sight
A beautiful lie

Tonight flowery words come out of a fool's mouth
The pathetic person's mind whose sense of importance is stubborn
Battling for its wounded pride
And dying self-esteem
He thinks of nothing else but stupidity
Cares of nothing else but self-gratification
Needs nothing else but the acceptance and appreciation of others
Drowns himself in the fantasies of a non-existent love
Where he explores the labyrinth of possibilities
Which are impossible
He lives in the past, in the fiction, in dreams, in the mythical world
But in the real world he is but a miserable man
Behind a mask of pretence
And a reputation of a non-entity

Monday, May 2, 2011

Warnings of Disdain

I cease to ask the world. I cease to exist.

I live under the pretence of a person. I speak languages. I think abstraction. I feel. Yet there is emptiness in each one, in everything.
                                      Everything I do.
For this world is an alien territory. The abyss of fanaticism. It wants everything. It needs nothing. The self-imploring machine of doom. It values a lot.
                                              And I do not have value.
The cynical cycle of sadomasochism. They love it. But there is no love. Instead, there is indifference. The seething hatred for empathy and change, mucking the filthy sewer system of narcissism. The vanity of the beautiful, the knowledgeable, the wealthy.
                                                      Wisdom is lost in translation.
No one bothers to think. Everyone is thinking. Thinking is not exactly the same as thinking. One is wisdom, the other is not. Yet the world has been blatantly obscuring everything that there is no distinction left. See it for yourself.
                                                                 Then again, what self?
Hold your nose up high. Stomp your feet on the soft pavement of the poor, the wretched, the underprivileged. You are the modern Pharisees of the 21st century. You speak everything, you do nothing. And worse, you are blind, blinded by your own light, your self-proclaimed splendor and glory. You have become your own God. And with your pride in yourself comes the damnation of your kind. You will be denied death. You will cease to exist entirely. And you will be locked up in a prison made of yourself, for even Hell will spurn you!

The mirror shatters into pieces.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

On To Nothingness

For there is the word called existence
Self-sufficient, maybe
But then there is this word called
And the suffix named
How then, could existence's substance
And its meaning
On its own
There would be a clash of
And the creation of dimensions
Dynamic existence conforms to change's will
Anti-existence destroys itself
Yet, both would still conform
And would be encompassed by
Existence itself
For inconstancy is a fractal
Viewed on the other
Side of the telescope
Is not itself
While inexistence is a paradox
Which cannot be found in the dictionaries of the world
Now then, is it not peculiar
that this humble story
Of words plotted against words
Reflects the grand conflicts of today?

This is an answer to liberalism.