I don’t suppose you
Could understand what drives me
To do what I do.
To me, this life is
So aggressively bland and
Ordinary, that
I risk it in a
Heartbeat just to feel alive
For one brief moment.
Tag: nietzsche
Fate
I embodied that
Tired trope, repressed poet
Working a day job.
Was it vanity?
Or did I have something to
Say? A conundrum.
Dysphoria
You think I want to
Be like this? I don’t. I want
Peace and contentment.
But I’m driven to
Push and seek and endlessly
Writhe in agony
For some unknown cause.
Discontentment is my fate.
My purgatory.
To the Critic
If you ever read
My writing again, it will
Be accidental.
For no one who puts
Their hypocrite judgment on
Me deserves my words.
In the End
I am forfeit. My
Biceps splashed with bruises shaped
Like their fingerprints,
As they jack me up
With Haldol, an army of
A thousand hands. This
Is what awaits your
Self disclosure, when you share
Your opinions and
Your reasoned judgments.
Their boot is ready to crush
Your neck, to end you.
The Shape in the Stone
Each day I chisel
The rough surface of this rock,
Trying to find the
Sculpture. I chip off
The words I don’t want to say,
“I don’t feel close to
You right now,” “I take
Pills to make life bearable,”
“If I could run, I
Would.” Another chip.
“I know you sense the dread in
Me, but haven’t the
Words to express it.”
“My best days are behind me.
They flew past while I
Was waiting for some
Validation that didn’t
Come. There is less of
Me each day.” I would
Rather die with these words not
Said, than hurt any
Of you. Alas am
I fated to wound you to
The core. Chip, chip, chip.
What Have You Really Loved Till Now?
“Your real educators, those who formed you, reveal to you what is the true primary meaning and fundamental substance of your being … Your true self does not lie deeply concealed within you but immeasurably high above you, or at least above what you usually take for your ego.” Nietzsche
What I love is the
Neat, obedient, well made.
Miniature, fine
Tuned, durable, marked
By craftsmanship. Intricate,
Smelling of old wood
And discipline. Love
I also the raw, untamed,
Unshorn, tacky, and
Tawdry, unabashed
And simple, open and free.
Wild, naked, real.
I am Apollo
And I am Dionysus,
Sharing a lifetime.
The Needle’s Eye
I am narrow, can
You fit? I am small, can you
See me? Quietly
I step, observe if
You can. Don’t chase me. I will
Disappear. Just breathe.
Latter Day Warlord
A warrior from
Days of old reborn to this
Aeon, finds his hands
Ever bound by grim
Drudge routine. He wants to slay,
To conquer, to rule,
To taste the sting of
Betrayal and death, standing
To the last; instead
He takes a breath, counts
The days, and awaits the time
For his revival.
Herman’s Hermitage 