Poetry dump 1

these don't really deserve their own post so I'm attaching them together; I was aimlessly wondering-weirdness(1 of 3), Daytime Fantasy, Apocrypha (TES tribute fun)

I was aimlessly wandering

 

And I saw what my entourage missed,

Whilst conversing away on drab,

 mundane pleasantries.

I saw the statues.

Gothic, not in design,

 though a design meant to do what the most verbose cannot.

To speak without voice nor focal contact.

Black rocks covered in soot;

 as lava flows around, never setting the wretched stones afire.

I saw the screams they could not muster.

For fear of the eyes they craved.

Plunged into a society that would not openly love them,

But oh, I thought, they had not been plunged nor pushed, rather

Flung!

By will and final shred of courage they were flung, cast by hope;

Shoved by confidence.

 

The fall took their optimism, their solace.

And now they stand

Desolate.

Statues basking in the refuge of silence.

Praying

 both that we save them and that we pass them over.

Pain; what makes us.

We are the same, united by the common fraternal sensations of agony.

Why then

Are we not statues?

 

We must look wicked to them, torturers who grant no peace

Only desperation.

I saw the statues, from a mirror and compared likeness.

We are not the same, we are not weak.

We have, however, a common downfall

Poison that cannot know a cure.

I have not surrendered.

The statues cannot fight though; repulsive rocks.

Only sit and despise the rest of them.

Feigning interest and claiming depth they do not rightly possess.

Lies spewed from mouths

And tongues like ours.

But a key difference is in our thoughts.

To that purpose we have the right to stand above them and shout:

“I am likened to you and superior. The predator has the benefit of making truth!”

And here is the truth.

By the convention of creation; you are controlling it but not tending it.

Come forth, claim what I have not offered, rather, I have illuminated

Both truth and the receptive mind.

 

A clearer reiteration for the rest:

Even the dullest and repugnant mind can hear and see and think of what I am.

Salvation of mindfulness,

 Intellect can be granted to the wretched and they too know what the truth of it is.

Now surrender to this truth and never sink again: “we are all ground into dust equally.

We are pretending not to feel. And we grow ignorance, not strength.

But statues, no they do not feel. They ran like conquered mice and now they cannot understand.

They are the same. We are not different

No, we have a single fault. We have become accustomed to cruelty.

Familiar with the wickedness they see in us!

We do not realize how weak they are and we slay them.

And finally we crush them because we now know that we are stronger.
and they cannot stand against us.”

We do not seek forgiveness

We become like predators, knowing only the hunt.

It is not that they cannot be like us. Rather, we do not allow them, the prey, to gain footing.

No, they have chosen their weakness and now we take freely from them.

The hunt is all we know and we are punished rightly for it.

I have come to see the unforeseen. As I looked upon them

I saw myself and wept.

Their weakness, what I hate, is my own.

They are reminiscent shadows,

 Reminding the occasional onlooker of what the wild has done to us.

Nature, the unforgiving laws it creates

Made us into the selfish things we are now.

Things so empty, we care not for the statues that line our vision;

What they became when we hunted them and that they remain frozen in place

Because of the venom with which we stung them.

 

 

 

 

 Daytime Fantasy

 I like to imagine that my life is a part-time job. And when I decide that I’m tired of it all, the repetition and colorless skies, I can pursue a career in being a hero. I may not be a well known hero, and that’s okay; regardless of my status, however, my actions have saved people from terrible monsters and likewise prevented entire worlds from complete disaster. As I travel the world fighting for just causes,I see beauty in all the scenery and every corner of the earth. Radiant colors explode from the plants and there is life teeming from every tree. Wild dogs are on equal footing with wolves and leopards lazing in fields of gold and green. I like to imagine that the world will be a warm and every face will be a friendly one. I imagine a world without imagination, where no dream is as brilliant as what lies beyond the doors of home. I wonder if, in the world of the picturesque, I would fantasize about myself, cheek cradled in hand, staring out of the window, dreaming of about a sky bluer than beyond belief.

Apocrypha

Words without pages float through the air, singed paper litters the ground. The keepers toil endlessly, sorting and searching the Collective. Enter and draw from the infinite ocean of thought, where the lines that define possibility dissolve. Great minds are broken and artists are blinded in an unending maelstrom of beautiful lunacy. Only the truly brilliant can walk along the shifting paths and discern what is written on pages that have been frozen in time and preserved for eternity. The vast horde knowledge within belongs only to those who have ascended to a higher state of thought.