Running forward backwards, excerpt by Jack H Martin

I woke up randomly one weird, ethereal night at three or so in the morning. I absolutely had to write something which is pretty rare. Everything i feel or ever felt came out. It was as if it wasnt me.

Through unkempt and sullied eyes,
Prognosis for myself is barren and deprived,
I can't wait to make another month
Wisp away,
like cigarette smoke on a windy day
I can't pull yet another stunt..
And time is pinching me, day by day.

I can't look out, in or beyond,
I can't encapsulate everything through song,
My feelings are morose and downtrodden,
But nary simple, ne'er contrite,
Always abstract, and distasteful to one
Who simply cannot learn the tongue;
But it all seems trivial,
Nobody knows what I've done..
And time is prodding me, day by day.

I implore, truly, with my core being,
That someone can glance
at the picture that I'm seeing.
Nothing is fact or folly,
It is all a severed dance
Of bodies uncommunicative with
Our unique state of trance.
Reality, you could say..
Yet even that, for me,
Side winds from minutes to hours
How long has it really been?
Eventually we fall to sway
But my pain was always foreseen.
I cannot disperse from its way
And nonetheless,
it hurts me day by day.

My innards are presently out,
Thou hast seen nothing conveyed
In terms of vice versa,
And betwixt the chances to coerce ye,
Lost all.. is credibility.
For the power to pull in, and attract like a magnet..
Well let us just say, that it does not just happen.
Insticts scream to budge and push it aside. We are evolved to dissolve.
Dissolve not resolve. Redirect, not connect.
Push that out of the way for good,
Lest you absorb it the way you should!

Satirical attempts are unjustified in modern works, yet this one proliferated meaning of sufficient scorn.
We are who we are.
We are born when we are born.
No regrets, move forward.. take and give as your belt is fit to burst,
Yet as your coffers swell, Your mind and soul wither from their thirst.
Bad as it is, and wait til it gets worse,
In the past, we must relax, rejoice and play
Yet those times are regressing day by day..

I must say that our lives are delayed,
And comparable by enviable enigmas of nonexistent peoples,
On checklists furnished and fastened here and wide, wrapped around us from side to side.
We are designed to follow footsteps off a cliff, to try and try and try again, after countless fails.
Success is heads or tails.
A shame this is burdened by the guilt of overlooked men, deemed unsuccessful by society which put them there.
Or perhaps blighted by the pride and immodest actions of our heroes, inept at following stride,
All the normal people all stuck in time, waiting for greatness, because it's expected of some,
Others.. it's a business.
Some fall short, others forget to jump.
Some just broke the wall, others have hit a slump.

How can one win the game of life that everyone must witness?
Is it after all, documented procedure?
or is something different?
Is it benevolent or even malevolent to those with opposing diction?
Are we a work of art?
Or just solely nonfiction?
The answer cannot be found in text or lamentation,
it is found within,
Dispatched across all of our foundation.

When asked to face a great evil, most people will deflect it,
No one became themselves until they traversed their own perils, you can't win by church or Christmas carols,
Not drugs, not love,
Neither a falcon nor dove,
True power shan't be swept beneath rug.
It lies in the graves when those of stature may up and lose its possession.
Dug up by copy cats,
Minted and fleeced by innovation,
Veiled by happenstance, and in support of government transition.

The big divide.
The social stigma.
To cut on the dotted line, or to merely not cut at all?
To throw away the scissors with indefinite decision?
To slice on the line with immaculate precision.

In retrospect,
nothing brilliant was fundamental, its deranged, an eccentric idea disdained, and rearranged.
That breaks a barrier of pop, historical, and ancient culture representation.
And must be extorted with benign hesitation

Never true, the truth is always absent,
Its the search, the fellowship and companions,
But all good things I have justly abandoned.
Not on purpose, and indeed unbeknownst at time,
Strictly random for me..
As are all things, joined in serendipity.


One must simply fall off the mountain,
Jump towards the abysmal abyss,
Frolic o'er the chasms and feel the scrapes of wind and tickles of chill,

And complete a descent to the bowels of mankind,
so to see what is brought back
And what must be left behind.

We may haps perceive ourselves
In constant patience for tomorrow.
Yet the present is definite, and the future is borrowed.
Best not lurk in murky waters.

Where to make my mark?
'Tis my only bother.
Do I drown in fire? Or do I burn in water?
What will I pass on to son from father?
Am I a fearless leader?
Am I cannon fodder?
One can only teach what you feel, yet with resonance, people preach what they know,
Acquired from minds not of their own,
But from elders who've had time to let it grow.
And yes, I say to you,
I wish it weren't so,
But some fight the currents, I just float with the flow.

As I pace around, outside and in, back porch to front, then around the back of the house again, I feel so sad, no hope for saving grace..
Up to my neck in poison, yet have desperates attempt to save face.
I wonder.
I worry.
I contemplate my fate.
I have to pay the piper,
Imperative it is,
And without any delay,
For time Is moving faster.
And Its sprinting day by day..

Author's Note

I just wonder if anyone sees things the way i do, suffice the erratic poetic symmetry. This burst out of me, like i was possessed. I didnt stop and think about what next, even once. I just sont understand why i woke up from blissful sleep in otder to write some imperative, yet estranged epitaph of my personal perils and beliefs. And how i feel like i am running out of time

Reviews

[Anna]

You have a way of writing that is very expressive. I can feel what you are conveying through your words. You said that you like to believe that you are a talented writer. You shouldn't doubt. I would love to read some more of your poetry.

Another thing, a lot of writers fear that their poems will be too long. I like how you haven't shortened this in any way. In my humble opinion, I think that a writer's works should come from their heart. Leave no parts out, if you want them to be there.

Never edit something beautiful for the attention span of an undeserving audience. Your work is astounding. Please write more.

[Aero]

You are complimenting my poem and you wrote THIS???? I bow to you. This is amazing. Its so beautifully written.