Tag Archives: history

Paradoxical Paradigm

Good afternoon, everyone! It has been a long while since I’ve posted on a Sunday. I hope you all have had a wonderful weekend, and for those starting their Monday on the other side of the world, I hope you have a wonderful day. The sentiments of this piece may seem vaguely familiar, the stench of indecision and ambiguity being one we might all recognize. Please enjoy, my friends.

Twisted Memories

The last dream I had?

No, I…

I cannot remember it.

I must be mad.

It sang to me once,

that one dream I dreamt,

but now is lost to me

unsynchronized,

without harmony.

No truer words were spoken,

no more valuable a token

had ever once been given.

If only I…

If only I could remember

the shapes those words resemble.

My heart beats in time with drums

which, in turn, compete with hums

that reverberate and kiss me ‘till I’m numb.

How did I ever find the time,

adhering to that awful paradigm?

I only wished for a simple sign.

It Is Written

Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty cool little story today that I think you’ll love. Let me know what you think in the comments below. Without further ado…

Our Will Be Done

Penance? Penance. For a crime I did not commit. Why then? The sin of being born? Original and pervasive as it is throughout my bones, my nerves, my veins. Why is it I, he who requests to not be named, that must suffer the transgressions of others?

For there in their brilliance and shine is it done. The light. Seen through these eyes of mine, filtered through a red haze. Have you ever been so angry? Have you ever felt this rage?

Thy will be done, Lord. It is You, that one who hath wrought such pain and suffering. One who hath shown such endless indignation in the face of your children who, tired of your inaction, sought the help and the praise of other Gods. Perhaps, ones who might listen. Perhaps, ones who might act.

This is a world succumbed to sin, though the fault lies not with its people, but the God who chose to abandon them. A God who decided that his children were no longer worth saving. We are already in a Hell created by indecision and thoughtlessness.

It is not I who will repent when the day is done, for these crimes are not mine. They are yours, Lord. It is not we who must repent for you, but you who must sacrifice for your children. Our will be done, lest you lose your place on your golden throne.

The Sleep

Good morning, all. I’ve got a short poem for everybody today. Let me know what you think and please enjoy!

The Sleep

The light of his eyes

escapes

and wanders through you,

venturing through all those many layers

of your most precious soul,

finding lamps that light the winding path

that leads around a gentle knoll.

It searches along

meandering paths

into all your nooks and crannies,

working your mistakes

and knowing all those things it takes

to truly see the heart that breaks.

You rest with him in sleep that wakes.

Horrid Passions

Before you sits a monster, in a chair. It looks at you from across the table with beady, piercing eyes. It feels no remorse, no consequence. Your anger at the pain of the victims… There will be no closure. As if screaming into a brick wall. Enjoy the poem, friends.

Final Interrogation

Hardened hides,

cleft in two,

shorn apart

by sharpened knives

that perform their duties

with devastating precision.

Weapons,

not tools.

We both know the purpose

was never

for rope and fish,

but men and dogs,

carefully dissected.

You monster.

They had families!

Those poor little men

and their poor little puppies…

You’ll hang for this.

You’ll burn for this.

Won’t be long now

before the jury comes up guilty

and you are sent away

to be eaten by worms.

“Worms,” oozes and bubbles out from between the monster’s lips.

You’ll Know

There’s something in us, I think. Something that tells us. Something that lets us know. On the inside, it can often be hard to parse through the noise of anxieties and fears to find out what your body is really telling you, but it always knows. Please enjoy, everybody!

When It’s Right

You’ll know when it’s right.

It’ll feel like buttery silk

and electric velvet.

It’ll feel like the covers

on a cold, cold night

filled with snowflakes.

It’ll feel like holy hearts

and hallowed hands

that hold on

just a little too tight.

It’ll feel like walking with the waves

but with no sand

stuck between your toes.

It’ll feel like flying up and through the sky,

like writing songs that never die

and speaking up but never shy.

I think you’ll know

when it’s right.