Poetry-Thing Thursday: Defy

I don’t want to go home,
smell the flames and death,
taste madness in the air.
Despair.

I’d rather drown
in a pitch-thick abyss,
than a sea of bright lies.
Realize.

I’d prefer a painful truth,
over comfortable nothings,
and watching them spread.
Dread.

Given the choice ‘tween,
happy lies, dark truths,
I choose the latter,
for nothing will extinguish truth’s glow.

Know.

Reality fades,
the universe with it.
Learn why,
defy.

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Poetry-Thing Thursday: Now Uncouth

I will not always,
say things that you like,
but make no mistake
that is my right,
to hold in my heart,
for that which I’ll fight.

I have opinions,
as do you, too,
but do suspect,
that far too few do,
disagree with effect.

Bear that in mind,
with whomever you like.
But remember,
they too have a right,
to believe and hold dear,
for that which they’ll fight.

You may be wrong.
You may be right.
You may find joy,
in silence respite,
But recall;
no hatred is might.

It is formed by a mind,
fearing to accept,
disagreements and pleads,
to be better, correct.

But humanity’s needs,
must turn off our hatred.
Our anger and spite.
So we together, embrace,
for that which we’ll fight.

So drink from the cup,
of wisdom and truth,
denying the rituals,
formed in man’s youth.

It may be there that we found them,
now they’re uncouth.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Of That Which I Speak

Teeth gnawing bone to marrow.
Blood red spatters along a predator’s mouth.
Death taints the air with sickening sorrow.
But is it beast or man,
of that which I speak?

Cold and harsh with icy wind.
Needles stinging lungs with each breath.
Nipping frost along dew-moist eyes.
But is it love or hate,
of that which I speak?

Perspective.
Infective.
Detective.
Corrective.

Flowing outward in diverging currents.
Sounds both entrancing and distracting.
While in the middle of it all drifts dead-wood.
But is it a river or a crowd,
of that which I speak?

A million more ways it could be put.
Perhaps infinite more than that.
Going round and round in circles.
But is it life or death,
of that which I speak?

Bonus Poem: As An Old Friend

Sometimes I wonder,
about rain and thunder,
snow and ice,
wheat and rice.

Then I remember,
sleek and slender,
the nature of reality,
and all that we see.

It’s but a phase of dimensions,
angled in tensions,
to form minds of oneness,
bring hope to the helpless.

Thus we remain,
forever contain,
the universe’s essence,
in our lowly presence.

And when one day
we step away,
we’ll turn to dust,
with stars we trust.

So when it comes,
total your sums,
and greet the end,
as an old friend.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Endless Circle

Broken glass and showers of sparks,
rain down on the asphalt,
that’s slick-black with ice.

A foot hammers pedal to metal,
unaware of tragedy on the horizon,
that’s rushing to greet it at light-speed.

Across the neon-soaked city of money and night life,
a new mother gives birth at the same instant,
that life leaves the accident victim’s eyes.

A seemingly endless circle is formed by these events,
but it is only after viewing them from afar,
that we begin to see their form.

Without the benefit of perspective,
the world would be one dimension; all flat,
no height nor depth, only a dot on a page.

Imagine what we might see,
if zoomed to the grandest scale–
stars, galaxies, a universe.

Perhaps, like neurons and synapses in the brain,
they are connected with purpose.
Perhaps then, we are but DNA– or something smaller yet,
with a role just as great.

Then again, perhaps not.
Only time,
and perspective,
of the endless circle,
may tell.