[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.

WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.

bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

ConstructDelving into the origins
Of what makes an individual
Who are you? Who am I?
There’s a lack of understanding,
Yet we jump to judge
And claim to know
That which we could never understand

Attempts are seldom made
To investigate the unknown
To strive to discover
Those we claim to know
From the inside out
Extract the innermost thoughts

In place there is an idealist mirage
To which our beliefs shall cling to
In desperation, or disbelief

It’s the construct of our mindset
That leads us all astray

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140At 90 miles per hour, anyone can claim they're God.

"Fuck the police," I breathe as my foot presses the gas pedal closer to the floor of the car. I crank the wheel to the right as hard as I can; I am God smiting the unworthy, crushing the sinners. This is my artistic liberty.

As the Crown Vic slides through the guardrail and down through the thicket of trees, I fishtail my way back between the lines. There is always order in chaos.

Right now, I am John Dillinger, played by God in the new major motion picture of the year. John Dillinger played by God played by me. I'm no bank robber; call me Robinhood. Call me Yahweh.

At 105 miles per hour

transient pt. 1It always started in winter.

During the late-autumn month of November, the warning signs always began to show. It was always too quiet, too still. It was too evident.

Then, it would start.

We wouldn't see her for days at a time, sometimes weeks. It was difficult at first, knowing that we would never really know where she was, but we had come to accept it. It was, in our minds, excusable. How were we to know any better?

"Where's mom?"

"She went to the store, Jamie."

My little sister asked this question a lot at first. My reply was always the same. After the first few months, though, I told her the truth. "Mom likes vacations."

My father

peeled I close my eyes, orange at the ready.
"One... two... no peeking... three!"
I plunge my thumbs through the soft, sturdy skin and feel ripe juice spill down the palms of my hands, dripping towards my unrolled sleeves.
"You might beat your record," I hear beside me.
All I smell is orange juice.
I place the newly-naked fruit on the table in front of me.
"Peeled," I say.
"Six seconds," I hear.
It never takes long to peel an orange. This is what passes for making you feel special. The sounds of my quick work being ripped apart and devoured invade my little bubble of self-loathing; I open my eyes.
"This is delicious," she slurps o

the Fall"take me instead"
      i screamed at the sky,
          guilt-ridden, no man---
     i'm just a coward filled with snakes

i was spun from dust,
     love    baked into my bones    and
                  sewn throughout my flesh,
              but i pulled the threads    through my skin

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don't make me say it

by ~ErsatzInspiration, Jul 4, 2010, 9:11:14 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

look, mom, no hands---
i'm riding waves like hope held high above the water,
i'm being as perfect as i can, and
it could be easier, but i'll show you the
things i can do with dust clouds and rope ladders
watch the sky, mom,
i'm written in the stars,
past the street lamps and the
fourth-of-july flashing lights
(can you see me?)
i promise not to sing like him
i've given up on music and johnny appleseed
and i'm sorry i let him trick me out of religion
but mom,
i don't want to live forever anymore
i learned my lesson

don't make me say itby ~ErsatzInspiration

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

i promise i'll come back if i don't die here

~RebelTango Jul 4, 2010

i like it.

[did you end up going to the slam? if so, how'd it go?]

~ErsatzInspiration Jul 6, 2010

i'll tell you next time i see you.
it wasn't real. like.

whaaaaat.

~RebelTango Jul 6, 2010

dsfjkgksdfgb ahhh i cant wait.

andddd i need to see you soon because i miss you and feel like i'm holding your boots hostage.

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don't make me say it

don't make me say itby ~ErsatzInspiration

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