Showing posts with label impressions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label impressions. Show all posts

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric


We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions
Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,
Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.
TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…

Monday, April 29, 2013

A Cold Numbness Embraces a Sojourner in Mourning (Some Days Feel Like:)


Dreams castrate the young of ambition,
whisking troubled thoughts away, implanting
euphoria in the place of realized contrition—

Doom is the only premise left unexplored,
when traction disengages the neurology
abandoned within those predestined to starve upon their own needfulness

Feral qualities sliver thin the mirrored gaze,
leaving the only interpretation the imagined
predisposition that reincarnates the deformations of the brain

Catatonia is preferable to the self-imposed restraints
that fit snugly beneath the seam-lines of our favorite
Clothes, leaving only the scents of wherewithal and apathy to fragrance one's ephemerality. 

Shredding the fetters of the past is the only absolution we can deliver truthfully.  Tiny renderings are the adipose reflections we blindly flee from, layering the tornado with a future sconce illuminated by the abandoned renderings of debris.

And then, other days, feel like nothing at all…