Things don't change. Just going with the motions so to speak.
Its all paradoxical. Constants are changing.
And even so, they're still mapped alongside the same fault lines and chasms.
An observation I've come across multiple times in almost any area. From social to political, and even scientific and personal discovery.
Certain motions run in a cyclical aspect. Maybe some minor deviations here and there, but like I said, still alongside those same fault lines.
Its even funnier once you realize that the issues we face as a species or colloquial society are the exact same since the beginning of us.
You start to wonder... What could serve as a global catharsis, a purge of all the negative aspects of humanity without us becoming monsters in the process?
Some sought to purge those deemed lesser, but fail to realize that  a proper education upon those terms would boost the entirety of humanity to understand the problems we face as a whole. Once everyone is aware of that problem, then I think we'd all be geared to deal with the evils of the world.
But it won't happen because people are constantly fighting to define and un-define what it is to see it.
And instead of being open-minded to learning how to disagree on peaceful terms, we result to the most heinous forms of violence.
And will use any and all means to justify it.
Everyday I always hear people justifying the murder and genocide of  certain groups for the greater good, instead of attempting to develop a certain form of communication to outreach towards these groups. Conformity will be the death of us. But learning to agree to disagree will probably delay the nuclear holocaust a little bit more.


Ecclesiastes 1:9

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

I long await the day that a woman could see the tenderness of my heart. The tears that pour out from my mouth. But at the same time, I have no hope nor desire to be seen. And I'm not sure why. I feel as if the desire in itself is but childish longing.

I do not want to play the deceptive game of courtship, I just want to be seen...

The rose petals of my heart, long plucked from the stem... I watch them sail endlessly towards horizons never yet traveled. I do believe they have drowned to the endless sea of my sorrows and pains in these long nights. But those sorrows are sweet to me, the pain is akin to a woman's deep embrace at times. In my music, you can hear the longing, the tears that are silent. I shed them not, but they are written upon my soul.


I see sometimes in my trances a distant soul that sits by the riverbank, playing his old rusted guitar. A voice not un-like his own that doesn't belong to him, singing in ancient tongues, detailing what is written upon the unseen scrolls.T he hidden threads that lie betwixt reality and actuality.

Words by the lake of a spotted mind.

Me: I keep most of myself under lock and key as I wait for the woman of divinity.

Elena: But haven't you ever wondered of what any woman could see in you?

Me: Yes, and that is why my essence stays hidden.

Elena: I think you're mistaken. You harm yourself far beyond what you might think is acceptable based upon nothingness. The love that you're searching for is in any woman. It is what you make of it.

Me: That may be so, but my cases of trial and error has led me to believe otherwise.  It seems as though I've said goodbye to love, long before I've even set eyes upon her.

Whatever you believed in was an unwritten fallacy. I'm surrounded by half witted Elizabeth Bathories. Come take a bath with me in the unbridled sins of a half breed, half seeing the suffering of a mother whose chest eroded to the unborn son of a thousand suns. Women weeping for Tammuz as the rich cruise through blood stained streets. Beneath the surface lie inverted perversions alluding towards pentagrams and broken "Pay-chology" to render you a slave, but it is written that there is only one who could save.

Woe to the decrepit old fool whose bones waste away in the night. He who dies slowly to the slow drumbeat of yesterday's enmities. Crushed under the surreal pressure that stems from his seemingly ancient bloodline. The angels do only hear his millionfold sorrows lost amidst the tomes stored against his maimed fingertips.
What was once called a friend is but a memory, lost to the voracious tides. I look out to the endless seas of this life to see a man cradled against his broken staff. His heart lie beside him, ruined in the dust that pours from his mouth. I inquired him of his estate, where he replied with a low groan reminiscent of a dying child who long lost his youth. He spake of a water that had kept him alive that hath long forsook his tiresome grievances. He spoke of gaining all of the so called knowledge in the world, and yet, it left him bereft of any light.

I sat in a mystifying state, gazing at the man in sorrow and pity. The rains would fall heavy from my eyes as I could not avert my gaze elsewhere in this new-found realm I've stumbled across. He sprang with life as he gorged himself on my tears. I brushed him off in utter disgust, yet rigor mortis began to take over as I came to a certain realization. Staring into this abysmal pit of a nightmare, lost in that reflecting pool of nights spent in drunken laughter, I understood that the man in front of me was none other than myself.

Pensive thought.

Theres reasons why I hold back.

It seems to flow a lot easier when I'm actually in love. But sometimes I wonder have I ever really reached to such a thing? Or was it loneliness and infatuation. In this moment, please don't reply. I just wish to speak my mind for a moment.

Speaking to another soul as if I'm teasing a conversation with myself helps my mind process things.
And conversation is where my greatest poems lie. When I'm able to bare myself to another person.
Old memory paintings and photos of the maiden covered in a sea of silken white, hair that seemed to intermingle with the trees that would dance around her near the lake.

My young self attempted to entreat her heart with a soft breath, and yet she yearned for me secretly, long before I committed to the thought of sending my hands towards her rose-water cheeks.
Stepping in and out of time, but I wonder where my body lays itself to rest, for I have long sacrificed my time towards a world far lofted from what my eye can see.
She lays hidden in the music that bathes my ears in its honey and scented oils. Her lips pressed against mine as I hear that springtime flute fly through the frigid winter air.
In these moments have I learned that it is good to love and be heartbroken than to have never loved at all. But what does one to amend his black-stoned heart?
The fear of falling into the skies causes me to lose sense of all that simply was, and is. My past has long died I'd think, but the memories surge towards me like never before. Re-learning what I've known for lifetimes.

I have not drank fully the wine of sleep in these past two days, for the spirits that watch over me have been speaking to me non-stop in the night.
There is much movement amidst their course, they open themselves fully towards my seared breast.
The scent of a woman who has arisen from her slumber into the brilliant day is likened to the scent of jasmine flowers singing praise to the glory of our Father, as he paints his tears across the  plains of this Earth.

I reminisce when winter months were meant for the times of shaping cocoons. But inside of these little holds were a vast array of good tidings. The smallest nooks were filled with the love and warmth of all those that surrounded us. Some faint memory calls my heart in this night, forcing me to stare at that distant realm. The embodiment of all that i ever held dear, holds me in some intertwining embrace like the roots of an elder oak tree, taking its firm grasp at the earth beneath its feet.