Unity? By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
What am I? The canvas, or the pen--
or am I presumptuous?
Find myself... well, here I am--
Find my self? Can anyone?
I sit in the darkness, alone, yet
the past is too weighty for me--
I am unsafe, and with the sight of
a singular strip of light, reflected, lost
I remember I am not alone, that
there is
pain, and I am safe.
How many deaths have I died--
shutting down, shutting the lids
on any glasses of hope I might have found.
It is loud, here.
All of this reminds me
I will
die, and all of these lies
are now seen through the lens of a singular
truth
IS THIS ENOUGH--
IS THIS BEAUTIFUL?
I have no images of ducks pedaling through
the rivers of life on tandem bicycles.
Only the scent of my ginger-infused red tea.
What is creation?
Am I shifting the world of endless information
and through my perspiration of desperation and longing for the right length of the strengthened heights
trying too hard?
What is sense?
My Heart Bleeds
My Poem Is Over
Is ended.
I continue nonetheless
the effervesent hope of hope
lingering in my nostrils,
and in the weight of uncried tears
dangling, suspended beyond my pupil
where DO tears come from?
I suppose I know, we have too much cortisol, and
our mind cannot bear it, and spills it from our neurons
sharing the pain with the world
Who decides when it's been too much?
What am I?
I lay in the darkness, holding my dick in my hands
remembering where I've been
Do I cry? My tears are for me alone
What is pleasure, but forgetfulness?
Can we be happy in pain?
yes, but we betray ourselves
the mind is too self-loathing
What is my self?
Am I a cliche?
I want to know
But I cannot.
I know nothing.
I know not even that I know nothing.
I do not exist.
I am annihilation
The solipsism of the animals consumes me
I am but a dog
Or a mosquito, sucking the blood from my lovers
and friends, and other enemies.
If only I'd a lover.
What do I give, that lets others love so?
I do not know who I am
I wish I could lose myself, could know that saving
me, didn't matter.
But I care, and the world needs me,
whoever I am.
Yet I begin every moment I can
with my smile
My laughter
as spiteful as it may be, spite rings for me
with joy, that I can be spiteful
Where is the spring? I am cold, already
I haven't seen what I need to, and
I am afraid
I am afraid
I am frightened
I am fearful
I am scared
I am terrified
I am beyond terrified
I am so scared that I can't describe my fear
I am so scared that I won't describe my fear
I am so scared that I won't describe my fear adequately
I am so scared you won't understand my fear
I am so scared I cannot be scared
I can't be scared
I can't be
I must strive
for something
I follow the impulse
but my impulses are corrupt, having seen too much
no one will save me, but for me
but who is me?
am I me?
could it be?
what music is this?
I am blabbering, I should have ended long ago
But I've lost control
and I must trust the ride now
the rails are lain, my fate is fated
inevitable, to stand up and die of the crushing burden, unshared
for no one is brave enough
I'm not brave
I just don't have a choice
And I am not as strong as I purport to be
So I will die
There is nothing to be done
So I lay back down, on my cold marsh bed, so uncomfortable, so heavy in itself
and the discomfort leads me back to the beginning
I must fight something
but then I will resign myself to nothing
Angst
Cliche
Is anything worth accomplishing?
Is this an accomplishment?
Or just a festering
the wounds of the world manifesting through me?
Is that what I am?
A vessel?
For THIS?
THIS is worthless
THIS is suffering--
I am, therefore, worthless;
for my choice, is but between carrying this suffering, or being a vessel of want
Of lust, for the fruits of the world that will deplete,
the desert that will desert us all
I am a stream, of consciousness--
a river that flows chaotically and irreverently
According to you, I am worthless
But am I not all that is?
I don't have to work, I am
Enough.
ENOUGH!
no more
;
I'll take what I can get.
And give away, then, what I, the lover, do not need.
Which is everything.
For I am enough.
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