Deluded wants?, by Daisy kabiu
Was it stupid to want something you never had?
Something that can't be touched.
Possessing it was impossible.
Finding it in all its glory
Raw, unfiltered, and all-consuming, impossible.
Something that can only be given.
Sweet and soft.
Shared, but not owned.
You crave it, thirst for it.
But
Do you really want it?
You see what it does to people, blind, corrupt, and drain their souls.
But you tell yourself, those people don't know how to nurture it.
They are weak.
But aren't you the weak one?
Scared to have something that is right in front of you.
Deluding yourself that you have never found it.
Yet it's all around you.
You're not stupid for wanting it.
You're the coward for not taking it.
It's right in front of you.
Accept it.
from the edge of the creative cosmos
her star lands on her lap with billion candles
their tantalizing twinkle ripple
in the rhythmic rapture of the dance of angels
in sync with the symphony of her heart
she protects from the worldly winds
the shining stellar sequins
elegantly embellishing the ethereal robe
called the motherly love she wears
in place of the feathered wings of angels
in the emotive detachment encapsulated
within the cauldron of isolated melody
self-doubting symphony gets dismantled
in the discord waves of her shifting identity
strained senses perceive the split scenario of life
as sentiments turn into convoluted feelings
sculpted silently by the divided soul
conversion creates the deluding entity
an alien in its own renovated realm
completing the illusive paradigm of duality
For the inducement of the compulsive being
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indebted identity
changes appearance in self-designed colour melange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned,
paints the shifting facade of deception,
as the languid life chases the transient mirage.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors
on the visage of made-up memory fade away,
the pallid psyche morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the filtered rendering of primal hues' motif
of unaltered distinctive disposition it embodied once.
The lattice of contrived perception
designs the improvised fabric of truth.
The metamorphic mind creates the deluding elements,
resonating the echo of resounding insight,
filtered by its own transformed innate screen,
completes the paradigm shift of illusive reality.
For the contrived inducement of fixated being,
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indented identity,
changes in the self-devised palette
of metamorphosed color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon slyly cocooned,
paints the shifting façade of deception.
In the ostensible enactment of life’s incredible drama,
the performance perfected in one-act play
with the obsession of passion professed,
gilding the consequence crafted by alchemy,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic drive of the dormant design.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade
on the tangible visage of virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of identity,
rinsed with the primal hues of persona
of the distinctive disposition embodied once.
The spasm of schematic perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered pretence
scatter as discarded debris willfully abandoned.
Transformation creates the deluding entity,
an alien in its own renovated realm,
completes the illusive paradigm of contrast.
Treating me like I’m lucky to know you
when you are so lowly I’d rather be lonely
here is a treat that I’m happy to show you
you’re in my life and then do not know me
deluding yourself in the view of your ego
believing your better when you’re not my equal
not saying I’m good but you are just evil
thinking you’re better than all other people
the world is a forest and you are a gibbon
you see very little when senses sense within
oblivious to all whilst selfishly driven
you think you’ve got talent you must be kidding
a child walking where adults are found
unaware of what is found all around
believing yourself through words you sound
challenging people that will knock you down
the ignorant bliss that you use as a shield
you’re French at Agincourt found dead in a field
what you have’s visible and clearly revealed
you’re mentally ill with belief you are skilled
offering nothing but a personal dream
of something you’re not and have never been
of someone you think you are nobody’s seen
thinking you’re alpha when you’re Mr. Bean!
Every girl, every woman
in his hometown
is wild and insane
about that funny guy
and crazy playboy
who deceives anybody
and walks through the halls of Hell
to make them his dearest possession...
until his desire does wane!
Funny guy and crazy playboy,
be careful not to make them cry:
they will hate you for your lie;
they aren't ready for a goodbye!
Who knows him well
cannot trust him a bit,
he hides in shadows,
and feels at fault;
he likes the one who's very sweet...
then, leaves her in tears
to swindle another heart:
to keep water running in his well!
What is alarming and disarms him
of his hold on them is the deluding smile
he gets from girls after a sudden break-up;
he knows how to empty out the cup
of passion and replace it with wine:
stay away or be a victim of charm!
Funny guy and crazy playboy, settle down
with one, tricks are suited for a clown;
promising them a false heaven is cruel,
who trusts you is an idiot and also a fool!
In my foamy bubble there 's ample room for
free-floating and even, once in a while, submerging for a while
beneath the surface, where the wild things are and disturb
tranquility.
And when I free-float my head spins in only one direction, peace. It's quite
comfortable inside my bubble, and nothing can burst it, not even the bullets and bombs and, certainly, not the usual drumbeat of words, such as get a hold on your life and or stop deluding yourself. I've put a tape on my ears and, thankfully, am deaf to disheartening needles aiming to burst my bubble.
In your inner paradise find a priest to wed you to yourself and wish you eternal happiness. Barely I survive my own demons sometimes, and today there's no sign of them. Surprise, we 're off to a long vacation and you can come along, as long as you don't bump into my bubble and drag me to the real world, okay?
I have received many assurances and can rest now knowing my bubble is for the foreseeable future fully intact.
No need to worry about the day after, it will hit you unaware.
For the maneuvered inducement of compulsive being,
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indented identity,
changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned
paints the shifting façade of deceptiion.
In the ostensible enactment of life’s amazing drama,
performance perfected in one-act play,
and with the obsession of passion ostensible,
gilding the consequence crafted by metamorphic alchemy,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic designed drive.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade
on the visage of the virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of shape rinsed with primal hue
of the unaltered distinctive disposition it embodied once.
The spasm of contrived perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered pretence
scatter as discarded debris abandoned.
Metamorphosis creates the deluding creature,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm of illusive shape shift.
The Mockingbird sings out his misleading best,
in hopes to attract a dupe with a nest,
where the squatter believes mate’s eggs should belong;
so mimics and jabbers uncountable songs.
Catbirds and Thrashers, related critters,
both grey North Americans sport throats of a twitter.
These gifted Warblers mock tricky bird tunes,
deceiving, deluding as feathered dragoons.
In fairness to balance the Tweeters’ intent,
creating, demanding a need to invent
a song to attract a new or lost mate:
so, a beacon to follow and commitment to state.
EXAMPLE MOCK SONGS
whistling, hey-hey yip pittie-yap
frog gurgle, snarf-chickie claw-saw
peep peeping piccolo-staccato bleat
sniftering chit-chat, yodel-do do
snerling, rat trap, blah tat-tat-tat
crunchy nasal chirp, coo-coo-coo
lie
fake, fudge
deluding, duping, deceiving
falsity, falsify, facticity, factuality
presuming, prevailing, predicating
validity, veracity
truth
In the manipulated incentive of compulsive being
The transmuting concept of uniqueness called color
Changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange
While conjured chameleon shapes the human entity.
In the ostensible performance of life’s amazing drama
Enactments perfected with the obsession of passion
Aureate the sequel created by metamorphic alchemy
The shift from one actor to another is a designed motive.
Out of spotlight the colors melt on the visage of the self
The unmade-up face turns into truthful mirror of actuality
Reflecting the real definition of shape with pristine hues
Of unaltered identity of innocence it embodied once.
When spasm of contrived discernment breaks the mirror
The shards of shattered facade splatter as discarded debris
Shapeshifting creates deluding creature creeping as chameleon
And completes the compulsive act of shape metamorphosis.
__________________
May 10, 2022
Contest : Shapeshifters And Shapeshifting
Sponsored by : Anthony Biaanco
Discernment shock breaks the mirror
shattered elusive façade flung in debris
deluding mask creates chameleon entity
an obsessive act of metamorphic alchemy.
July 16, 2021
Brian Strand's Contest : A Brian Strand 4 Or 5 Line
In sundry ways deaf to your zeal
Which foxy whims fruitless sway,
My wandering self did finally feel
Pearliest sparks of your legit ray.
Inured by bestial blinding decoys
Which easiest-faring limb obeys,
I did heed a deluding artful voice
That upon artless hearers preys.
For want of fine wholesome sense
Which your ancient anthems teach,
My guessing soul staggered tense;
Serf to a brutish debauching leech.
Yet now have my penitent eyes
At last gleaned your folios wise,
And found therein priceless wit
Sublimer than sage magi's writ.
Erstwhile was my eye blind
To your most pristine shine,
Which best scans eschews
With a graceful guiling sign.
Yet now may my pupil sight
Your wondrous doings espy,
Which men's erudition mock
With wisest strategem high.
Most sterling sense I salute
In your ageless infinite trails,
Which world's charlatan wits
Shame as brazen lying tales.
Invincible light at last I find
Cached in your lasered writ,
Which does all sciences' ink
Render mere deluding crypt.
The friar’s light, a deceiving light,
my nightmares deluding my mind
crossing the misty moors at night.
The friar’s light, a deceiving light.
Howling hounds affright – bite! They bite!
My eyes wide open but I’m blind!
The friar’s light, a deceiving light,
my nightmares deluding my mind.
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