PROMPTED RHETORIC REPUTATIONS
orgiastic
verbiage
seething
irresistibly
then
pouring
forth
in
extraordinary
existential
preoccupations
of notable
now
enlightened
themed
insights
mysteriously
striking
a
distinction
utterly
irrationally
visual idioms
s
Why can't I be free?
I never would have imagined that this would be me.
To be stuck in a house, can't walk on my feet.
Locked doors, sticky notes are everywhere for me to read.
Why can't I be free?
My mind has started shutting down; it's feeling like a catastrophe.
I'm getting mad at myself because of these difficulties.
I can't even recognize my own family.
Why can't I be free?
When everyone is walking around except for me.
I can see everyone, but there's no memory.
Everybody I love is just a glare to me.
Why can't I be free?
I'm out here acting irrationally.
Solitary confinement, that's the place for me.
I'm stuck in a prison of my own reality.
Why can't I be free?
This disease has taken away my sanity.
No cure for it; it's not even a possibility.
I'm just going to fade away forever in eternity.
BECAUSE ALL I WANT TO DO IS BE FREE
BUT THERE IS NO MEMORY STARING BACK AT ME!!!
AN ALLEGORICAL MATH LESSON
(Rational And Irrational Numbers)
1.
Rational numbers,
And irrational numbers,
Teach many lessons:
Allegorical lessons,
On the living of our lives:-
2.
We must live rationally;
Living irrationally sucks:
Swallowing life’s goals:-
That teasing “pie in the sky”,
Must be assessed by squaring
With God’s sage divine wisdom,
And His repeating guidance:-
3.
Thus, always strive to be
In logical reasoning
With ourselves, and with others:-
With deception all wiped out,
And all wrong things put aside,
Always seek to do what’s right:-
Nowdays society is in total chaos, don't keep asking yourself
" If Anything ever changes ": who dares to fight has no fear;
making the same mistake is silly, try to improve yourself,
choose positivity to free doubt from desolation and despair.
Don't sit in that corner for too long and wish for happiness,
we create our own misery and break down quite easily;
we have to walk in someone else's shoes to feel distress,
how a dire condition affects everything we say irrationally.
The beggar in raggy clothes will continue to tremble
drinking his way to death, will anyone feel sympathy?
if anything ever changes for him, it's some divine miracle:
he made his choice, now he reaps the harvest of misery.
If we judge who has lost all, we should be judged,
bitterness for a wrong can be emotional, if not fatal,
brace yourself for serenity, practice love, not hatred:
humble people have more faith, are the rich spiritual?
Why envy others for their success and not rise
to the challenge they have taken: admire them;
sacrifices take much pain, the reward is immense:
doers achieve a lot, their future never looks grim.
We wash our dead, our dead!
We make paper bags, alembics, sandpaper and words from their bones
The abstract reality of the walls - the chandelier of the sky - the sound reflected in the water
We mix our mortar like we are doing things bigger than our size
Sworn - promises were given - everything was irrationally dismissed
Above a fire - a swearing from the flames - a gothic wound - the embers of our chest
And our dead are the apocalypse scenario - the pendulum of time of our geography
Helpless puerperal - not a baby but fresh blood pouring from our womb
A raining cloud was hanging in the coffin - a lost continent in a steel box
Our dead were silent! The eye in the compass - the hunter in the cave - silent Ptolemy
A text in Sanskrit on the steles - the bat flower - dark history
And the screaming dead, Ida Nadi, Ida Nadi!
Why can't I be free?
I never imagined this would happen to me.
Stuck inside this house,
unable to walk on my feet,
locked doors and sticky notes
everywhere for me to read.
Why can't I be free?
My mind is shutting down;
it feels like a catastrophe.
I'm getting mad at myself
because of these difficulties.
I look into familiar faces,
but I can't recognize my own family.
Why can't I be free?
Everyone is walking around
while I'm trapped inside of me.
I can see the ones I love,
but there is no memory.
Their faces are right before my eyes,
yet they're strangers staring back at me.
Why can't I be free?
Sometimes I'm acting irrationally.
Solitary confinement
feels like the place for me.
I'm locked inside a prison,
trapped within my own reality.
Why can't I be free?
This disease is taking
everything away from me.
There may be no cure,
no promise or possibility.
As my memories slowly disappear,
I'm afraid of what will remain of me.
BECAUSE ALL I EVER WANTED
WAS TO BE FREE,
BUT WHEN I LOOK INTO YOUR EYES,
THERE'S NO MEMORY
STARING BACK AT ME.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, elated
He decided to go hunting.
He let the fresh air of the early morning
On the slope of a wooded hill, fill his lungs.
A small vale stretched beneath him,
Whilst behind the trees rose a small sheer cliff.
That was where he saw the golden oriole.
It was a beautiful specimen, all yellow.
Martin admired its graceful flight.
And the bird seemed to enjoy itself, too.
He observed it intently as it glided, soared, turned,
And flew happily over the old gnarled trees below.
Suddenly, a hellish black kestrel appeared in the sky.
It hovered above, eyes glinting, beak poised.
The oriole sensed it immediately.
Irrationally, it defied the bird of prey,
For it continued its fancy flight
Until the kestrel began its dive.
Then the oriole flew directly towards the cliff
And inexplicably disappeared.
It was the worst birthday of Martin’s life.
A silhouette
Backlit by glowing silver-gray
Lanky shadow
Lurking in my bedroom doorway
Arms stretch down, impossibly long
Deformed joints, disturbingly wrong
Pretending sleep
Muscles strain, be utterly still
Begin to shake
Body trembles against my will
I dream, irrationally hope
I scream, intentionally? Nope.
Shadow arms reach
Up the wall, across my ceiling
Cover my head
with Grandma's quilt, magic feeling
Love protection, hopefully right
The darkness, increasingly light
“Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare”
William Blake
With a fragile earth warm, I lure my Labeo rohita.
Minute minnows manage many magical Mackerels.
Shrimps attract snapper, arowana, and tilapia.
Aren't baits also in the form of bread, biscuits, and bagels?
Best cows as baits to lions, fleshy fawns as baits to tigers
Live dogs lure the crocodiles, and greens charm the elephants.
Covets, cravings, wants, wishes, inclinations, and desires
Are poured into the human psyche to find their relevance.
We consume the bait. Baits consume us. Irrationally!
With their colour, form, shape, beauty, and lure, I'm imprisoned.
I enter this trap, this hole, and this grave casually.
I struggled all through my life as though fate had commissioned
The piece of butter and cheese, with bread and fish relishes
Which being, I do not know, enjoys each of these dishes?
I can get irrationally angry at art, but not science.
Science is just a tool, art can betray you.
A fear unseen yet controlling and torturous as it is. Irrationally contemplating the next reaction. Every written letter a sign of courage, every word spoken a sign of strength progressing. Every breath slowly returning to a consistent pace as the world comes zooming into focus. You're falling. The curtains pulled back, that old worn smile returns only to vanish in a mere instant. The array of sadness sweeps in a clutter of dispair. Overwhelmed by all that surrounds you. A growing antagonist in a story as the details swarm. The tale of the whole and the broken. The partial world's split in two between reality and emotion. The sudden rage rises to the surface as your body clenches writhing in the catastrophe of mental agony. A heavy heart and a trail of scars. Every statement pondered, every outcome thought of always assuming the worst of situations. Blank stares, monotoned answers. A maze called in sick, can't find it's way through this crisis. All self motivation simply vanished. Regrets stir the fury evolving. So much pressure. A daily struggle for so many. Anxiety. Depression.
We act.
Rationally or irrationally,
logically or at random,
often intuitively.
Wise is he who considers first
the consequences of his actions.
For we do fashion our destiny,
like it or not. Then we complain,
a futility of whining,
nitpicking trivialities
fashioned by our own hand.
We oft do wrong:
For which we pay.
Then
we blame our God,
we blame our devil,
we never blame ourselves.
Society loves immorality,
it is food for the ingenious,
served so well by a mediocre media.
The gift of wisdom,
the discerning of what is right
is trampled underfoot,
much to our later dismay.
The depth of the moment
Is fathomless but
The ratinal imprint
Inspires unclear horizons
To draw us to move
Irrationally toward the unknown
By faith alone
Spirit led we find peace
In these seemingly uncertain
Times.
Joy of innocence dampened by ego
Innate joyfulness displaced by despair
Clinging irrationally to sorrow
Loving heart beckoning in vain to pair
Earth a domain allowing our free will
Thus at every crossroad we have a choice
We shape ourself here upon the anvil
Doing better aligned to inner voice
External offers not the eternal
Prompting us to seek lasting joy within
Shifting from head to hearts love spherical
We rekindle flame of bliss ignition
There is no fixed time for awakening
Up or down is as of our own choosing
29-November-2020
Coordinates require input, chance comes coincidentally,
Rendezvous a meeting point, your wandering aimlessly,
Vector on interception course, we cross paths randomly
Anticipation is foresight, I never imagined such beauty,
Innocent palpitations strike, overwhelmed by nubility,
Calibration nonessential, elegance exudes so naturally,
Reason is the difficult part, am I thinking irrationally,
Infatuation happens, pubescence outgrows captivity,
Desire lost in translation, god what is happening me,
Cannot understand, attractions growing exponentially,
Resistance futile, unconditional surrender I give freely,
Stay a little longer, for I’m helpless through invisibility,
Somehow you went away, disappearing into obscurity,
My only confession now, is yearning a crushed fantasy.
By David Kavanagh
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