Long Without aim Poems
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On the heights of despair, where light falls askew,
I rise through the abyss of thoughts as through a dream,
The whole world is an absurd song, without meaning,
And yet, behold, my foes, the mountains do not laugh,
And the worms, silent, do not sing, only I, solitary,
Watch as illusions dance on stage,
Dressed in garments of clouds and smoke.
What a wonder to love supreme uselessness,
When morals and aesthetics break like reeds,
And religions become just shadows of forgetful gods,
How to live when all around is just dust
And your soul trembles under the eternal weight
Of the void that holds you close like a mother
Who has lost her child in the desert blizzard.
Ah, but the absurd, this playful demon,
Casts its light on the chaos within me,
And I lose myself in questions without answers,
In love with something formless,
A love that stretches like a river
You cannot touch, only feel its flow
And lets you drift in the drift of eternity.
Without purpose and without aim, my love
Is a play of shadows under the emerald sky,
And I, a lost dreamer, bow
Before the absurd, for only it gives
A semblance of life’s meaning, a reason
To pass through time like a traveler
Who does not seek a destination, only the journey.
All by myself, alone, I softly chant your name,
Own up for our defunct weeping bond and I take the blame.
It was our love very pure and not lusty lure,
Unsure, kaput and insecure I thirstily quest for love’s cure……
Will not otieously shed another vainful tear
But in earnest long for you my Dear to be near.
Messed up our bond with blatant, glaring guilt & shattered our own heart,
Guess that’s the only reason we in our lives drifted apart.
Cannot truly imagine that I let you go,
But for us to be happy I did so,
I own up and take the blame,
To silently blow off our love’s flame…..
My heart I am sure you did not know,
Was tattered and torn from the time I let you go,
Ours was a bond carefree and Boehme,
I Own up for our broken weeping bond and take the blame.
I wish our bonds could have fondly stayed on,
Woven intertwined with emotions, enameled with love’s lacquerers firmly bound.
But I still take the blame,
And not dampen loves flickering flame with a sense of shame……
Now that my love, its end seems so near,
Sense its icy claws draw up and stealthy steps I hear,
I own up and take the blame……………
And fling my heart’s longings up above without aim again and again…till our laden guilt we overcame….
In the abyss of gazes, where silence screams mute and deep,
The chasm stares back, a vortex gathering abstract emotions,
I offer it my fears, aspirations, and unspoken truths,
It swallows them all, leaving an unyielding void in my chest.
There exists a lexicon of despair, with sharp, cutting phonemes,
With discordant cadence, yet solace in graceful harmonies,
An elegy reminding me that I am both wound and witness,
Exiled and at home, in a universe that knows no harbor.
On the edge of the abyss, where light entwines with shadow,
I lose and find myself, a traveler wandering without aim,
In the stream of consciousness, I wonder who I am without it all,
An echo of unfulfilled dreams, a longing that does not struggle.
In the soliloquy of the abyss, where silence becomes the heart's language,
I find melancholic beauty, the poetry of falling and rising,
In the dance between void and fullness, eternal and profound,
I am both creator and creation, in the infinite that binds us all, round.
Between spacetime ripples
lurk dark energy waves,
emanating from the void
strange forces hold me slave
I mean! What type of creature/
flies a kite in thunderstorms
One searching for answers
carrying Cain’s multiple forms?
Left to roam earth’s surface,
blind man at the controls,
Free will: a human delusion,
designed for plugging holes
Filling up wishing wells
that possess no walls or gold,
If angels once flew here,
torn scapulas failed to hold
Inconsequence yields potential
for those without aim,
Living in guilty dreamland,
faking the conscience game
Fate’s not predestined,
broken paths bifurcate the way;
Either side are minefields,
where decimal points blow astray
Catatonic medication
seeps into my mind
Light speed slows down
bringing stability of a kind
I stare at open ripples,
stretching ever far apart,
reflecting chronic heartbeats,
flatlining from the start
Can barely make an effort
to clear my cluttered desk;
paperweights grow heavy,
the inkwell more grotesque
Time — time is endless
when prepping a final letter.
No sense quoting scriptures;
makes the flood outside seem wetter
To hell cast this world,
gamble away life’s coffers
Nothing left but truth
that only entropy offers
Chip the tip off a bullet,
Russian roulette my head
Peep inside the hole dum-dum,
you can always bank on red
Question marks hang over Cain;
mine has proven true
Decimal point erred again,
later resurfaced askew
Left to bear its blunder,
I send my kite into a storm tonight,
To hear the heavens rage,
“That decimal point was always right”
By
David Kavanagh
“Fear Mongers”
Newspapers yelling,
TVs screaming,
Radios blaring.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Politicians lying,
Preachers ranting,
Black men dying,
Mothers crying.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Breaking news,
More breaking news.
Shootings here,
Robberies there,
More mothers crying.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Fear mongers
Marching, Marching, Marching
They’re coming to take you away
Hey! Hey!
They’re coming to take you away.
Battalions of mongers
Armies of mongers
All painted red,
Coming to take you away.
Cool it down,
Take it down,
It’s getting hot down here.
It’s not all that bad
It’s bad for your heart,
It wrongs your soul.
We aren’t like that.
It’s time to say goodbye,
To these days of spitting vile,
To these days of ugly words,
To these days of vulgar thoughts,
To shooting arrows without aim.
We’re not like that.
Too many mothers crying.
Cool it down,
Take it down,
It’s getting hot down here.
It’s not all that bad.
It would do my heart good,
For you to find some good
In this disease infected world.
Take a trip I say,
Take a trip.
Spin your wheels to
Mount Rushmore
Listen to what those
Four have to say.
This is what we want.
This is what we need.
If your voice holds no flame, just the echo of night,
A hollow refrain with no spark to ignite,
Then let the stillness rise, let the quiet remain—
For a word without fire is a breath without name...
Then let the stillness rise, let your whispers take flight,
For the dark cannot teach, and the void gives no light...
And if your words burn, but they blaze for your name,
A wildfire of pride that consumes without aim—
Then hush now, my soul, lest you fan your own shame,
For the self-willed are dust, and their embers betray.
Speak not for the sake of the sound in your chest,
But to carry the light that the Heavens have blessed.
For the lips that confess with no hunger, no awe,
Are but shadows that dance on a temple’s cold wall.
Oh, speak with the light or surrender to Grace,
Let the Divine fill the unspoken space.
For the holiest tongues know when to be still,
When silence is worship, when love is the will.
Oh, the Divine fire glows,
Where the humble heart goes,
In the quiet, it shows—
More than speech knows.
The Wandering of a Dead Man
I move slowly, like a lost soul, a walking dead,
My vision, foreign, no longer belongs to me,
It is merely that of a human animal, an unwitting heir
Of Greek culture, Roman order, Christian morality,
And all the illusions that weave the civilization in which I live and feel.
Like a dreamer in a sea of shadows, my mind wanders,
Each step an echo of ancient temples, each thought
A reflection of the extinguished lights of the past.
In the flow of my consciousness, waves of faded memories
Crash against unknown shores, carrying me
Through labyrinths of marble and silences.
My soul was sculpted in the cold marble of Hellenic thoughts,
But Roman order raised walls around my heart,
In rigid laws and stone structures, chaining my freedom.
Christian morality painted contours of black and white,
Splitting good from evil in a world without nuances,
Where the light of day swallows subtleties.
My heart, an ancient relic, pulses slowly,
A museum of dust-covered ideas, of illusions lived and felt,
An empty temple where the echoes of lost beliefs
Mix with the whispers of melancholy.
Advancing slowly, like a wandering dead man,
Through a world of shadows and ruins, a stranger
In a civilization that lives its agony before my eyes.
In this dance of shadows and lights, my vision fades,
Leaving behind an immense void, a memory of a world that was
And of illusions dissolved in the eternity of oblivion.
I am a traveler in a universe of unrealized dreams,
An echo of a falling star, lost in the void,
A wandering soul, without aim or destination,
Just an ephemeral dream in a fleeting world,
Where illusions dance on the stage of our transience,
In a dance of shadows and lights, in the infinity of melancholy.
I postponed being amazed by time, a traveler without aim,
Until, before my soul could die, I learned,
That all that aches has dissipated like smoke under the silver moon,
A flock and a shepherd, shadows of a long-forgotten tale.
Whoever places my bare and fragile bones in an envelope,
Will write a letter of my cowardly and humble feelings,
The black angel, ruling over all that love touches,
Forbids your bleeding heart the wellspring that cries.
Bandaged with a death buried in the stretching future,
The eternity of the moment hides in the despair that surprises us,
The tears of my life, wilted fortune floods you,
The universe in my inspired soul seeks to hide away.
To our earthly life, I give an imponderable and gentle meaning,
Your perfection, my love, only you make it seem without pain,
You are the one who will birth my steps into eternity, forever,
Because your love, like a god, spreads within my soul.
Your love carries a dull dissatisfaction, ever-present,
Our contemporaries feel it and echo it along the way,
Announcing to the present-past, until the last breath,
That your Christ, my beauty, long ago ceased to exist, but turns into our dream.
Addicted to dream
Although failed many times
But some of them came true
So want to dream more
Without a dream can't find any aim
Without aim can't move further
Although slipped many times
But some times succeed to forward
So want to put effort again
Although trapped in wrong surroundings
But only positivity of family
Always motivates to keep on trying
As this is the way to teach
A lesson to negative factors
That I'm not discouraged
But grew stronger
As so much hindrances can't
Affect me to stop
And I keep on enjoying the life
Which is beyond the dream of theirs
As a peaceful time can be caught
By a mind that sustain confidence
And confidence remains where
Positive approach sustained.
An approach to win the competition
With superior competence
Otherwise the fulfilled dreams
Can't give a peaceful reward
Rather the memories of victory
Will remind inferiority
And your celebration turns into
Celebration of others' superiority.
Those others whom you wanted to defeat
And believe you did.
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice