We grow up being doctored into thought processes and beliefs on how to live and find success. Family and nationalistic attitudes inherited wether or not we believe in their rationales, logic or prejudice.
When we stand upon our own feet. We find our own way to survive. Survival takes its own path on these roads of many miles.
Our minds become accustomed to dealing with failure and success. Our bodies carry this engine that controls how we measure up against humanity and the human state of mess.
When it comes down to the basics the powers treat us, look upon us and condemn like we are all the same. But when it comes down to our minds we exist on levels of countless varied plains.
Conscience
Rattling around through the attic
Of twisting pathways –
Buried deep in cellars
Waiting to speak
Always present –
Illuminates
Returning phantoms of ambivalence
That won’t stay out of sight;
Lies
Refusing to stay silent;
Rationales pushed down
Jumping out like a jack in the box;
Marginalizations march
In maddening circles of consequence;
Ghosts of indecent decisions
Unable to rest in peace;
Sly designs of deceit
Slow eat away at the tender marrow;
Masks of deeds conceived in darkness
Fear the face unmasked by transparency;
Anxiety of sins uncloaked
Trembles at the eyes of the not yet;
Buried bones of sneaky words
Speak out unbidden;
Houses of flimsy excuses
Fall like dominoes;
Hallucinations born of if only
Become reality;
Sleep and solitude
Look away;
Pacing arenas of grey acres
Reject clear sunlight;
Music in the mind runs wild,
Refuses resolution;
Ever present truths, twisted in tornadoes,
Remain.
8-11-20
Contest: Infliction
Sponsor: Silent One
"You assume too much..."
Assumptions: cunning little devils, always sneaking up and
tripping up the clearest thought or the wisest head;
insinuating themselves into cherished beliefs, firm opinions
and the well worn habits of mind and body.
Assuming: convincing thinking and rationales, straightfaced
delivery of error and misconception to an unsuspecting
psyche; there to lead astray, giving form to dark despairs
or euphoric imaginations in an unreal world.
Habits of thought, their errors compounded by the
ceaseless whirl of the mind: too much thinking, too little
action, too few spoken words, a gaze too much inwards,
our inner world too much with us.
I assume too much: why then, how do I escape the
clutches of assumptions, their subtle presence hidden
from my eyes; where is the Watcher who sees and marks
the insidious self deception, the tangled web of errors?
Fight fire with fire: match devil with Fiend, sharp
witted and with keen insight, to haul up sharp my
tumbling thoughts and let some sense prevail; Oh friendly
Fiend, why I thank you..............I'm assuming that's OK?
The sickest branches are easiest to spot,
by the damaged bark and the smell of rot
our shears are poised to trim and cut
the blades are opened and then snapped shut
But some, appear benign and healthy
their disease is sometimes sly and stealthy,
are these the ones that most need pruning,
if one's soul's to get a proper grooming?
A lie that's told to soften the blow
resentments kept by a fragile ego,
love withheld or trust denied,
oh, what's to trim can be hard to decide
No rationales and no self-pity,
no trusted friends, no sub-committees,
a mirror and a cold, bright light
may bring the truth into plain sight
Then chop and change, oh gardener!
With that comes growth, a spirit freer;
a heart that's rid of darkened places
makes life a lighter, gentler space
And even though the pen is mightier than the sword,
I seem to have lost my presence in a grieving combat,
Valuing the occupancy of idle prayers contoured,
Less the guilt of maturing through a horde of dirty facts;
The world finds me sundry rationales to scream this pain,
Diversifying my wisdom with that of teary remains,
Bickering the thought of justified emancipation
While agonizing seems my choice of venom, though hardly sustained;
But just when I approach the closest line of victory,
Memories of inane sorrow, these lanes of tomorrow find me astray;
More than a bloody design, I’m the obligation of teary flow
Scripting this narration across walls of empty vocation,
Patronizing my guilt through aisles of surrendered shadows,
And still not found within the satisfaction of dreary locations;
My worst nightmare seems to be this occupation I pursue,
Crying paths towards freedom, and still no escape…
If patience is a nourishment of tears, the Lord must identify truths
That retaliate intentions hallucinating the pretence of faith,
For where a tale of occult visions begin,
Words of poetic exercise, a world composed of lies find me astray;
Branches without dressing
drip nonsensical disturbance
on the forest floor
where I wait on the pathway
covered with layered debris -
ever again lost
in diverging rationales
of we.