Your comment
Sent me
On a strange path
Of great thought
And reflection
And times past
With great mental strain
Synapsis drained
I feel
Low
And tired
If a little
Depressed
That
I have come
To a point
A conclusion
If you will
Be enlightened
That Life
Is Life
That Man
Is Man
Never to wake
To see the Dawn
In May
Always
Cursed too
Sleeping
Sleeping
And so adverse to
Dreaming
Dreaming
But not of
A universal consciousness
With so many Cultures
With Vultures abound
That common ground
Is but a swamp
Clad in dead trees
Mist and murk
Lies and fake news
Surrounded
By wall streets
Profit
At Humanities loss
Child and forced labour
A cesspit of sex crimes
Man’s current state
Of enlightened times
So can you imagine
Or dream if you dare
Where man
Puts others
First
Before himself
And lifts those below
Up past his equal
I can’t
Man, never will
He seems
Condemned
Content
To Dreaming
Dreaming
Of what
Might have been
A conscious time
Out of his reach
Categories:
synapsis, mythology,
Form: Free verse
she seems
to be asleep
never ever wake
your Muse you can't
use her
all the time
she needs to
sleep so let her be
straining
brain waves
a burning smell
of synapsis tell me
it was
always her
never me i'm
just a cup to fill
this she
does because
of love though not
because I deserve that
she has
more on her
mind then ever me
when atlas shrugged she took
the weight
as the Band played
Music From Big Pink in stereo
multiplicated harmonies beyond
belief
for her
to take the load
off and put it on me
Categories:
synapsis, muse,
Form: I do not know?
A Mind Robber
Out of my mind had made a spectacle
Because about everything I was skeptical
And when upside down had been landing
Commanding lead were not understanding.
What was wrong with my awful approach
When on all others it always did encroach
And is reason many are now hysterical
After finding out I am horribly heretical.
Maybe it just might have been mitosis
Combined together causing a meiosis
As result of some resounding synapsis
That probably suffered from many mishapses.
I am beginning to believe without any doubt
This is what Trump truly is really about
But instead of being a joiner and bright healer
Was presumed seen in Pittsburg being a Steeler.
Ho Ho Jim Horn
Trump is a robber and stealer of people's minds
As well as scalper of their behinds.
Categories:
synapsis, humorous,
Form: Couplet
I'm starting to think that
Listening; vibrations of sound traveling into my ear
Jumble inside my head and my mouth speaks:
Oh dear
... Is starting to become a bothersome application
Could I delete it?
The qualm of your voice
Memory of choice
The ever wishing thought of a happily ever after
But age has shown us that we should learn to write our own chapters
Or maybe just a
Misdirection of conception
Interpretation of the incorrect question
As if Giovanni Schiaparelli wrote the outline wrong
And now the summary would be believed as phantom physics
And that very idea makes my synapsis re-visit
Gong!
Time's Up
How nice the thought
Of my own thoughts to go and interrupt
I was thinking of something
That turned into something
That wasn't the something before
But isn't that what we are trying for?
Not to remember anymore...
Categories:
synapsis, introspection,
Form: Rhyme
By what labyrinthine repetitions,
by what agile, precise divisions,
by what accretions, do we compile
a life's arcane hieroglyphs,
its subtle, unmathematic mysteries?
What cold calculus shall we yet invent
to construct the introspective model?
What distribution curve, what standard deviation,
shall predict the time remaining 'tll we exist
entirely in a universe of our own creation?
Shall we make of stars mere red-shifted
spectral lines on photographic plates?
Will heartache be reduced to sine waves,
mapped by styli on graduated rolls
revolving in precise concurrence
with computed average biologic rates?
Shall we expunge the record from the file,
shall we precipitate a system crash?
What key will be called escape and which restore?
What impulse may span the neural gap,
what synapsis presage what deity?
And will there be a world left to explore?
Will we stop to soliloquize?
What obeisance shall we require?
Piety is no mark of barren earth and rocks,
nor of sterile wind and raging fire.
Categories:
synapsis, education, introspection, life, philosophy,
Form: Free verse