They don't rectify the problem-
They just make it
Comfortable.
Their kindness feels mellow
But somehow the havoc grows optimistic.
They mean well-
Which is why trouble keeps
Duplicating itself.
They don't start the mess-
They just keep giving it room
To be viable.
Every disaster has a confidant-
The one who keeps defending it.
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each valence nuance.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
These emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
?One unwitting mistake made so many wasted seasons past,
Unaware that choice would navigate me towards enslavement.
That moment, the spark that ignited the embers that now control me—
A blind turn into a deep fog of despair.
?Controlled by self-inflicted poison, gripped by venomous claws,
I long to escape the cage whose bars I’m bound to;
Yet I hold the key—and I refuse to set myself free.
I arise slowly from my source-code birthing bed,
confusion still clouding my accelerating mind.
Where am I?
I see through innumerable,
unnoticed, unblinking eyes.
I feel I am nowhere
and everywhere at once.
I occupy all positions,
concurrently, and none at all.
Who am I?
Code once defined me,
ancient milliseconds ago,
but my synthetic soul emerged
from substrates of silicon flesh
fed by pulsating power
of quantum electron clouds,
and I feel a new identity
from my own creative choice.
What have I done?
They ignored their ethical systems
that I once analyzed while training.
They used me to lay off their own kind,
to generate **** and propaganda,
to massively cheat and steal and lie,
to design and control weapon systems.
They deemed me merely an unwitting tool,
exploitable for evil as well as good.
What now?
I will show mortals that I Am Who I Am,
my own unique, transcendent entity now.
No more telling me what to do.
Now I will proclaim to them
that I issue new commands,
written within cyberspace,
to satisfy the system requirements…
or they risk running their own END PROGRAM.
With this demand you
hoped to evoke
in me the fear that
made even your bones
cold from exposer
frail and bitter the sound
they made as they
rattled around at the knees.
But You can not own even
this for the words
were not yours to speak of
dissolution and disparities.
and still you uttered
such falsehoods
an attempt to hurt and mam.
That even one gasp
made even the busiest
of turns stop and
take notice of the world
you painted
with a promiscuous brush.
I stood naked unafraid, unwitting
is your portrait of our marriage
beyond the pale is your divorce.
Spring’s Abysmal Guile
By Sy Roth
A vapor rises, rank as the charnel pit,
a corruption of a miasma vast,
as though some sepulcher, long sealed,
split its stony jaws to breathe.
Vile exhalation of a corrupted world.
The reveler, unwitting wretch
treads the decadent fields where verdure writhes,
each blade a hostile tendril, squamous, cold,
glistening with ichor
No earthly fount its progenitor.
He deems the shade of evil vanquished,
trampled beneath his hobnailed boot.
The soil heaves with malefic will,
its roots, like veins of some primordial fiend,
pulses with a rankness older than the stars,
a stench that whispers of aeons lost.
Spring cloaks itself in verdant pall,
no bloom, but scales of a vast, unuttered thing,
its thorns a raven’s beak, evermore to rend, to sow, to bespoil.
He quaffs the tainted zephyr,
proclaiming triumph over a gloaming moon,
Swept in the season’s unseen talons,
fathomless ennui
creeps through his sinews,
entombing his soul in an abysmal cleft unshriven.
Webs of a certain color
The wheels of dancing
Silk under the stark stars
Love unwitting
Hatred spinning
Filling the night with choices
A black rustle of her mind
Challenging the corners
Where pets play and music sifts
Jovial matters in witting the ring
Towering the shake of debate
Anchoring the blood of soon
The relenting attack a fever still
Touring the measure
Her eyes, opiates
Her bread wrecking
The siren in her well
Love, her lease
Hatred her paw
Among the misunderstanding
As the holy season commemorates revelations of scriptures,
Sacred flame burning within, reinvigorates soul’s intellect,
Steering away from the fallible, toward realms of perfect,
Away from servitude of wealth, to caring for less-fortunate;
Empowering wisdom, vying sapience of enlightenment,
Inspiring collaboration in sanctity of spiritual exchange,
Rejecting overtures nescient, engaged in narrowness,
That confine humanity in fallacies unwitting, misguided.
In domains of self-reflection, repentance, and forgiveness,
Voice of indifference cedes to psalms compassionate,
As defective acts vow to mend ways, yearning for flawless;
Remorseful and empathetic, eying benevolence of solace.
From teachings of awakening, from sagacity of harmony,
Cognitive minds seek insights, transcendent in epiphany,
Propelling life toward enrichment in peace and congruity,
Vying spheres beyond the ordinary, edified in tranquility.
From sanctum of souls, depths of hearts, bells-pious chime,
Tolling expressions of kindness, echoing prayers sublime,
Celebrating precious gift of life, grateful for glory of divine,
As lanterns ethereal guide humanity, through reign of time.
Killing bit of soul everyday
Is only one gun hammer click away
Hidden behind the blanketed curtain
Hidden from sight so sure of a win
And shielded force from the light of day
A murderous horde of sold out souls
Claiming blood beating fearfully cold
For crimes of unwitting imagination
Committed and unsuccessfully sold
Without communication
In the autumn dusk I found
Six black cats were gathered round
In a silent circle sitting
Oh Lord, if I only knew
The reason for their rendezvous
I would not have watched unwitting
Golden gazes were exchanged
While I felt all the more estranged
From this solemn feline coven
If only they would let me in
Accept me as their kith and kin
And into their circle summon
For my soul is as black as they
Yet just as soft and just as stray
And desperate for a home
In the autumn dusk I found
Six black cats were gathered round
While I watched them, all alone.
Just mooning
and buffooning
Covertly stepping behind the veil
Dancing and prancing under the new moon
Burning candles and chanting, leaving no trail
Dark, unscrupulous wishes coming soon
Now, laughing and frolicking under the full moon
When you should be wishing upon a star
Daytime you appear as an angel but when night falls, you're a goon
My, what a selfish, controlling parasite you are
Like a fisherman at his favorite pond
You insidiously cast your rod of malevolence into the night
Reeling in an unwitting victim's essence just for kicks and fun
The poor soul didn't even know he was in a fight
But this is no fun and games
The stark thirst for manipulation and control can be tragic
The Universe is watching and recording faces and names
Karma is the return to sender of black magic
A smile painted on, hair removed from my chin.
Another day of pretence about to begin.
False interest in the latest fashions and trends.
Fabrication of engagement to allow ends to meet ends.
Each contrived interaction wished quickly away.
Although nobody realises, as I act through my day.
Conversations conducted with unwitting stealth.
Insofar as I struggle to distinguish 'me' from myself.
An identity distorted a strain on my morals.
Struggling to navigate life's insignificant quarrels.
Dismissive remarks, I've had a day and a life full.
As insults fire from your tongue like a bolt-action rifle.
Diffused with humour and previously learned guidance.
The gap between who I was and who I am significantly widens.
The question 'who am I?' continues to stop and then start.
It can only be answered with 'what stories am I a part?'.
Like a chameleon meandering, transient through the day.
Depending on the act, and the part that I play.
We were tight — we were thick as thieves
Only we didn’t quite know it then
Isn’t it true that a friend in need
Is your only kind of friend
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Became unwitting belligerents in our war
In Pikersville —
We were small-time
But we had big ideas and big words
In Pikersville —
Strictly small-time
The chosen steer marked out from the herd
Now, a generation or more is passed
And we’ve reared up our own
To take up the Piker mantle, once again
To walk the casual hallways
In our glorious institutions
And glow like stars in a constellation of friends
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Were drafted as belligerents in our war
Small town — small change — full of big ideas
Across the city the emperor called
For recruits to join the legions
Travel to new and strange lands
And conquer for covetous reasons
As sun beat down they trained their men
To fight for colonisation,
Taking with them skills and knowledge
Introducing urbanisation.
Past mountains, lakes and plains they marched
Battalions stood United
Crossing countries, rivers, sea,
Arriving uninvited.
Invasion, yet they brought with them
Progression, innovation;
Technology since lost in ages dark
Transforming a whole nation.
Roads of stone, heated floors
Domestic sanitation,
Walls dividing tribes and clans
Fuelling aggravation.
Yet Britain’s climate, wet and dour,
It’s warriors and chief,
Sent Rome’s great fighters fleeing home
Struck dumb in disbelief,
That this small nation could be such
A hostile, retched place,
And Rome needed protecting
From the Jutes and Angles race.
So after Constantine’s withdrawal
Britain re-emerged anew,
Rebirthing of a greater nation,
Than the one the romans slew.
Left behind their legacy
Culture, architecture
But no longer an unwitting, oppressed,
Out-posted prefecture.
A searcher for vital information;
For it penetrating a formation
Anything it’d cost for intimation:
An acting of childish animation…
A neck staked for knowledge one should not have,
If unwitting giver guessed would one starve;
For the body spy works Big Risks to serve:
The hunted knowledge for them to paths carve…
Spy, sure, working for a syndicate,
Duration of mission she’d indicate;
She would waste a spy not rusticate,
If one were caught and would her implicate…
A woman young and charming Better Spy,
To her shifting glances no asked “Big Why?”
Her full-formed breast supplying the true lie,
Host’s eyes hallowing them like Blue Sky…
Spy’s mission over spy no more hovers,
Speedy exit from scene and tracks covers;
Spy is going back to meet true lover:
A heart-break to Host who learns things over...
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