2/19/2013

Older piece I found that I wrote a while ago, reflections on the state of society. Rereading this inspires me to write a few more poems along the same lines.

Raw.

It’s that feeling you get where you feel nothing,

Yet the Universe is running through your veins and every emotion felt by man is running down your face

It feels pink and strange, like ground meat in your hands.

Cold. And Dead.

You can search the meat in your hands, looking for the rats and filth Sinclair mentioned

So many times before.

But you feel fragile- Like an egg

Break the hard exterior and all that is left is the mess of a man.

Why the face? Does the truth hurt?

Who are you to be fazed by the truth?

“Sweetie, People die every day.” Incredible amounts of people.

Not every death is sweet or comfortable, or even wanted.

“There is murder in the streets, dear,”

Liars and Traitors and Thieves and W****s

“But don’t be concerned, darling- these are everyday people.”

I mean, no man is perfect.

That’s what can be said about back door deals and trafficking what is treasured

“But honey, no man is perfect”-- this is their excuse.

Just because I don’t walk in the dark, doesn't mean I have never looked outside.

Just because I haven’t walked in the dark, doesn't mean I can’t acknowledge the night.

The difference between sunrise and sunset is minute

One represents the end of a nightmare-- the other the beginning of a dream.

Who are we to discern the two?

In pictures they look the same.

Close your eyes! Are you praying for this all to end- or to begin?

One man’s God is another creature’s nemesis in the eyes of some mutes.

“But does anyone weep for the broken family?”

What family- I ask- is still together?

Everything is wrong.

We all spew comforting lies to help us sleep at night,

bring bottles and cigars and drugs to our lips and sigh.

“God? Who is He? What has He done?” is screamed through the tear-filled eyes of an angry son.

Leaves blow past his shoes and the breeze hits his face.

This once God-fearing boy too, has forgotten His grace.

“Honey, who weeps for the mother who is left alone?”

Whose husband put a bullet in his head but three miles from home?

And for the children who cross the desert each night,

locking themselves in a cage to save their own lives?

or for the baby girls, barely alive in trash bags on the street

where people pray that they die?

Barely Breathing, Completely Nonexistent.

A gasp of bright oxygen fills the lungs,

as if awakened from a bad dream.

Opened eyes view a nightmare.

The end of good.

The collapse of everything.

“Sweetheart, Angels no longer weep, but bleed-

for they are dying in the gutters.

The stench of condemnation and hatred rises from the sewers.

Decaying carcasses of once just men are left to hang in closets.

And Mother Nature suffocates, murdered by her greatest creation.”

The collective emotions of all humanity stream down your face in cold sweat.

Experiencing everything, then feeling nothing.

No reason to care. No reason to move.

Paralyzing realization stiffens your bones-

you can’t move. You couldn't- even if the desire was present.

Even the air hurts. Breath hurts.

Can’t stop breathing.

You keep on living.

You are nothing in the face of everything.

You are but the smallest muscle, not even capable of twitching the nose

on the face of eternity

You barely exist. Meaningless.

You are raw.

You are numb.

You are paralyzed.

You are meaningless.

But you cannot die.

“But dear, that’s just what it means to be human.”

Author's Note

Any questions, comments, concerns, whatever feel free to ask! I'm all up for discussion- it can only make me better. I emulated a few different poets' styles in this- does it feel copy/pasted? I want to make sure the style stands out on its own.