Expectations

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Like a desert I am dry, parched and cracked

in the head because reason has deserted me.

I am thirsty for understanding but no rain falls,

the skies as barren as an abandoned bookshelf.

But look! Look! My eyes beg of me endlessly,

and the on the seventh glance I, prophet, see.

A cloud in the shape of a hand proffered proclaims

the sea falling from the sky like salty salvation.

I drink so deeply my skin sings like a plucked string.

My eyes finally open and I can now understand.

The hand of salvation, my hand, touches my face

and I see with my fingers as the tears trace rivers

of knowledge across the landscape of past pains.

I can’t! Why won’t anyone realize that I can’t!

But I am a prisoner to my situation, bound by love

so I grasp the boulder of expectations like Sisyphus

and struggle always onward dragging the failures

and misguided dreams of others like chains behind me.

My lips still move, a mad prophet prattling soundlessly.

I am weaving a spell to remember this dream

that one day this hand will open like a cloud

and water will stream down my face and drown me

in a river of reality and carry my boulder away.

I dream that maybe one day I will learn to swim.

And finally I will be free. But for today, I push.

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Midnight Melodrama

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Nothing changes, the ripples swirling inward

a whirlpool of mirrored progression, regression

my feet squelch through muddy emotions

and slip on the thin ice of disinterestedness,

a casualty of casual cruelty I can’t advance.

I am a Knight trying to take two steps forward

unable to untwist my path to make it clear,

so I sit stalemated in fear, unwilling to leap.

The savage anger that burned within burned out

and I am left strung out like an addict,

I need to understand but I can’t remember

that perfect picture because it was never taken.

Forsaken folly now rules my miserable mind,

better a mistake made well than one botched

in delivery, actions aborted leave only stress.

A mess easily avoided but I am deaf

and cannot hear the please from within

so I circle and circle the drain, praying

hoping that maybe this time I will drown.

 

Let Me Show You How Great I Am!

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I conquered darkness and enslaved flames to my bidding,

 

Shattered silence and spoke the world into existence.

 

I blessed the ground with my sweat and life sprang forth,

 

I consumed blood and fountained forth civilization!

 

Let me show you! Let me show you how great I am!

 

 

 

I ventured forth to the edge of the world and did not fall,

 

I shed the shackles that bound me to the earth and soared.

 

Still I wasn’t free for even birds are bound to the sky

 

so I blasted forth beyond to bid good tidings to the moon.

 

Let me show you! Let me show you how great I am!

 

 

 

I mastered the mysteries of the light and blossomed

 

forth discoveries that let me heal and that let me kill.

 

I failed and failed, spraying the world with blood again and again.

 

But I could not die, Black Death could not conquer me!

 

Let me show you! Let me show you how great I am!

 

 

 

I learned to love, ripping out my heart and offering it,

 

a sacrifice made to a mysterious god beyond mastery.

 

I learned to live again, piecing together broken pieces

 

Jailer and prisoner in a beautifully deadly dance of desire.

 

Let me show you! Let me show you how great I am!

 

Solitary Confinement

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I. Must. Suppress. This purposelessness,

this purpled stain upon my pride.

This wanton rage fueled by wonton soup

and emptiness, tired of being ordinary

thirsting for some super power soup.

Black cowardly bile rises bitter,

and I must choke down the realization

of my own internal weakness

before the frustration fuse blows.

Insignificant ant, so easily crushed.

Insult added to injury by my lackadaisical

attitude, I am ruled by laziness.

Chained to a wall of my own making

I can only rant and rage poetically

from the constraint of my own heart

where I trapped myself, all alone.  

A Rose for My Mother

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A wise man once said, “Give me my roses while I yet breathe.”

I write this rose for someone who is closer to me than any other.

If you did not already know, this is a poem for my mother.

 

We do not say I love you much in this family,

the three words are saved up like precious stones

and only brought out to shine in prayerful silence.

But I knew, ever before I could understand, I knew

and replied in baby burbles and childish chuckles,

fluently speaking in tongues only God understands.

I am now grown, both in stature and spoken word

so I can imperfectly tell you in verse what it was I said.

I can finally say thank you for those nine months,

you suffered through crazy cravings and carefree kicks

just so the beat of your heart could be the metronome

my life’s drummer uses to decide the path my feet follow,

guaranteeing that no matter how far away I may go,

I will always be close to your heart.

I can say thank you for the sacrifices you made,

from giving me the sizzling choice piece of meat

though I inherited my carnivorous nature from you-

to leaving behind the job of your dreams, departing

and taking on a position you hated simply to feed me.

I want to tell you that when you stumbled home late

like a crazy person with hair sticking out everywhere,

drunk from exhaustion and looking like a caricature

of yourself but still somehow managed to cook dinner

before collapsing into a stupor, too tired to eat

you were more beautiful than Helen of Troy could dream.

I want to thank you for the mistakes you make,

the subtle messes you create in your carelessness

because they remind me that we are only human,

and that we can all be perfect in our imperfection.

I want to thank you for teaching me the strength inherent

in a good woman, so that when I one day have a wife,

I will treat her with the respect and reverence she deserves.

I want to tell you that I enjoy our casual conversations,

our little adventures when we get hopelessly lost in new places

and the laughter and joy we have shared over the years.

And even though I have grown too old to hold your hand

while crossing the street, I still hear your voice guiding me

whenever I come to a stop, stymied by a crossroad.

You were the first God I ever knew, your love so boundless

that I often wondered if I would drown if I tried to drink it in.

Thank you for that first push when I sat on the bicycle,

you taught me that with only a push I could soar the skies,

but thank you also for laughing at me when I crashed

because it taught me that failure is a part of being alive

and that pain is only temporary if we remember how to laugh.

There is no way to end this poem, because the relationship

between a mother and her child can never be ended,

so let me finish by translating what I cried as a child.

Simply put all I said was, “I love you too Mom”.

Arrogant Ignorance-The American Birthright

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Contempt drips thick as words fall soft from lips,

barbed words that smear and stab like the spears

we stick in the ground and erect as fences, waiting

to be used to stake unsuspecting hearts of others.

People like us, but just unlike us enough that we can’t

like them, so we liken them to monsters in our fiction.

We color them evil in the stories we tell our children

behind the closed doors and in averted, hateful eyes.

Careless of the hurt because they obviously can’t feel

pain, or panic when punished for simply existing.

In class we preach acceptance, but werewolves prowl

our suburban streets, raping our children at home

but we are too busy exorcising ever present demons

with a steady regiment of exercise and extreme dieting

to hear the boy who cried wolf bleed tears from his wrists.

We isolate others in our disdain, forgetting to dream,

our imagination sold out and our talents stripped publicly

for the zombie hoard to feast upon in this succubi system

of violence, misogyny and cruelty that we have accepted.

Even in silence we still hurt as we ostracize wordlessly,

huddled groups of middle school children unified to hate

and isolate other children as they were taught in stories

slipped into their ears by backward robbers that stole

their sensitivity for curiosities and left only cruelty.

We live in fear of the other, the hideous monsters out there

failing to look in the mirrors at our hearts and truly see.

The monster spews spontaneously forth every time we

silence our conscious, utter utterly unconscionable things

and continue living without even remembering to care.

We have all caught affluenza, so dead drunk on freedom

and wealth beyond the world’s dreams that we are incapable

of seeing the damage we deal with our arrogant ignorance.

It’s simply seems to be our destiny manifested in the lack

of protest when our glorious Titanic smashes the iceberg,

because we grind the leaves of lettuce endlessly in our teeth

and swallow the bitter  injustice relentlessly running rampart.

We claim to want to change, but we are too ignorantly arrogant.

~Facebook Page~

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Hello!

This post applies for the faithful followers and commentators as well as for the people who are encountering my blog for the first time. My name is Moses and I am the creator and amateur artist that spews his sometimes decent creation upon the face of the internet in hopes that one day something will come of it. I write mostly poetry, though I will occasionally post short stories and other random bits of writing.

The reason I am writing this is to inform you that I have finally decided to get a facebook page and hopefully gain more followers that way. Please head on over there and click that like button and I will love you forever, or at least until I get to know you better then that could change 😛 The page is pretty much a ghost town at the moment but I promise that will change! I will definitely post witty stuff, and some of my shorter and better poems will find their way over their. Please check it out, and if you think I am doing a terrible job feel free to give me tips on how to make it better.

Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/patheticwithpotential

Much love and gratitude,

Pathetic with Potential