Yeah, I know they're bad, but nobody's forcing you to read them. I am not responsible for any vomiting or stains caused by said vomiting. You should probably keep an empty sick-sack nearby when reading these. Also keep in mind that I'm just a 25 year-old college student, so I couldn't POSSIBLY know what I'm talking about - don't derive any truth from these, but rather find it yourself. Anyhow, on with the massacre of "poetry." - The "Ben"
Moksha
STRUGGLE
Day breaks
my eyelids open
the painful profane world
which I slowly make sacred again
until heavy night falls
knocking me unconscious
to begin the struggle
tomorrow, all over
my world.
(EPIPHANY)
Upwards spiralling
fireworks into
the spinning galaxy
rocketing off
into oblivion and infinity
Time dances
around us
we build our world
close to our axis mundi
where we believe
in some basic fashion
all reality is in one place
and runs together
much like these words
and dreams until they are
gone
like fireworks.
STRUGGLE
The small, secular world
orbits a lone sun
which we see
rising again
to re-sanctify
our chaotic and savage
selves.
(EPIPHANY)
Meanwhile, Back in Reality,
Back in the world of grime and sweat,
the theorist imagined grandiose visions
of truth and its masked dances -
its shadowy words whispered
in reflections of dirty mirrors.
Meanwhile, back in the coffee shops,
the nihilists gathered to discuss nothingness,
giving it form and name,
brooding over how tragic
they could make the world
a very empty place.
Somewhere, back among the metaphors
an argument erupted
over which infinity danced correctly.
Meanwhile, back in the soul
the theorist separated himself into
mind, body, and spirit,
trying to
find himself
in the world
around him
was nothing
but the infinite
could sometimes be seen
looking for itself.
Not far from the dream
existence was reading all
this,
muttering to itself
"thank god we are gods."
