Poetry

Cathartic Poetry

Rage

From darkened corners of my inner mind,
With vicious hatred and a pain severe,
Emerges feelings of a beastly kind
That manifest from angst and greatest fear.

From skin to bone they painfully create
A dwelling sense of fundamental grief;
These adverse feelings – they do not abate;
They will maintain until I find relief.

Frustration yields a vastly simpler thought;
When it’s not found this feeling does abide.
A semblance of control is what is sought;
Within my heart resentment does reside.

It’s through acceptance of my feelings here
That I can live in balance without fear.

Apathy

They’re speaking quite loudly with haughty indignance –
Revealing their chances have dwindled and faded
To make their true mark on the world they’ve created,
While moaning and screaming with seething malignance.

Their grievances found with the people they pester
Is nominal next to their toxic behavior;
If only as children they’d had more exposure
Instead of allowing resentment to fester.

If even a purposeful path they can follow,
It’s buried in mindless indulgent pretension;
Abandoning reason, denying dissension –
They threaten detractors with words ringing hollow.

Others

Projection is finding that only detractors have guilt when despising;
Where faulting contingent, extraneous factors about your own bad life,
Results in a cleanly appearing absolving of burden or great strife –
Which only conceals all the rotting of conscience within them arising.

It’s here that the narcissist thrives when they see all the flaws in our culture,
Because it can only be others who taint it and warp it with bold lies;
But lies and more lies only make for a fantasy through their own cold eyes,
Which makes them the valiant hero – when really they’re only a vulture.

Rebirth

Pure intent to live without a
Constant need to dictate actions
Isn’t simply neutral to the
Mob that puts us into factions.

Every view that isn’t chosen
As the only way to ponder
Finds its purpose for all those in
Power and for those they squander.

Simple joys are now derided;
Petty folk are sour and jealous.
Seething rage through hate is guided;
Harsh division drives the zealous.

Desperate people who most need it
Carry hearts both burnt and broken –
Though they’ll likely never heed it
Hidden souls have clearly spoken.

Latent gifts of souls are buried
Under soil that’s cold and fallow.
True rebirth with hands are carried -
Hands of folk that ceased their sorrow.

Speak

This dark world in harsh terms it scares us to not speak;
They take all with greed and a rage that is so great,
But bold words are told when a strong roar is not meek.

Our great hearts are not filled when dark thoughts are so bleak;
Such pain and distress here it fills us with strong hate.
This dark world in harsh terms it scares us to not speak.

Our strong minds feel broke when our pain’s at its full peak;
It’s then that we find out it’s not that we’re too late,
But bold words are told when a strong roar is not meek. 

Our voice is a song that we sing with a loud shriek
From day after day and regardless of log date;
This dark world in harsh terms it scares us to not speak.

To see more than all that is out here we must peek
Inside us to find that our strength is a masked trait,
But bold words are told when a strong roar is not meek.

We’re not calm and not done when great woe we didn’t seek;
It’s choice that we want and it’s this that we do state:
This dark world in harsh terms it scares us to not speak,
But bold words are told when a strong roar is not meek.

Immanence

In immanence, both goddesses and gods do live
Within the world – in nature and machines which move;
Despite the words of bitter men, they need not prove
The ways that their great sanctity to us does give.

Inside the trite, polemic universities
Exists the rage of Atheists - whose caustic lair
Is occupied by Christian, propagandic prayer;
We have our faith without their daft perversities.

Past boundaries, modernity, and partisans,
Are beautified, illustrious divinities
Which speak to us in personal affinities -
In forms of both the mystics and the artisans. 

In cycles turn the seasons, like society -
Reminding us the world we know is fleeting here.
In blessing us, their presence is innately clear;
They show us timeless strength and pure variety.

Venomous

Spurious, specious, inflaming in all of the words they are saying -
Venomous creatures do seek out the meek onto which they are preying.
Caustic, mephitic and hiding in chasms with shadows abounding,
People are foolishly lenient - watching the hate so astounding;
Carelessly all of their power to serpents they calmly surrender
Dignity, honor and all of which people should be a defender.

Sorrow

In the barren desert is a flower;
In the sanguine, crimson soil its blooming.
Dead, forgotten folk, as hidden power,
Reach into the present with their glooming
Sorrow - warning us to never cower.

Divinities

Desirable societies
Invigorate sanguinities
Distinguishing, varieties
Encompassing affinities.
Encouraging infinities
Illuminate philosophies
Developing, divinities
Agreeable mythologies.

Curated

Incredible with optimal efficiencies
The algorithms calculate impartially;
They find new ways to generate commercially
All manner of our obvious deficiencies.
Apparently with judgments and their urgencies -
They pale in true comparison to restlessness;
They nurture great complacency and listlessness
While drifting towards toxicity and solitude.
So tribal and quite shallow is the attitude
Which leads them towards the ruin 
of their thoughtlessness.

Envy

They’ve locked the open door
With haste – just as before;
We’ve knocked for them, therefore,
They waste their time much more.

Their core is what we’ve shocked;
Right there they’ve laughed and balked
At lore of which we’ve talked
And where we’ve freely walked.

They’ve blocked the ways to scare,
Erased the thoughts we dare,
And mocked what we ensnare –
Encased in lies they bear.

Their war on hate is based;
A glare that is misplaced
While sore and much disgraced –
Aware our hearts they’ve chased.

Grit

With hope that we’ve desired,
And bold how we’ve conspired,
The scope that is required
Is gold we have acquired.

Inspired by every trope,
We’re keen to climb each slope,
And tired each lazy dope
Who’s seen they cannot cope.

Though soap can wash them clean,
We’re told we’re far too mean;
They mope in filth they glean -
A mold infected scene.

Admired by all, they’re told,
A fraying rope is sold -
Aspired to be controlled,
They grope but never hold.

Solitude

The ennui that dominates our quietude -
Which mentally and bodily does permeate,
Embeds itself with enervating magnitude;
Emotively anxiety does acerbate
Our isolating feelings of deep solitude.

Myself

Beyond the terms they use it's only me
Who treads my path each day and darkest night.
It's from their words and labels I am free.
Beyond the terms they use it's only me
Who has these ears, this mouth and eyes to see.
I am to be myself with true delight.
Beyond the terms they use it's only me
Who treads my path each day and darkest night.