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A friend of mine has reinpired my inspiration in words today,
a how i love their complexity their sheer feeling
ive forgotten about their movement
how they sway with the breeze
ive been too far into my own self to realize that my words have become somewhat inadequate
so i suppose here starts a new journey into word
how calm the water is upon my ferocious throat
i hate thinking about my words
thats my reason for my absence
i get to into myself when i write
i want attention i suppose
and the only way is with my silly words
but their not silly
in the least bit
why am i so enter friendly
UGH
there i go again
aesops fables would tell me somthing about the fish and the pole...
the pole sits inhumanly still in the water, and the suckerish fish, in his greedy hunger, bites. being the calm fish would help me from getting caught up in the world beyond my water.
In the water i thrive, its nutrients, its perfect supply of natural food, i am strong. But i keep looking for that easy worm to get my fame. I want, so uneasily, to be the big fish. The big fish thinks hes the best, im the little minnow, eager to swallow his naivity.
write now
explore the wonders of word
because if the world isnt described by you, its lived by someone else
i have a bad habit of over thinking
thank SCHOOL!
should this line mean anything more than what i write i win
but its certain, to me, that lines are simply a way to summarize a lifestyle
theirs nothing better than perfectly being you
good or bad
so long as its your own simple riddle, no one else will ever be able to decifer it
my days of tomatoe throwing are over
i want to better be me
and through my own letter i will decifer this bible of me
where i play all the characters
jesus is perfectly me
judas is the way to find myself
all the other cast members are differing degrees of attitude gone wrong
all the things that lead me away from being my own jesus
statues of thrown froth
beat like little moths
bounding through my mind
melding into somthing scorn
and burned to twine
i am richer than wine
older than a baby
simpler than the mind
your little gilled frog
commands touring
to the shaded path
streaming through the way where turtles prey
no man stinks like the summer day
when grown fruit stray from their home
just a dog digging through his bone
hovering by way of dujuin
just jumping joyfully
i smile at the smiling frown of the sun
uncooked by butchers
whos lives are well done
frosting brightly the stain
craning my neck
as appealing as a freight trian
grown down thrown to town
mounding muleishly
shly as a clown
just before i wake up i like to think of all the dreams ive never had and i attempt to discover their origins, i look to my world with a hunger that no man could ever derail
this is the beginning of my worldly search of word and quote
but never quote the things that make sence i think
make sence of all the ones that fail
fail is frail
and cooked like kale
in a witches pot
rotting away
my very eyes have begun to become hungry for some sort of meticulous word
that will graciously lead me to some new word to use
please
insanity is no laughing matter ive come to think
when time means nothing, and everyone who believes its everything is left behind
when conversation comes to me
i seek a good drowning
to keep everyone from seeing my hair
standing on end
none of this makes sence
its all quite jumbled
jumping form to form
from sea to shore
begging more
i wander
these weeks....maybe months of brainy disillusion have taught me the way of the saturated mind
who have been watered by piss
sucking up all the intoxication
ive joined the ranks of the uncleansed
and been no monarch
to trust
a lieing, decietful, greedy, moron ive butterflied into
i dream of my caterpillar days when all i needed was green leaf and sunshine
im stuck in the drunken night
full of paranoid frieght
waiting for my mind to be stabbed by the knight
too many times i try to make the unaduoltered rhyme
and it all sounds so old
so used
i cannot escape our bad news
bears speaking future
someone taking over
telling them its different
a knock would do me good
but to wake would mean the end |
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Posted by benventure on 2008-06-13 02:19:00 | Rating: | Views: 113
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None of it has to make sense to anyone except you Ben. Glad to see your still writing those words though.
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Posted by scotslad60
on 2008-06-13 13:09:54
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