Self-Inflicted, a short piece on taking responsibility

"Look inward," she said,
"Get out of your head!"
as the veil came slowly dripping down;
new horizons wait for the conscious mind.

The Illuminati scares,
creates a fog over stuffed houses;
material wealth affixed
upon a menagerie of scarlet hearts.

Nowhere to place the blame,
in a reality that is cold and broken;
fix it with your own,
sense of hope and understanding.
 
There is only one answer;
"look inward," she cries.
Before it's too late,
your self-destruction awaits.

 

Walls

Baby, you make my walls
come down.  I'm out
in the open, naked.

The feelings you bring are honest.
They force me to look,
from a different perspective. To
look into my depths and see all.
The good, the bad and the beautiful.

Those walls are made of brick, they're thick.
The big bad wolf
couldn't blow them down. But you came.

My heart is paper thin, a facade
of stainless steel. So please be gentle, engage.
Be stronger, than I ever can.
Don't push too hard, be aware
I may separate sometimes, but I'm still here.

Why do we separate ourselves?
Especially from love.
From all other living beings.

As I gaze into those deep, gray eyes,
I feel the urge of the collective consciousness.
It overwhelms to tear down it's walls
and let the light in.  Let in
the love, and let, be.

The system

They tell us its for
the collective,
but we don't really feel
connected.
Pulled too young from your mother's sweet nectar,
forced to succumb, the formula is better.

Then we stop
Take a minute to address
The issues at hand
Realize their plan
Distraction!

Media faces daze us,
they talk about ways
to avoid PMS.
Look! A new diet on the market,
While black
children
become the target.

So we pause
Contemplate questions
What's going on?
How did we get in this mess?

As our organs drown in GMO violence
We beg the electors,
'please just give us a chance.'
But they don't listen;
rambling words, dribbling nonsense.
Time to stand up,
bring on the storm, united as one.

As the anarchist clock ticks down,
speak
rise
above
the rest.

Playing with Pantoum

Can we go now?
Is it time?
Let's have an adventure,
Let's drink some wine.

Come on, it's time to flee,
Beyond Napa Valley, up the Oregon coast.
We'll drink lots of wine,
Do our best, make the most.

And beyond Napa Valley, along the Oregon coast,
We'll settle on the beach.
Do our best, and make the most of
Our time; don't you agree?

Word Cloud Poem

Is it fate?
To maim those others
Make them walk
What an awful gait.
Are we harrowed by
This beautiful thing called harmony?
Why do we exterminate?
The sparrow and the meadowlark cry
Ask forgiveness
Plea for better times.
This game is a farce
As I contemplate arsenic
Do sentient beings lie?
There must be something more.
Eliminate wars and famine
Take a moment
To examine
All the worlds' hate.

~HB

Solving the world's problems one post at a time.

  

Imagination

In the secret spaces, secret spaces of our mind.  The place where none can go; it's where I like to hide.  A mirage of existence before me, and an eternity inside.  Do we die?  What are these particles that make up my being and is this what makes us real?  I don't think so; there has to be magic.  Life would be so tragic without it.  Science is magic, but science can be so indifferent.  Science can be impersonal; then also sometimes wondrous.  Quantum physics resonates and moves me.  Little spaces in the brain that no one can touch.  That no one can really understand.  Such a minute existence on a quantum scale.  On a universal scale, infinitesimal is the vast space that we barely fill.  Imagine tiny universes inside each cell; imagine our whole bodies are really bits and pieces of galaxies or universes.

Imagine.

Death Fantasies

I often imagine my death.  Something tragic, like a movie playing out, or a great story. Sometimes it happens while I’m in the shower.  I leave the door open - as I often do - and a dark stranger, or maybe an angry ex-boyfriend creeps into my home, quietly.  They kill me with a knife; death by shower scene, classic Hitchcock.  Or perhaps I am shot?  Do they use my own machete that sits close by where I sleep, or perhaps the baseball bat in the corner?  That would be gruesome and mildly ironic. 

Other times it happens in the car.  I’m t-boned by a drunk driver, smashed into nothingness, into breathlessness.  It is never my own doing, exactly, that brings about my doom.  Though it would seem, as I sit at the same job, in the same uneventful life, afraid to move forward, that I am indeed the responsible party.  Could my morbid fascination with hypothetical death fantasies be nothing more than a subconscious fear?  A fear that has gone for so long unaddressed as I sit in wait for the future that is to come?  And while waiting, I miss out on what could be; I sit idly in my discontent.  Though I know I am not alone in this waiting game, it still sucks, and the loneliness of it gnaws away at my being.

People that are deemed as the ‘greats’ of the world, do you think they felt the same longing?  Do you think they wondered when life would ‘happen’ to them?  The intermittent transformations that slowly evolve us into something new and hopefully better.  I wonder if they noticed these, or were they always just ‘great’, happy and content with their life situation.  This could easily lead to a rambling about the meaning of humanity, so I'll just stop there.  Happy hump day.

~HB

Solving the world's problems one post at a time.