I Confess, I've Been A Little Dishonest

how immediately dost the artist recognize the inability of expression on a specific day in which the creativity seizes and nothingness runs ramped in a sea of colorless trash and decay around the finest workings clouding everything in and out of sight causing severe depression lack of expression lost intention shattered dimensions of false hope

as a bird sings never off key or out of tune how i wish i did too but because he is a creature of nature untampered with by computers and policemen and advertisement he sings a perfect song while mine is diluted from purity not truly original or self expressive only an interpretation influenced by more than he will ever know when it should be less

am i an influence or influenced by the things i hate the complaints i confess and continue to cry out against when i should be spreading the gospel of my unformed and unthought beliefs of society but credit is only given where due because i have a vision and one without is left blinded in a world in which eyes are not needed but help greatly

q

To the acceptance and realization, I have come,

Whether I like it or not,

That all things of me are from

(I ought’a draw my crosses and dots)

An inner-machine that calculates everything I am about,

Helpless, I hope it is accurate,

Certainly I would not dare myself to doubt

(Hopefully, I will not forget)

Myself.

Congratulations to the time that was put to waste,

to the admittance of shameful things I had faced.

This is an idea that could not be taught,

And one that I have unwillingly fought.

Take me over, O mind

Bring me things I must find,

Before my death,

Make me blind.

Therefore, my thirstiness shall be quenched

Because my desire to understand will be drenched.

What will cause my thirst to quench?

My desire to understand will drench.

My desire to understand will

My desire to understand

My desire to

My desire

My

Professional Prolix

Disappointment overtakes excitement when the painting,

standing from afar, looks dull and unsatisfactory

as it does in the life of a bug, stopped

just before reaching an open window.

Wonder replaces knowledge as the creator ponders

the path travelled to reach the finished product

and the insect knows not whether it will live 

or die when stagnate waters again flow.

Constrictions of Clocks

Expressions with furious intentions

Directions with blurred dimensions

Fixate upon your brain

Put glasses to your inner-eye

Smile when good comes

See the trees, standing tall

Fall over as your head tilts back

Let nature be the barrier between

Your mind and the smack 

Of your brain against the ground.

When the way is found,

Without doubt, continue down

The path set before you
Before time gets the best

Of you and of me

Regrettably going separate ways

Never experiencing each other

As we ought to have-

Because I had regret,

You lost interest.

Light changes the perspective of the eye.

Time reflects this process, going by

with a lack of inquisition or integrity

to humankind, respectively.

After all, man created

constrictions of clocks; 

he gets what he deserves

and rightfully so...

Description of a Spent Day

Your approach to communication with me was flattering,

and I have begun to think of my earth shattering.

There exists great knowledge in your head,

but there must be something about you to dread.

Girls are girls

pearls are pearls

thoughts are the mind’s jewelry

philosophy is the mind’s journey.

An ancient artist of admirable talent

must have sat for hours creating your sculpture

by candlelight and daylight

chiseling your cheekbones.

If you must, destroy

the things in your path

with your looks

with your mind

certainly, you will find

in my books

use of your math

boy, oh boy.

Impressions may not last forever, who is to say?

Even once, you made my day.

My heart sank and I wish we drank

Under a starlit sky in the wilderness by a bridge.

Tell me of your mind,

make me see 

things from another perspective

if you do, indeed,

not share my seed

and eastwardly direction,

make me see

past pure pretty.

Crowds of Crowdcrows

I stand among a million crowdcrows, separate but not unattached, watching, they feast on each other as their name suggests, like crows, picking at and consuming the thoughts and mannerisms of the others incestuously. I am wondering how this many voices speak so perfectly in unison, regurgitating the things spoken by the crowd, oftentimes unwillingly and regretfully as they fail to recognize the absence of personal ambition, thought and desire.

The same crowds try to feast on me overlooking my inability to provide philosophy for the masses- expressions of myself seem uninterpretable even to those who have expansive minds. Recognizing this makes me further understand the existence of this people type giving me proof in my studies and providing substantial and inarguable evidence that I stand, appalled but not surprised, among a social crowding known as crowds of crowdcrows.

Reality

        Sadness and sorry

Madness and fury

Think of me well

Forget the bells

Which are the sound

Of my mind's frown

Relax and drown. 

Let me write profound

Sayings that conclude

My thoughts and through

Tried and true

Feelings of blue

I write to you

So please chew

On every piece

Of mind's eye.