[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming warmth of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment before I heard you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the first second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.

WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.

Shared HappinessI like it better when you're happy.
The world feels like a safe place -
A good place to be.

Stay happy, even in the face
of great adversity
I know these last few years have been...

Well, difficult, to say the least.
But as long as your heart shines
I can hear it...

That devilish smile on your lips
the one no amount of miles
or hardships can erase

Remember, I'm always watching
With the eyes of my heart
I see you clearly

And, as long as you are happy
No matter where this life leads me
Then I am happy too.

Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.

bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Redeeming Light
Read bottom to top:
.
there
journey
e
h
t
and the stem is
than the flower must be redemption
n
i
s
are
If the roots

a true writer's souli write to release
i write to breathe
i write to feel
i write to bleed

i don't care
if you don't understand
i don't care
if you can't relate
i don't care
for your opinion
i don't care
about you at all

my words are thoughts
my words are emotions
my words are curses
my words are memories
my words are everything
i want them to be
and fuck if you can comprehend

i could write in measure
i could bother with rhythm
but i'm better than your rules
i'm beyond the margin

i'm a fucking psychotic mess
of ambiguous lunacy
that only the ones that think
can understand
the ones that
are just like me

fuck your critiques

fuck your citicism

fuck your opin

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 649 bytes more ▶

More from *neonxaos

Thunderflow

We are the robots.
Flowing in and out of life
giving power while receiving,
running out of line may mean
running out of it…

Automatons of flesh.
Thunderflow recharging
every pulsing cell,
getting ready for the
*jump*
to light
speed.

Bio-skull computers.
Our heads are beacons,
weaving patchworks in the dark.
Find me in a corner,
almost empty,
but recharging.

Happy meat puppets
in tangled strings.
(that's why we dance
in so unequal circles)
Trying to get caught
in the proper mess.

From my flickering vantage point
I see the chaos circus strobing,
and I laugh.

The Passing

There is beauty in the passing of things,
and the question of why
is beautiful all in itself.
It's the glory of the unhappy ending,
twisted through powerful transience
and the impossible knowledge of the finite,
on which sentience stumbles and falls;
each and every one of us
leaves
floating to the ground,
the autumnal inevitability.

Impermanence imparted the delightful futility of living,
at the dawn of time.
Floating, then crawling, then walking, then thinking,
snapping,
then ceaselessly pondering
everything.

So still…
You never know it's moving
until you reach out too late
for the passing.

I wish my words were beaut

randomchaos

Chasing randomchaos trains
of thought around impossible

bends

in the aftermath of things by now forgotten,
reluctantly embracing
judgments of force-fed knowledge,
she screams her head off!
But nothing is silent,
and so, no one hears
the death of innocence.

Poor girl blues,
down by the waterside.
The trains go round her head,
in circles and circles and circles again,
randomnoises and a cold one
blocking out the pain.

So the mark's been made.
Ready...
Get set...
GO!
The race is on, but keep in mind:
you have been classifed,
just another randomclone.
Now see how far you get
before we box you up
and send you home.

Cons

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Glory-Be-Project

Details

Submitted: January 11
File Size: 649 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 22
Favourites: 9 [who?]
Views: 96 (0 today)
Downloads: 3 (0 today)

[x]

Journey 01

by *neonxaos, Jan 11, 2013, 5:53:31 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

002
Bamboo tea and the queer spice
of January chill.

004
Was it the fish
or the almost-kiss?

006
I play to live,
I eat and breathe to stay alive.

008
Pants too tight,
thoughts too wide.

009
We have worlds at our hands,
lights at our command.
We are the bees hiving
in the digital sphere.

011
Something stirs.
My organs rearrange themselves,
slowly, like continents.
But there is no mistaking
the eruptions and the faults.

Journey 01by *neonxaos

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2013 *neonxaos

This is my first entry for the

, in which we're tasked with writing some poetry every day for a year, starting on January 1. I couldn't quite decide on how to do this, but I ended up numbering my pieces from 001 and upwards.

The pieces I'm churning out are generally very small and sort of rough. I didn't want to publish each of them separately, and some of them are not that interesting out of context, if at all. So I figured that I'd be posting some "highlights" now and then, and I will refer to these as my "Journey" series.

I guess it's a kind of messed-up diary.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

*archelyxs Feb 1, 2013

Lovely moments!

Reply

*neonxaos Feb 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~tickersymbol Jan 23, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Messed-up and tousled a bit usually makes for more interesting writing, imo. Nice work!

Reply

*neonxaos Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I like most things in my life slightly messed-up and tousled

Reply

~shehrozeameen Jan 23, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

its not half that bad an idea.

I like how you've managed it.

Reply

*neonxaos Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks man!

Reply

~shehrozeameen Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Your welcome

*singing "riders on a storm"* lol

Reply

*scatteredwords Jan 13, 2013

#4 and #8 --

Reply

*neonxaos Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Reply

*0hgravity Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

these are great.

this specifically:
we are the bees hiving
in the digital sphere

and
011 is quite beautiful.

Reply

Previous
1
2
Next