The Victor

Not alone do we rise
By ourselves we smother in a repetitious demise

The small sacrifice that must be made
is indeterminably large.
Yet so great is the aid
Compelled to accept, no matter what the charge

As the stream takes its winding course,
Flowing over stones and barriers
Swirling and rising without remorse
Life continues naught without its carriers

Streaming into the horizons of designs
Distant future
On the hilltop in endless lines
The enemy menaces as a sibilant viper

Caught in the center
A cry from the most desperate need
Vile creatures clawing at the shreds of armor
The Flames of purest fire come with all speed

For when all hope is lost,
All will be conquered in a name.

Answers

The time is spent, wasting away on a darkened plain of thought, dismissing reality at a glance. Trying to change the self without a hope, a flower waiting to bloom, that expires without living water. In the end, all will be burned away. Only the metal, refined through many fires, will remain. The one answer, that no one seems to find. Searching, but never finding, although the answer rears high above all else. So intent on the ground before, failing to recognize the truth. There are those that believe to have found the truth, but in reality, they are but empty words, blatant lies. The hollowness that brings forth its forbidden fruit, pleasing to the eye and to the taste, but leading to only to mystifying knowledge, that deafens the ear beyond comprehension. Blinded eyes open that will never see, until that day. Refusing the aid that is so desperately needed, crawling onward in the path that leads nowhere. There is only one answer.

Seeking

Seeking to find,
something to replace
that gaping hole of loss
Waiting for the sky to appear
Screeching down a coaster,
Downwards,
The sky, once so clear, has disappeared
The self pushed itself over the edge
into the void
Hanging on for dear life
that is not so dear anymore
Loosing sight again
of the path ahead
reeling into darkness of chaos
Waiting to break.

Hope

There is still hope
in this world
There is the wonder
of change.
The light in the midst
of a sea of conformity.
Time is short,
the light must grow.

Preaching to the Dead.

Come forth from that barren and wasted land,
With its cloaked veil of thoughts.
Feigned happiness, blissful innocence,
Until that day
When routine takes its course
For the thousandth time,
When eyes are opened,
To the wasteland.
Time slips by, unnoticed, until it suddenly is found,
Wrapped around the limbs,
Crushing the life,
The disposable life.
That so valiantly served society,
Submitting to its cracking hardships,
Its harshness and cruelty.
Endured only with the hypnotic vision,
That something will be accomplished,
Through the suffering,
And that the prescribed good,
Will benefit all.
And yet, only those who have
The consciousness have a chance.
The ones who see through all the hypocrisy, the lies,
The propaganda.
To do now what they want, to follow dreams,
Awareness of the limited time.
To cut through the fog,
And see reality.
Yet they prefer to remain dead, oblivious to what they see.
None dare take action, lest they suffer loss,
yet in reality, they only prolong their suffering.
Do not let the last golden hope be crushed
Into submission
By the monstrosity.
To find oneself is to find the meaning of life.
Then there only remains to find One more.
The Life

Color Blind

Walking around in the rain.
The veil is lifted.
Blindness ripped away

The colors wash through
Black, white, yellow and blue
There is no more any can do
To end all the hate
All this pain
All these tears

No one is different
The individual disappears
They are them
We are us

But we are better than them

They live their lives
We live ours
We have nothing in common
No, not one

Our goal is the top
We know we are there
Superior in every way
Destroy the others
They have no right to live
Because we are superior
And thats the way it has always been

What would happen
If we were color blind

It would still continue
Never to stop
Stereotypes everywhere
Classification of the way they live
Under the microscope
Struggling to survive
History takes its course
And no one cares

Unstoppable force

Color blind

Inspired by Huy Dao

Inside

There lurks in that heart
A darkness
That lies hidden.
Concealed from the peering eyes.
Of society.
When it is revealed
There is fear
Because this darkness
Is the essence of chaos.
Spread over it all,
A thick cover,
Sticky sweet and sickly
The stench of falsification
Beguiling the gullible,
Longing for acceptance
The dead flower grows
Thorns reaching out,
Crushing the reality
Nothing left,
Just empty blackness
Longing to be filled
With something else.

Take everything from the inside, and throw it all away.
Erase all the pain.

Emergance

Surrounded by the protection, nothing can hurt or damage. There is constant and assured safety under the cover of the smooth surface of the shell. Gradually, as time progresses, the shell becomes a hinderence. The shell strains to withhold the shifting beneath it, stretching to contain the increasing mass.

The day comes. The shell has finally broken. And yet it has been encased for so long, there is still hesitation. The blinding light pours through the rift.

Rising Fire

The burning sun rises on the horizon, casting a blinding glare over the bleak landscape. Cliff edges fade into the horizon, casting their heavy shadows over the sand. Small shapes skitter through the shadows, disappearing before the revealing light fully dawns. As the sun rises, the shadows haltingly recede and the fading cracks and trails are made visible, leading onward. The searing heat burns, sending smoke twisting across the sky. The fire is rising.

Blown Away

Across the endless plains of shifting dust, we drag ourselves through the storms of life.

Peace

We live in the order of chaos, yet there must be peace somewhere. A forest, where only the wind streams through the towering trees. Yet there come scavangers, shattering the peaceful silence with raucous calls.

Even the whispering leaves are interrupted when the vermin scurry through, following their paths under the forest carpet.

Storm clouds gather, the clashing of clouds begins. Lightning streaks down, full of power, incentive of fear. The rain cascades in torrents, a dull roar. Waves wash over the lake, the smooth mirror broken.

Where is the peace.

The Greatest Gift

The word that has countless facets. The word that belongs to all of us. The indescribable word. Faith and hope, two great things. Yet even these, that keep our velocity constant in the valleys of despair, are far surpassed by one thing.

Love.

Even if we should be models of perfection, without love we are nothing. Without love, no profit is made. Patience, kindness, rejoicing can never be present with the absence of love. Love never fails, even in the most dire situations. It is ever present, a sign of life in the darkness that surrounds us. It is a flower of hope within the bleak world.

No more will the harsh desert scrape and hinder our timeless pursuit. The grass grow, leaving a pure path of vitality.

A diamond, shining softly in the blackness. Our only hope.

Love.

...

I do not know who I am.

The Place

A mirror, as still waters that give back everything they ever receive. Images as many as grains of sand in a limitless desert, lost forever, never to be recalled.

All the tides of emotion are forgotten, the mistakes, the choices. All these are lost in the depths of the featureless mirror.

Distorted images, flowing back from nothingness. Memory overpowers, the thoughts are not forgotten. The past reaches out of the whirling chaos, threatens to draw in the Lost. The future, with strangling hold, stalks in shrouds of the storm. Lightning streaks across the blackness, illumination, falling...

Nothingness.

Redundancy

We are who we are. If we were not us then we would not be us. In fact, we would not even exist. The only reason being that, if we were not us, we would be someone else.

Instead of finding satisfaction in being who we are, our never ending quest is to become someone else, whom, in our opinion, is far superior to us in every way possible. So why do we even try? Why do we waste our lives, our energy, on something we cannot even hope to attain?

The competition is overwhelming. Not only do we compete with others for superiority, but we even try to outdo ourselves in a never ending marathon that has no goal. There is no light at the end of this tunnel, and there never will be. Yet, sadly, we continue our hopeless trajectory, dragging onward. In the expanse of the desert, we are misled by the mirages that our mind substitutes as we continue our hollow eyed pursuit.

When will we ever realize our true condition? That we live only to impress others at our own cost, this life has no meaning. Our opinions of what is superior will never fully coincide with the thoughts of others. The word has no true definition. Each individual has their own interpretation, has their own view of the goal that cannot be attained. It is blown away as dust on the wind.

Why then can this interpretation not focus on ourselves? Each individual has an expression, has a character of their own. Instead of struggling to fit the superficial expectations of society, why can we not instead ease into the comfortable fit of our own individuality?

We have minds of our own. To explore them reaps much greater benefit than to simply walk in the footsteps of others. The freedom of thought rips across the barren desert of society, far superior to anything we could have ever imagined. We are freed from the gritted hands of society. No more do we pursue the fevered visions of the thirsty man. We are free.

Post dedicated to Summer.

We Are

We think, therefore we are. There is no denying that we are here, right now, at this very moment. What are we doing here? We have been given life. For what reason? Is there a reason? The ultimate irony. We take life for granted, until someone or something opens our eyes, to see how short life really is.

Even after millions of years since civilization first started, we still haven't figured ourselves out.
Even the most brilliant biologist cannot truly explain life, despite all the scientific theories and explanations that exist. The fact remains, no matter how much they know about life, they could never create it.

We have life. Why do we have this wonderful powerful gift? Did we simply happen into the world so we could lead our lives in the ways we chose and then simply disappear? Even if we leave a legacy and are remembered and honored, what good is that? We ourselves are gone. Nothing. Vanished.

Is life truly nothing then? Why then do we continue living? There must be a purpose to our life, and that purpose cannot be to simply walk through the centuries and have a good life.

And still, countless myriads of human beings simply stroll through life, seeking for some true purpose to hold on to.

Life is nothing without faith.

Falsification

Society. The way it works is so complex, yet so simple. There are those that are considered intellegent, and those that might never get anywhere in life. There are stereotypes, classifications. Everything in society is classified. The ultimate goal is superiority. Who really is superior? They say it depends on opinion. Opinions will always differ. What is superiority? No one will ever know. Should we focus on the induvidual or on society as whole? Wondering...Its all falsification.

Blind Tunnel

There's a raging fire coursing through veins, a flood of searing emotion, exploding through the being.

They can never understand, refuse to try, don't want to listen.

They think they know what is right, regardless of the feeling, the need for independence. Were they not once seekers of independence, trying to find a way?

Mistakes are made, life goes on, but when will it ever end? When will this body be free of the puppet strings that hold it? Even the fire cannot burn through these.

Running through a tube, with glimpses of the outside world, still guided onward, only one way to go.

Where is the light at the end of it all? Losing sight of it in the twists and turns of life. Wondering, what will the light be like? Blinding, flashing white, lost and confused...

The Inner Battle

Surges of emotion stream through, smashing against the confinements of the container. And yet the container shows no sign of the violent storm that it contains. Peace and quiet are shattered. The thrashing flow tries to force itself through the smallest crack.

So much wondering...

So many questions, so much wondering. Will it ever stop? What is the point? Will we ever know? If we ever find out, will it be too late?

There are so many things we can turn to, a world full of action, things to do. And yet, the emptiness remains...Nothing seems to be able to fill us, we are hungry for something more. What is it? We do not know...We can only keep searching for as long as we have, or just give up.

Our lives revolve around achieving goals. It is human nature. To attain something greater than what we are...And still, when we have attained the goal towards we press, the emptiness remains, and we search for more...

Why is it like this? Did it just happen like that? It is not something that can be explained through science. It is beyond our understanding, beyond our intellect. Can true happiness ever be obtained? Can the gnawing hunger be sated?

There are so many possibilities, more than we could ever hope to try in a life time. Is there any hope at all?

There are some who have found...

But THEY refuse to listen

If only...If only

A First impression

As I sit before my desk wondering what to write, ideas rush around in my head, flapping into a swirling vortex of chaos.

A geyser of thought rushed from the depths of the mind and surged towards the limitless sky. It was the true expression of the mind that does not stick, the inner wildness, waiting to break forth into freedom, yet forever restrained by the boundaries set up by society, by physical needs, by ourselves. Yet, in the depths of our very beings, hidden from the searching eyes of our counterparts, our minds run wild and free, unbounded, able soar across the universe. No corners, no walls, no restrictions of any type, the human mind is of the supernatural, the utmost power. It has the ability to make choices, to remember, to create. It has the potential to accomplish greatness or downfall. The pure essence of it is inexpressible in the words we have created; we can only attempt. Imagination, intellect, and emotion are all parts of the immensity. We can never hope to explore it to its full extent, to do so would need an eternity.

And yet, throughout our lives, we force ourselves to fit into the demands of society, to train our minds to stick to something that we have not the slightest interest in. We let our minds be manipulated by what society has to offer. Eventually, it comes to seem as though the whole point of life has been lost, we are trapped in a groove, unable to break the barriers that we ourselves have created, because we have become enemies of ourselves, adversaries to our mind, slowly allowing our inner life, our spirits, to rot away in the dungeons. Still, it is not too late. Our mind is ever present, and by choice, we can be set free to obtain the liberty to think what we want to think, to write what we want to write, to reach the goal that we desire, and to express ourselves in the way we yearn to be expressed.

Each individual is an extraordinary phenomenon, each has their own power, and each person is different in a multitude of ways. Everyone has an opinion, has a view, has a dream. The myriads of human beings throughout history each had their own life, felt emotions, made choices, and experienced the mind that does not stick. Above all, each individual had an expression. Today, each person has an expression. As time takes its course into the future, each human mind will bear an expression. And every one of these expressions has the means to be expressed, whether by oral means, by the written letter, through scientific accomplishment, through mathematical achievement, through music, or by means of visual arts. Each one of these is an art, and an exploration of the immeasurable potential of the human mind.

Every means of expression becomes a unique medium to put forth the mind of each individual. To certain individuals, this medium may be expression by liberal art. Art provides the path to an unspoken self-expression that often comes closer than words in exploring the intricacies of the mind. Art in itself is without a doubt the purest form of expression. It provides the means to unbounded creativity, to the discovery of the mind.

The fact has just been proven: there exists the “mind that does not stick.” There remains no doubt that what we have just experienced is proof of that very statement. The mind streaks like a wild stallion across the windswept plain of thought, with no destination and no restraint. Where has the original topic gone? It is physically printed at the top of the page, and yet at the same time, the mind has grasped it and torn it from its roots, bringing it whipping and struggling along in its furious rampage. It is momentarily released, then snatched back out of the air, as the mind thunders ever onward. Truly, we are all in possession of the mind that does not stick.

After all, what is life if it is not chaos?