i have never just heard words,
i feel them;
when i was told with subtle whispers that
my body was not strong enough,
i lifted mountains;
my heart not full enough-
i filled it with love;
i have yet to meet one who protects themselves
with an armor of petals,
enlightened by words of young men
with hearts of old,
crying fables,
two-thousand years long
of nothing more than the night they realized
art was nothing more than a way
to become rich ($) -
to become modern day warriors
who lose internal battles
with themselves
about what has been done to improve the day before
last,
(or the current)
this is the day of the maniacs,
naturally born to conquers worlds that have already been conquered;
the beautiful youth dies,
because it is not meant for this world-
only a world of the strong willed,
young men with potential never reach said potential,
because of doubts,
that should have never been spoken
New Jersey based Painter/Artist/Poet. Here you will find my evolution with art, my writing and my progressive life in my own words.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
some have known the beauty as i know
that i know
but i can say that there is something unique
to my experience
where god has gifted
me with a love that is unknown
to many others
that others
have never experienced;
there is no love that is more beautiful
than the kind that i am covered in-
sweet like sugar
engulfing my body like yours;
in times of hardship (shit)
you have held my body straight
pointing toward the sky;
keeping me pointing toward the skies
in order to feel a connection with god;
when i am inside of your soul
our like-minded minds
have held each other
in order to progress toward
destinies that have been planned long ago;
keeping with the road of the straight and narrow-
revealing worlds never known (to my limited knowledge)
keeping with the will of the horned
gods;
which way must i travel in order to know
what is fact or fiction?
drugs have never revealed
what has been revealed by your touch
you lips, your thighs touching my own,
your warm touch,
your love,
infinite knowledge flows from your breast,
showing worlds
that has been to few mortal men,
not even immortals
have experienced
what has been revealed
by the touch of your breast
pressed so innocently
against mine
that i know
but i can say that there is something unique
to my experience
where god has gifted
me with a love that is unknown
to many others
that others
have never experienced;
there is no love that is more beautiful
than the kind that i am covered in-
sweet like sugar
engulfing my body like yours;
in times of hardship (shit)
you have held my body straight
pointing toward the sky;
keeping me pointing toward the skies
in order to feel a connection with god;
when i am inside of your soul
our like-minded minds
have held each other
in order to progress toward
destinies that have been planned long ago;
keeping with the road of the straight and narrow-
revealing worlds never known (to my limited knowledge)
keeping with the will of the horned
gods;
which way must i travel in order to know
what is fact or fiction?
drugs have never revealed
what has been revealed by your touch
you lips, your thighs touching my own,
your warm touch,
your love,
infinite knowledge flows from your breast,
showing worlds
that has been to few mortal men,
not even immortals
have experienced
what has been revealed
by the touch of your breast
pressed so innocently
against mine
what has man seen that has not been illusion, deceit, or despair
without much thought as to how one has reached
the bottom of the deeps;
young men with glass eyes
wandering about in a contour-lined landscape
wallowing in delusion and greed
while many younger than i choke on sand
in order to feed their hunger for justice
redemption is not far-
not as far as one preceives the form of the blank
black sky dotted with god's onlookers from the heavens;
it is not as far as the bottom of the bottomless sea
that is riddled and rhymed with so many stories
of dead heroes and lost ships of glory and grandeur
and pitiful things of the same vien-
the blood boils over itself for knives
and blood in return for every drop it is
spilled over, the green gods of man
whispering nothingness into the fool's ear
demanding repayment for a debt to be
repaid in black minds and white thoughts;
for now, we wave our flags
singing the graces of god,
"for god will make all right"
we say,
"i walk in the footsteps of god, and man is the shit he wipes off his feet"
we say,
"our faith is in the white god, and not the green of man"
but many have failed to realize
that the white god has been devoured by the brick-bodied
mechanical beasts that have risen in the failure of god,
angel's halos broken and devoured, so that divinity
is now a relic of the past,
the divine is drowning in golden, god-like piss
of the rarest hue;
now on the life-long search for the soul
that became unraveled from our bodies
like burial cloths from the dead-
the genius has no knowledge so powerful
that he can explain what the soul is,
its power,
its purity,
its shapeless form that can easily slip through the cracks of your being
so that it may run wild and free amongst the others
who have been lost,
yet to be rediscovered along the bedsides of the drunks,
who has regained their lust for life with drink
and self-pity,
who celebrate everyday as their last-
because the day will come when the skies lower,
the ground will rumble beneath our feet and
swallow us whole
without much thought as to how one has reached
the bottom of the deeps;
young men with glass eyes
wandering about in a contour-lined landscape
wallowing in delusion and greed
while many younger than i choke on sand
in order to feed their hunger for justice
redemption is not far-
not as far as one preceives the form of the blank
black sky dotted with god's onlookers from the heavens;
it is not as far as the bottom of the bottomless sea
that is riddled and rhymed with so many stories
of dead heroes and lost ships of glory and grandeur
and pitiful things of the same vien-
the blood boils over itself for knives
and blood in return for every drop it is
spilled over, the green gods of man
whispering nothingness into the fool's ear
demanding repayment for a debt to be
repaid in black minds and white thoughts;
for now, we wave our flags
singing the graces of god,
"for god will make all right"
we say,
"i walk in the footsteps of god, and man is the shit he wipes off his feet"
we say,
"our faith is in the white god, and not the green of man"
but many have failed to realize
that the white god has been devoured by the brick-bodied
mechanical beasts that have risen in the failure of god,
angel's halos broken and devoured, so that divinity
is now a relic of the past,
the divine is drowning in golden, god-like piss
of the rarest hue;
now on the life-long search for the soul
that became unraveled from our bodies
like burial cloths from the dead-
the genius has no knowledge so powerful
that he can explain what the soul is,
its power,
its purity,
its shapeless form that can easily slip through the cracks of your being
so that it may run wild and free amongst the others
who have been lost,
yet to be rediscovered along the bedsides of the drunks,
who has regained their lust for life with drink
and self-pity,
who celebrate everyday as their last-
because the day will come when the skies lower,
the ground will rumble beneath our feet and
swallow us whole
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