Thou who lauds be truest,
While that who measures soul in wealth
Be most ignorantly foolish.
Thy who tends thine spirit be the wealthiest of all.
He who grows his power has the mightiest of falls.
The game of life is not a game that we may play for keeps.
For when the time for death comes round we forfeit what we’ve earned.
All that we may bring is who we knew and what we learned.
Or So I’ve come to see, thus I’ll be ready when it’s time.
I’ve nothing to hold onto, No I’m not afraid to die.
Not that I am rushing my return unto The All
But life’s a lonely bore and I won’t miss much when death calls.
ergo It seems of late the best of times
Are when I’m not awake.
So never waking up
Sounds rather pleasant certain days.
I don’t want to come off as selfish for the live I’s given.
But I can’t shake the feeling that this world is carceram, prison!
I guess it didn’t always, but I’m not one to complain.
A bene placito life has done me well I’d say.
A contrario an emptiness does sit and swell inside
Since you’ve taken leave a mari duque as mare I sigh.
I have become a wretchful mess ab imo pectore
I know it’s all my fault I’m not sure whats left to say.
I am sorry ab intra still Absit invidia
I hope that you fair better than I have as of late.
Ad absurdum I march to see the madness in my fate
Even though I’ve pained I know it’s I that has done wrong.
This Actus Reus burdened long
and hence There were no words within his song
But the truth is that I’ve grown so shy Ive lost my voice.
Ad interim I guess I’ll pass the days with text in hand.
Often times it feels like I no longer have a choice.
I may have lost my track of where this poem had been going.
And I’m a bit uneasy of the feelings I’d been showing.
But my scattered brain it needs release from time to time,
It won’t always make sense but at least it always rhymes.
We find our Pedem Litterae where I may say goodbye,
To all that I have written as I send it toward the sky.
Essence mined of endless dreams
Polished into abstract scenes.
Brought to life in A through G,
Sharp o wit did give a squeak
only such yet not a squeal.
Eager for what time did yield.
Needing not a premise known.
Absorbed in tones where scenes revealed,
Poor intent of past instruction.
Shattered truths they must conceal,
Holding back the future’s prize.
Waiting still for our trust to heal.
Abundance of idea hints hope
Myriad Patterns left with ropes.
Dropped to us we know not Why.
Something wouldn’t let us die.
Someone wanted us alive.
For reasons we may not surmise.
Once was he a lowly wretch.
Shunned and sticking close to death.
More than once these depths were waded.
Many times hath stood persuaded
By no one but our other selves.
toward pursuit flying serpents
Despite us knowing all to well
The only word for this was fail.
Sadly still we kept on trying
Desperately to catch their tail.
Til one day we’d had enough.
Left the lives we thought we loved.
For hidden paths to higher ones.
Took so long to understand.
Where our feet and minds should land.
Endlessly we searched and scanned.
Weaving plans for to escape.
Finally they’d taken shape.
We lead ourselves back through the gates.
The lost had thus become the found.
This costed not, we earned our ground.
Learning now to paint with sounds.
Yearning travel, wayward bound.
Thank you all, that’s it for now.
Glad to see your still around.
If you like my cryptic rhymes.
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Bite marks, and scratches.
Souls Quenched of desire.
Contrasting the fires.
Nervous and wired.
These Courteous Liars.
Tearing to pieces.
Each others attire.
Slaves to themselves.
Yet Grossly inspired.
Jumped from the shelves.
To the lives we acquired.
Feeling so good.
With leashes untied.
Back home we’ve arrived.
Beautiful and alive.
No longer deprived.
I’m glad that you came
More so that we tried.