A Plot

A world now that cannot be found

buried now within the ground

Hurried, hasty, rapidly

As though bamboo an inch, no three

Top parting in trees a brush of breeze

The view but now of forest tops

Presumes to see all from this high spot.

A bough of limb I know it naught

Repulsion is presumable

Recollection of an ele-phant

A time of dirt and mud and rain

A world once and never the same

Silly boy remains untamed

Burdens to relinquish his claim

A plot he dug quite long ago

Small hope to unearth it though

Never a plan to expect

an empty spot

Regret.

The Cup 11/19/11

Sorrow fills my lungs

I choke on it still

Struggle now to stay afloat

This cup is more half full

Most suppose that full bodes well

I yearn for emptiness

Hollow a lens in which it can escape

Out the bottom I want it gone

But it can't leave this place

They see it full

They see it full

This sorrow can't kill me

I wish it would.

Peddle

So this is another poem. Probably my most recent one I wrote it 2/23/12

A leaf bows due weight

It dips to drip a burden

Passes off this loft drop

To give to but another

Down sets next with

Tempered hands

Now closer to the ground

For roots they scream,

they yelp, they cry

Water they want sent down

For once sent down

They'd surely drown

And happiness they find

A Fool I am to Think

This is another poem that I actually just did here on the spot, from a silly memory as a little boy and now a current feeling. Though I must say it is quite awful. Perhaps I should have waited on publishing it by touching it up. But I can always tend to those later. It also has a line from a song that I like. and a slight LotR reference xD (the movies though)

The girl of whom I wish is but a dream,

Not that she does not exist,

Quite the opposite

I've memorized her smile lines,

From left to right,

She knows not mine,

No more than friendship might.

Taunt my thoughts as they fly,

Silly girl you cannot see I,

Selfishness grows as greenery

I seek to scour, it cannot be seen.

The vines they grow, they grip my mind

Hack and saw and slash and burn,

I have not the might.

Entrapped in green, wreathed in flame

Oh pure delight!

Patience boy, patience now,

Blow out your candle,

Sleep through the night.

Back to dreams and pure delight,

A world where all is right.

A world where you are her knight.

My Brother

My Brother

My Purpose
My Life
As are all that I hold close. They are the ropes that position me to the ground. The binds that forbid my departure. They are the lashes that drive me forward. Not of pain, but the desire to do them something. To be as selfless as I possibly can. To be as selfless as at least a Western cultured thinker can be. My purpose, my duty is to serve those I care about. The people who's lives I impact. Those that hold me dear and those that I myself hold close. It is my job, my purpose, my duty, and my life to serve them, to bring them a step closer to happiness. I perhaps will never understand a person's desire to live no matter the cost, but although I cannot understand that, it does not mean I am against it. I want to understand. For now though, I can do no more than serve my purpose as best as I can, until or if I find myself with another.

A piece of advice:

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse- Read that book. Do it. Even now I am deciphering more from it. It has so much to say in so few pages.

Contempt

A strange feeling to say the least. I am withholding a damaged furrowing of endless thoughts. Held accountable by no person but myself, I feel I have lacerated my moral boundaries, possibly beyond my own repair. Not of recent, but over the course of several years. I set goals and rules and limits, only to break them. I found that I was not the person I had hoped or imagined I would be. Perhaps everyone manages to come to the same conclusion. For how can one fumble down the same path they designed as a child. More or less I am perplexed by my lack of guilt in this disgusting shift of character. Not the path I wove as a child, but how I have allowed myself to find these forks in the road set before me. Forks that move through underbrush and debris so thick, it would be deemed foolish to even attempt to make a path through. Yet I have done so. I have proved my conscience that I can stoop lower and lower into the filth and the grime. Even when I despise myself and have no desire to go any lower other than to fill my lungs with fluid. I do not feel guilt as I should, just as people commit countless crimes do not feel the moral affliction they should. Perhaps it never sank in as a child, perhaps they were taught and did not care. I do not know what I am. I care, yet I cannot manage to prevent myself from doing what I know I should not. So what does that make me. A wonderful product of human kind. Caring: probably the only one I can manage to truly believe in. Yet each person is designed with a different one. Perhaps faulty hardware to begin with, or maybe just outdated programming, maybe a virus, maybe all of the above. Not one flawless or close to perfect. Look to a novel to find perfection in conscience. Here we are broken and damaged. Yet these bandages and scars cannot be seen by others, they can only been seen in the mirror.

de omnibus dubitandum

All is to be doubted

I am a bad person: I accept this

I say this with an acceptance and with the desire to aspire to something more. By a bad person I am referring to myself and how I have currently lead my life with my purpose. I often lose touch with my purpose. I forget who I am and what I am supposed to do and I become selfish. I indulge in my needs more than the needs of those I live for. To fully understand what it is I am trying to say one must first understand what it is I recognize as my purpose.

My purpose is to live for those I love and care about. My family, my friends, my purpose is to make them happy in whatever way that I can. I have often failed at that, sidetracked with the foolish thought towards attaining my own happiness. That is not to say that one should not consider making themselves happy. No I do not believe that at all, but I recognize that I cannot be happy as much as I would like to be. I do not see the point to life, yet everyone else seems to. As long as they do, I will be there to make it the best life that I can. When my death finally comes, then I will be happy, then I will be at peace, until then I stay tied to this world.

In the past and even the present I have often failed to understand my purpose or remember it in time. I move on my own selfish accord rather than putting in the consideration of those around me. Consequences to everyone else are what should be accounted for, not just the consequences for myself. I get lost in the world on a different path, one with little hope of coming true, yet I often pursue self happiness, or indulge my mind with the idea of it instead of staying on course. Again not that one should not seek it, only that I know where the path leads, there are no forks in the path leading to different routes to happiness, there is one. I cannot be that selfish. Nor do I have the desire to. Thinking about that level of pain that would be inflicted upon those close to me is unbearable. Yet I fall as the victim and the criminal to base pleasures. I allow them to cloud my judgement. To make rash decisions, rather than pausing to calculate as I would prefer to do. I am weak in that sense. I lack self control, and for this massive flaw I despise myself. I am a pathetic human just as the rest of the humans I look down upon. I despise the imperfections, or rather the lack of desire to strive towards it. Perhaps perfections is unattainable, but I walk out into the woods and know that it is quite possible. The earth can be quite perfect. Just not as long and humans walk upon it. I have hurt many people with never the intention to do so, and I know and fear for the inevitable future where I will do it again. I have every desire and every intention to change, to become a man I can respect, the man I want to be. As of now that selfless man can only be found in novels, designed with the good merits of an author.

The Ides Approach

So it's March if for some reason this is not time stamped and my cheesy and vague jest at a Shakespearean quote is not recognized. "Beware the Ides of March," oh boy that reminds me of high school. I do not say oh boy with cheery recollection but instead with a whimsical chuckle of shame. An odd contorting mixture of emotions I am quite aware. Many bad memories and very few good ones, yet when one looks back (at least in my case) I find poor memories sit idly upon the shallow reaches of the mind; whereas fragments of joy and youth manage to dig deep into the recesses of my mind where I find them most out of reach, rather I do not find them at all. Quite a shame that I lack the capacity to recall precious moments as easily as I can the bad. I have come to assume that may be a serious underlying factor behind my negative approach to life. I often manage to evaluate all the bad, horrible, excruciating outcomes before I even begin to contemplate all the wonderful possibilities. Though in many ways I have found this to be a favorable trait for I often see the inevitable dark end before I fill with hope and osculated merriment. Just as well, I have had many situations where I was helplessly hopeful when the definite end was right in front of me. That of course would be much closer to denial than anything else. And what is denial, if not a lie. A lie told to oneself in a bold and often successful attempt to feint reality. This is essentially what all lies are. I would argue denial is the worst lie that can be told. It is a lie that you know is a lie, yet you continue to believe that it is the truth, while subconsciously aware that it is in fact not. An unavoidable Catch 22. Well not entirely unavoidable. My hope is that humans can change, though I have invested very little of it. It is a rare element that I despise using.
    Beware the Ides-