*a black heart drowning in euphoria*

Longings

Almost The Saddest Poem

_n

I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would die…
Pre-death pre-burial requiems…
Lethal notes… Morose words and non-words…
I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would live forever –
Forever in the dungeons of my benevolence.

And then, I wanna cry my soul out as if I’ve lost God…
But first, wish that I still have a soul for I no longer know…
I wanna run in circles within an untamed wilderness
to feel that I am not lost, in circles, running and wanting untamed…
after my tears have equalled the waves of all the world’s seas
including her… her tsunamis of centuries…

I want to find myself at the edge of a snow-capped mountain and never rest
then scream my frozen lungs out after expelling my guts,
scream until I hear only the sound of my recovered voice –
the one that could read and write sadder than almost the saddest poem…

Distorted and soul-starved,…

What did I say?

Straving for my soul,
I don’t ache to feel a little less alive…
Nor do I merely ache…
My madness does not represent a longing for joy.
Madness sways beyond the barbwires of longings.
Thus, not even a longing for death.
(You don’t need to die to be dead).
My loneliness is not soothed by company.
Loneliness is glory!
My burden blinds with the northern lights best in darnkess.
My passions severe the cosmos with their controlled nonexistence…
There is nothing more worse for me and ill
than the brooding mediocrity when I do not sing when I will.

—–
NOTES:

“Almost the Saddest Poem” is a remake of The Saddest Poem. But herein, the context changes somehow but the end-point remains. How can not being able to sing (no matter how you sound or don’t sound as silence can be music) be so sad? P.S. The titles have nothing to do with the levels of sadness in each of them.


Did You Know About Anchors?

(First Unfinished Draft and Middle Part)

Beautiful Souls

From a journey through layers from the ocean floor
We’ve smiled at its species, as we lovingly drawn close to their open doors…

Oh how man would give up his breaths,
To say hello to a clown in anemones…
And no matter how relentlessly expiring,
Life holds eternity in moments like these…

When I rose above the ocean water,
You were walking, satisfied, towards the shore.. .
My vision was still filtered and blurry
Yet I was magnificently seeing more…

Rain drizzled down enchantingly
On the calm and waveless sea…
It was bright and dim and dark all at the same time
In a moment of Life most sublime…

And as water kissed water
The sun couldn’t help but provide
A unique spotlight for every unique drop
And made the glow in your soul even more bright…
Suddenly, diamonds were dancing afloat,
Surrounding our humble family boat…
Their sparks froze such serene Settings in fleeting eternity
But the focus remained on the man Still walking slowly ahead of me…

Did you know,
That I see through your eyes and from my own?
It is a gift of gifts within me…
That you have sown and grown…


Of Time…

toddlers58

Sometimes,
good intentions without understanding result to worse things.
Sometimes,
it’s better to not understand beings and simply respect feelings.

Ripples of thoughts
of wonders and sorrows
severe his mind gracefully
at the wrong time….

All in non-extremes
beg for attention
when the only Freedom starts with Detention…
Isolation
Seemingly Zombiefication
– A Liberation they know nothing of.

Pink and Green
Images of woe
Images of Joy
Disprove Slumber

-THE DEATH WAS REAL!

It was a nightmare that came before sleep
It was a dream that happened because he awakened…

But now he must awaken again….

There is a pool of woe in the Southeast,
and fish in the cold air up North to the West…
He knows no other waters but woe.

Time stops in this climax of suffering.

The LIFE was real…

Sometimes,
he gets swallowed up in a time machine…
and knows just about too many things…
Sometimes…
he only thought of time…

He cries to sleep,
wakes up the same,
blood flowing through his veins
and outside of them.

Splashes of blood
on this mundane floor
drown him gently
in sweet Sunday gloom.


From The Heaven-Empowered Lady Echoing Non-sense

View from Emscherpark in Duisburg

To the Catastrophic, Aggressive Stoic – The Ordinary Rebel,
To the Profound, Outstandingly Loving Lunatic Unbound – X,
You can not waste your life wishing to die,
Nor spend it not wanting enough to live…
Because you search so passionately for the Golden Fleece…
And with blood and heart have expanded immortality…

White Light, bright fire,
Look up to yourself with your feet on the ground,
You’ve claimed so many wrong places to be heaven
And see not your own place in it…
In darkness, the sky is your mirror,
Can you see not how wonderful you are?

But you are much more than that.


Beyond the Noise

Zandvoort

There’s no comfort for my chosen solitude
In a crowd where I don’t seem forlorn…
Sunshine’s not my friend in Winter
When my heart and soul breaks torn…
Beyond the noise, although I feel the peace,
I also feel the grimmer breeze…
I’ve tweaked my brains to make myself believe
That I don’t have everything I need…


The Saddest Poem

bird

I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would die
and then I wanna cry my heart out as if I’ve lost God…
I wanna run in circles within an untamed wilderness
after my tears have equalled the waves of the seas…
and find myself at the top of a snow-capped mountain
screaming my frozen lungs out and hearing only my voice
transmitting the rage of my burning heart.
Distorted and soul-starved,
I don’t ache to feel a little less alive…
Nor do I merely ache…
My madness does not represent a longing for joy
Not even a longing for death.
My loneliness is not soothed by company.
My burden blinds with light.
There is nothing more worse for me and ill
than the simple mediocrity when I do not sing when I will.


How Do You Take A Death?

How do you take a death,
When the weight of its pain
Brings you to your knees
And stabs you repeatedly
As you bleed through most sorrowful tears?

How do you take a death,
When its cold bludgeons you frozen
Makes you crawl to nowhere
In all your disbelief
When you try to justify Life’s loss…

…and find out there’s no Justice…
For an angel born in a new home, Heaven…

Do you question the Lord,
Do you blame Him for the choice of the cause
The mistakes, the circumstances,
The manner of death,
The suffering much less than you now have to endure?

Know there is justice….
For an angel born in a new home, Heaven…

Do not question the Lord…
If not to get answers.
You can not take a death…
Unless it is yours…

And you can live in honor
Of all the good your lost love have done alive
And you can live in respect
To all the wishes of our beloved departed…
Accepting an angel is born
In a better home we call Heaven…


Chambers of the Obsolete III

Originally uploaded and copyrighted in xyldrae.deviantart.com

So dark, the shadows in my eyes
So light, the hell within my burden,
That I may never say good night
In the calming presence of moonlight.

So vast, the barren spaces of my woes
So crowded, the only things that hold
That I may never taste more than defeat
In the cruel chambers of the obsolete.


Just Can’t

I wrote poems that give out the state of my soul…
I wrote when I’m desperate.
I wrote when I had secrets.
My poetry is my secret garden…
And my secret hell…
And my poetry is something you just don’t care about.
It’s okay. Although
When I’d rather talk to you than write a poem you wouldn’t care about…
I find myself too lifeless to write about how frustrated I am…
That to talk to you…
I just can’t…


Open Shutter

I wanted to capture running water
Shaping rocks yonder the spotlight sunset
But His hands keep me from my lover Ocean
With untimely tides and decent injuries…

There’s a barren sense
Within the four corners where I lay
Outside, the stars glitter smiles for my solitary stay
While the moon won’t even show its face…

Just like the night skies
I was unwhole to the naked and non-parallax eye….
My ears can only hear my Lover’s heartbeat
Wash the shores and securities away…

Open shutter,
Choose the better light
Draw my frustrations away
Into a better sight….


The Agony of Being Happy

I’m counting days until I’m next to you
If I stop for a second I’d have to time forever again
I’m not fond of the need to be near you
For they mean having to be far from all else…

There’s a price to be paid for each sacrifice
Thank God I don’t take this like a businessman…
I dread the day I’ll be kissing you
While I don’t know who I am…

My heart says sorry…
My spirit is angry…
There’s just too much repression
Brewing up all the agony…

…Of being happy.

I haven’t stopped trying to preserve who I was…
But when I look at this image upon my wrist
I know everything counts
And I can not be someone who’s far without who I was…

I love you too much…
I love else as much…
None can have it all!
I belong with you.


Tests For Bandages

There’s nothing wise in breaking a heart
Just to see how it would recover…
Should it recover…

There’s no reasonable reason for indifference
Just to hide how deeply one feels…
If one awarely feels…

The fear of rejection is what makes mankind
The worst deceivers of themselves…
And it differs from the need of acceptance…

So though there’s something deadly about living fully…
There’s nothing deadlier than every attempt to be unnatural
But to be urged to be unnatural is natural…


Back Off. Back Up. Back Out.

(Image inspired by the song “Wild Child” by Lonesome Minstrel.)

Where you so alienated with too much familiarity?
It’s too easy to choose to stay away and be safe,
Kill the flame
Live the dream you have mastered
Void yourself…

Back off.

Where you so merely overwhelmed with too much serendipity?
It’s the hardest to decide not to spare a chance,
Burst the flame
Emblazon in the perfect hell where you’ve made yourself at home…
Unbuild yourself…

Back up.

Where you so right with all you knew?
It’s too impossible to go on happily and feel clean,
Water the fire
Perfect the self-righteous freedom entrapment
Deprive yourself…

Back out.


Masochistic Mystery

There’s nothing more to me
Than this masochistic mystery
That begs to not end your story
Of just who are we?


True Joys (Remake from an Actual Conversation)

(This is a remake of excerpts from an actual conversation written hereafter.)

I want relaxing joys…
Joys that aren’t achieved over tremendous pressure.
I want joys that come in peace,
in kindness freely given,
in love…
in real love…
or in honest hate overcame…

I want joy that does not demand,
a price or a sacrifice…
Such as the joy transcending from an existence…
For otherwise, I am bountiful.

I want so fondly, this plain emotion
gracefully finding its way
through our converted jungles and savory hollows…
riding nothing but time…

I want relaxing joys…
That would transpire for a second
to affect your whole life…
with love…
with real love…
until you can hate no more…

(Excerpts from an actual Conversation:)

I want relaxing joys…
Joys that aren’t achieved over tremendous pressure.
I want those that come in peace,
in kindness freely given,
in love….
I want joy that does not demand a price or sacrifice…
I want that plain emotion from time to time….