Scientific Religion
We are existential beings, a collection of matter,
Isolated externally, in part, from the world around us
We are not the “conscience” amoebas of the universe
Created by the graces of accidental chemistry, a collision of
space and time
Driven by no greater purpose than the continuation of existence
However it puzzles me, that as a species, we are so set on
isolation
So set on differentiation, rather communal commensalism
As an individual of a species,
Evolved from the same archaic geologic collision,
I say we have no greater right to this planet than all
other species on Earth
Meaning that the Earth itself deserves if nothing else our
respect
We are a blip of existence in the expanses of the universe
That is a statistical anomaly of the cosmos
But we are important, teaming with life, we have the option of
experience,
A life outside of ourselves, a world at our fingertips, that
arguably may not even exist
An infinite matrix of space and time, littered with planets,
galaxies, universes,
Just a world away, each day humbling us by their vastness
Sending us ancient particles traversing the universe at speeds
beyond a conscious thought
Driving every living creation on Earth, as we wildly
accelerate
We owe it not to ourselves but to the natural processes
themselves to continue to exist
For they are the reason for our conscious thought
Our reality, merely a projection, an external existence
Forced upon all individuals from the state of nature
A collaboration of millions of electro-chemical signals
firing in unison
A dream state as it were, the creation of mankind
Constantly in chaos, while we all try to gain control
Like addicts we collect, organize and isolate all things
Into a matrix of unknowable trivia, puzzle pieces to the
mind
Only held by those with the upmost authority
But we are mere a collection of constantly colliding
particles
Simple carbon chains on a largely silicon sphere, traveling
the expanses of space
Constantly in motion, spinning, alive with all that is dynamic
A creature not diverted from the complex system
But rather a shining reality of existence
Creatures alive, in an otherwise dead universe
And in a flash we have grown from primal to industrious
Plagued by the modern era, the idea of complacency,
Based solely on want, we ceaselessly gain capital
In the hopes that we never need to suffer for basic goods
There is an idea of hope, one that integrates us,
Once again with all things that comprise an existing reality
A progressive choice,one where all life, is shared equally
With the basic understanding that we were not willed upon this
rock
But we are instead the culmination of billions of years of geologic
processes
An important accidental process, one that allows for the
realization of the universe
I’m just glad that I have been able to bear witness to it
A Self Realization of Sorts
I'm a writer, or maybe a poet of sorts
Misunderstood and misrepresented
Always searching for the best, most true words
Constantly collecting my thoughts
Waiting for the proper moment to recite
Unaware are most of you
Friends, family and those of you alike
But connected we are
Not by words but by space
Like electrons we collide, converse and bond
Each time creating parts
To a much greater whole
Visible to all yet still a mystery
We ponder each other's light
The Plants Beneath My Shoe
A Self Realization of Sorts
I'm a writer, or maybe a poet of sorts
Misunderstood and misrepresented
Always searching for the best, most true words
Constantly collecting my thoughts
Waiting for the proper moment to recite
Unaware are most of you
Friends, family and those of you alike
But connected we are
Not by words but by space
Like electrons we collide, converse and bond
Each time creating parts
To a much greater whole
Visible to all yet still a mystery
We ponder each other's light
The Plants Beneath My Shoe
Why is it that we feel not regret?
For the little plant under our shoe
One day he may have been great
Even more important that me or you
For he harms no one as his roots plung into the ground
Only trying to quench his thirst
As we mangle him and the rest of his crew
With no way to strike
Or put up a fight
What can the little plant do?
It would seem that his might
Comes from our fright
Of never knowing what is true
But it would seem very smart
To value his art
Because he and his crew know what to do
As they patiently wait
Roots deep and still
For us to understand what is true
Abandoned Buildings
I enjoy the broken, the damaged, the destroyedFor the little plant under our shoe
One day he may have been great
Even more important that me or you
For he harms no one as his roots plung into the ground
Only trying to quench his thirst
As we mangle him and the rest of his crew
With no way to strike
Or put up a fight
What can the little plant do?
It would seem that his might
Comes from our fright
Of never knowing what is true
But it would seem very smart
To value his art
Because he and his crew know what to do
As they patiently wait
Roots deep and still
For us to understand what is true
Abandoned Buildings
The relics of our past hanging delicately in place
Reminders of what once was
Rafters balanced softly, drifting in the wind
Voices haunting the remaining walls
Beneath our feet the floor gives way
As the soaked wood floors tenderly absorb our weight
The roof is gone and the walls have fallen
But in their absence sheds our light
Irresistibly direct, constant and consistent
Glowing and flowing we swim
Facing the past, looking forward
Finding peace in the subtlety
Forced to endure the abruptness of reality
Only content after years of folly
We like those buildings find ourselves empty
But so soaked with life
Waiting patiently as time changes us
To Paddle
We paddle, treading slowly
Glancing softy at the fullness of our surroundings
Quiet at times, tranquil and inviting
Growing far less hostile and foreign as time persists
Unforgiving are the challenges
Relentless we must remain
Forward we march collecting ourselves
Drifting softly between the currents we flow
Collectively gaining speed
Generating our own momentum
Neither heavy of heart or head
We walk with intention
Boots heavy marching to the beat in our hearts
Neither lost nor found
We bridge our way from yesterday into tomorrow
Silence and solitude become overwhelming
As time slowly persists
Without us really even knowing
Each day more impressive than the last
As we venture deeper into what remains
Desolate, it definitely is
For as far as the eye can see
As we journey further...
Past all those places we will come to remember
Our thoughts slow
As we stare far into what surrounds us
Here in these unknown places
We remain, lost forever
Unfortunately our time will come
We will again be forced to leave
These moments hanging quietly in front of us
Memories like picture frames
Neatly order, placed all in a row
As we try hard not to forget
Like a Flower You Are
Like a flower you are...
So gently poised and positioned
Carefully yet discretely your beauty presents itself
Patiently yet anxiously awaiting the light
Gracefully you face the stars, dreaming
Hoping only that the next day will come
With the turn of day you blossom
Like a flower so delicate and pristine
Thoughts kept simple by the blinding light
Waiting patiently for the quiet rain
Growing stronger with each passing storm
Letting each drop gently cascade you down to your roots
A pretty little flower, so strange and unique
Trapped only by her roots
And the distances in which they spread
Free yet so compelled, to persist to live you are
Anticipating another storm
So desperately you cling to the ground
As the winds begin to blow your leaves and head about
Silent you remain as you continually weather the storm
Delicate yet persistent you are
Tightly grasping with your feet
As the wind persists you reach out
Only to find that your leaves won't grasp
Desperately clinging you patiently wait
Hoping only to weather the storm
The War of Finite
A lack of security
With no preservation of thought
A world overwhelmed
By individuals
Only focusing on individual need
Unfortunately, for us
WE ARE NOT ALONE
This strange world is vast
But still remains finite
And remaining in an individual state of preservation
Holds no ground
To let others suffer
Knowledgeable, yet ignorant to our issues
Arrogant of our own ability
It seems that change is futile for those who suffer
With no sentiment we waste their lives
Knowingly watching the world burn
All to feed our lust
The content, the complacent
Hold their own preservation high above the rest
As acid from our "progress" rains down on them
We are at a pivotal point
A world soon at war for the finite
The Loathing Dreamer
I spend more time visualizing a beautiful reality,
Then I do living in the reality subjected to me
Limiting myself to the beauty of all things
Neglecting the conception of daily projection
Lost not in reality but a projection of my own creation
In this state of mental perception
Reality becomes bleak as the projection grows more vivid
A dream state, of sorts, unrelenting
As it slowly gains control,
And rapidly begins to shift
As quickly as it came, it morphs in time and space
As the ease of tranquility sets in
The projection grows more and more overwhelming,
It revenges the landscape, consuming all
The mind at war, waged between the conscious reality and the
projection
As thoughts begin to diverge into the unknown
Escaping reality only through projection
Resistant to the power of control
As chaos drives the instants of collaboration
At wits end, the projection becomes reality
A loathing dreamer, lost in an idea of change
Stuck in a projection forgotten by reality
Pattern, Sequences and Series
Collected together by a system
Separated by their differences
Grouped by their similarities
We have all fallen victim to the pattern
Constantly controlled by a system
We can no longer control
Seperated in countries, in cities, in houses, in rooms
Grouped by work, by hobbies, by play
All to form a collection of patterns
So intricately placed
To delicate to disrupt
We watch the pattern
Follow the cycles it should
Predicting a conclusion to a story
Only one percent of the population has read
The only problem with patterns is
That they endlessly and constantly
Intersect and interrupt the other sequence controlling the series
But maybe if we viewed the the pattern with less structure
Rules were understood and conformed to out of common
understanding
For what better way to describe and orange than orange
If instead of systems of patterns, we had chaos
All colliding instantaneously
Only diverted by personal whim
It would seem that instead of isolation
Based on unknown series of patterns
We would simply understand that systematic order is inevitable
No matter the form or pattern
In the hopes that maybe one day
The problem will not be a square but a sphere
The Struggle
Convinced there is no longer an idea worth spreading
The pen weighs heavily in my hands
As I reluctantly scratch at the page
Hoping to spark some emotion queue
Excitement, joy, anger, relief
Shit really anything at this point would suffice
Pushing myself I continue to scribble endlessly with no
direction
Each time I sit down it seems the idea has once again
floated away
Softly that is out of sight and back to its place in the
vastness of the cosmos
With each attempt seeming more pathetic than the last I
continue
Really though who am I
And what the fuck do I have to offer to anyone else
I’m twenty and my life seems so mediocre
That even the thought of conveying a concept worth
conversation
Seems more depressing than exciting
As a person I feel less than successful but more than a
failure
Continually succeeding to scribble and scratch more and more
failure
Just in the hopes that through those failed attempts one may
be a success worth noting
A statistical anomaly of thought so important it must be
shared
Masacism is what most call it
A love of self hate is how I describe it
Tirelessly I scour my thoughts for some shred of truth
Afraid of what I might have to say
Or even worse how others will react to it
In that fear I hide myself well armored
Maybe that’s the reason for this shitty poem
If I could only construct that thought
That one individual truth I dream so effortlessly
A concept so clear that it hides just in plain view
I have closed off
Unable to integrate myself with the surrounding world
A mental outcast as it were
Still scribbling, thinking and sick of listening
Sick of what I have to say
Sick of the way that I utter the words
Continually trying to make sense
Of the violent chaos that clouds my conscience mind
Blinded by my own self doubt
In the weeks that follow
Maybe I’ll shut down
Stop all that I am doing
Distancing myself desperately from the words I so wish I
could utter
Destined for no real promise of adventure
And ultimately no idea on how I could even share such a life
As I continue I begin only to scratch the surface of how the
idea “me”
Has prevented me from being myself
Rambling painfully about the pains of being
I still press on continuing to scribble and scratch
tirelessly at the page
In reality who am I to think that there are answers to the
questions I seek
Tired of being tireless
Sick of being sick of my own words
Staring only at the possibility of hopes and dreams
With little emotional response than fear
That is a fear of inadequacy
A fear of Loneliness
A fear of no longer being held by all that I am afraid of
Today I explore the possibility of no longer being afraid
Today I search for my voice
The Day I Have Forgotten
I have forgotten those beautiful places
Those empty valleys, and towering peaks
The pain in my chest, the blisters on my feet
I have forgotten the howling winds, the unforgiving
sunlight, the taxing terrain
The laughs, the triumph, the success
I have forgotten all of that which I always intended to
remember
Luckily, the wilderness still remains
Willing but temporary in these fast times
Always unforgiving, majestic and free
Just as the trees would have wanted
Waiting on the flowing rivers, whispering to us through the
winds
Calling us quietly through the chatter
Anticipating our return
To the taxing, and inspiring,
The open valleys, the towering peaks wait quietly
The open valleys, the towering peaks wait quietly
For the day we will again be one
An Explanation for My Confusion
Of mind, body and spirit
Devotion
To all that is not readily clear
Simplicity
Only achieved once clarity and devotion are fully understood
Love
The simplest emotion of them all
Chaos
The integration of all things
Individuality
The love for things unclear and chaotic
Confusion
Understanding that no matter how clearly devoted to
simplicity, love and individuality you are, chaos still remains, controlling
the universe, distorting all the answer in which you seek
Opposition
Hoping for hope
Dreaming of dreams
I am in love
With the world
Not of any man
Lost in the spaces between the lines
I so eagerly jump between
Never expecting what is expected
Always hoping for hope
Dreaming not only of dreams but the endlessness of such an
activity
