If fights ensue, It's not of me, delights, or truth, So why stand beneath? At least in my mind the blue is me. What of peacocks in the spring? What of cheese in the crumbles? What of resolve and my shivering? Certainly, I can feel these things. It's not beneath me, Like red sees croplands, Like rubber and tarmac. Like green sees the sea: blue. Ironically, foolish for free verse. Traverse the world, but ask me, Just remove lines, write peace. Irish flute, life renews, Fights needs two, Then favour winning, Like red says to greens. I wish inside, though, blue remains. Enticing eyes, confusing wings, Flying, seems a bit childish to me, As does to peacocks in the spring.
Narrow perceptions, Narrow affections, Despite prayers, attention, Yellow shell for protection. State your objections, Friends for protection. But in your profession, You need a director, For help, or whatever, For the show you live in. And they have their agenda, Sex, successors, buzz levels, Namely, making you famous. Yet, if you know contentment, Can you ask god, Inside somewhere, is there yellow? I feel life swallowed me whole, Until I crack, cry and bellow, Like whales beneath the waves.
There's no corset for age, Inevitably, masks degrade, What cannot be truly said, Like what is inside of a bank? I think: Narrow focus, quests for fame. Yellow, orange, redder grapes, Yellow locusts, yellow cobras, Despite the sweetness, slaves, Yellow, love, and disgust of stage. It's the red that keeps you away. It's the red that keeps you awake, It's red that made me ashamed, Less sweet and prearranged. There is no chorus of praise, Inevitably, that's an act of faith. Like no corset abound my waist, Only orange, celibacy and rage. However, It's yellow up for debate, Yellow in me sees people change, Yellow, to me sits out by the stage, Yells out in unison to the play.
I'm sorry, I fell asleep, Black, eyes see, I feel... Yellow, what can ever be? Like a child, I dream... of, Yellow, saffron, cream, White outside yellow. Like an egg, given life, Tell us, what should it be? Just like rust on the beach, Yellow, contained in white? I'm sorry, I fell asleep... What of the darkness? You still sleep at night, Despite what you speak, Yellow, what is it you see? I'm sorry, I fell asleep. I cannot be there, I feel... Yolk: mustard, garlic, Like darkness inside me, White on the outside, Bizarre shades, and yellow.
Pastel crayon, divine me. Quite a lot of yellow fears... I see. I asked where are they? Inside me? Behind? Corn, cream or citrine? Honey, they see white... Gleaming, unsheathed knife, Streelights, divine me. What is fear like? White with yellow? I think I could but part ways, Let the meat meet the knife, See yellow inside their face, Toenails and eyes. Again, define me, Against this chaos I fight.
Growler, empower yourself. Devour and use that tech, Devourer, utterer of rrr, Encounter, stout or sour. Prowler, of the prouder, On all four, growling, Looking at a round bottle. Wildflowers and spring's showers, Fountains boundless, Used as showers in the distance, Down the outer side runs a victimless, Bounteous red liquid. Doubtless I drink it to no funk, Growler talk, Ploughman and his bottle bud. Outside the thousands talk, Inside the pit they growl and bark.
Stares across the sheet of ice... Ningen, it lives! My fear subsides, Human eyes, inhuman smile, alive... it's alive! A light, like a flight, is a trial... Neat circles and straight lines! Figures, like a flight, need a pilot, Skies above have no time or pride. A night, like an iron spike, island, Eye's iris, thick thighs or curtness, Always keep a place and purpose. Unlike the Ningen, which flies... Just hopes to last another lifetime, Like longing stares into a glass of rye, Fish in the ocean or the turning tide. What falls from the sky? What god divines? What god provides? What father decided? Despite what he tries, like a Ningen child, Like looks across tables at what he despised. Like a fucking guy who likes to get fucking high, Although he decides, he decides, he decides... His mind often trailed nonsense, then he cried, Like a little baby, Ningen child that he hated inside.
Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Like gawkers, ponders what they saw... 'Would you describe me, inside of a bar?' 'Must again, you make things be so hard?' 'Wasp, like I bumble about the pollen, Following a humble belief seems wanton, When you believe in things so violent and wrong.' Bird, quickly describes in simple songs, Big cities, things it saw in the puddle, Colors of war, bees that talk. Freedom, it sings, is also simple, One really needs not drift apart. The big screen, another big scene, It was mostly a facade... Balk, talk is talk, feeling in the dark, But most of what a bird said, lived on, Proper relief is upon the soul after all... So they write less of evil on the walls, In the sky, on maps or village carts. Against nothing, see the days beyond... I suppose those concepts are behind us. Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Is the city like a swallow, or like to swallow, and will he be the next one gone? Cause for alarm, make calls upon, Anything, but you lost the one. You love... Like a dog watching another sun set, More talk, another sun will rise again, Life for this bird is but more dogs. So like a coward, survives the storm, Shivering as they make their calls. Inevitably, to face the power lines alone.
'I just wish, with all the time I have left', As she squeezes her fists, laments, Her eyes see ideas she never said, Sadness bookends her existence. She knows what she is, and lies, She thinks she knows what's best, But she is losing her desire for life. I just wish, like all the cows she loves, She would fight and fawn over me for once. The person she sees staring into the sky, It seems she likes, but she rarely sees herself. Mostly other men, me, and occasionally, marquee lights. She thinks it's for the best, I'm sure. The person she reveals herself to be, As the ocean fares, she holds against, My love can only take so many hits, She says, as she sets the table, For two people, but never herself. She says in the end, it's for the best. What happened to the things she liked? She thinks to herself in a flight, Reminded of a dream, desires, Meets someone else and tries. Time is a god of fire, however, So it takes and destroys her, Inside first, then outside. What she does with her life, It's none of my concern, Fans in the crowd fight amongst themselves, Not with players they revere and beheld. I think I know what's best, but in the end, I knew very little of what I said, Even less of the outcomes she had. So, who am I, to wish?
Once in a lifetime event, Arrives by themself, A winding stare, Polite requests, tired guests, Inside the knife twists. How can I make this about myself? Fits, detest in the form of comments, Regrets, pride, lissome denial, hits. How can I make this about myself? They think, screaming into the abyss, How can I make this about myself? Complaints, debates about nonsense, Speculation about arrangements, Coughing, several games maudlin, Talking about options freely. Providence. The final act, the lion dances, Forgone reactions, lying, Along with crying, antics. They exclaim their passions, As does the crowd. Again they feel the knife twists, As they are thrown to the ground.
Birth mother, Are you done in search of justice? From hunger the feeling lingers on, I want to be created equal, in three parts: My heart, my dreams, my thoughts. To stomach decisions these fingers long: How much must one muster? The war is over, the performance over, The opponent is dead and gone. He hears the fear in his voice, Drinks beer, balks, talk circles, Inside he looks awkwardly, Leers like a child at adults. 'Blood eater, what of your cuts? Is your search for freedom done? What is your word for love? Of people, of reason, Like earth, sun, One deserves better treatment, But worries when wonders gone.' Colonel, a third of your country, wrong. Fanciful fawns, thoughts prancing, Warnings: Songs bandied to a swan. Wanting nothing, wanton, famished, Like night always says to the dawn: Our prospects have long vanished. It's more self talk, silence in response, Dancing alone, along to the bombs that drop.
A rabbit runs free, in the past, Toward nothing it finds meaning. Fish of streams, pivot teeth, Laughter, tongue chatter, sea. By the brine they find peace, And man, king of beasts. Man forms groups, Parts in two, like lips, The bartender and you. Glass tightly in a grasp, Like a woman's clasp, Like a rabbit in a trap, Wiggle dance, calls, Nobody calls back. Like man, cash advanced, Wiggle dance, calls, Calls, nobody calls back. That man can run like a rabbit, Dance like a rabbit, Hears like a rabbit, Fears the language of diagrams, Candles and passwords. He describes freedom, devoid of it's traps, Talking about assholes out of sadness and anger. He tries to understand, too foolish in banter, Expanding his mind with standards that matter, His reaction barely examined, rather managed, Inside he feels his wiggles, the dance begins, What can exist, he thinks as a passing thing, Kicks and springs his feet, never hears a ring.
In his future he sees tired coughing, The seer mundane usually finds nothing, Only peering back upon seared meat, Apparently to be, or feel something. In his mind, he wishes to be someone, See his sums upped, feel unusual. He is detached, however, like Buddha, But he has an even broader usage. Once again he peers into the ether, He sees himself equal and decent, Sears at the breathing creature, Fears his lack of freedom. "Coward", he screams, "Coward", he casts his disease. Pulls from inside himself, meaning. He sees his reflection again in the mirror, Breathing heavily into the air, at first, But eventually he cried with realization.
The wind whispers to my skin, It's like it speaks with every breath. As if it has been calling out for my presence, Waiting to see the face behind this mask. So far it has shown nothing but disdain, And I wonder if I have anything left to give. In darkness I wander, With nothing but my memories Falling, falling, falling. Where once I saw light now lies only gloom, And I know that it has gone. For those who wish for rest, I have none Though I'd give up what I have, for one more. But it's too much now, I can't move my hands, I just want to sleep... (My memory, it fades) In the dark, with nothing to grasp, The memories that I hold so dear Fall away from me like they were never there. And I feel as though I will fall into madness, Like the very world is crumbling beneath my feet, That everything is crashing down, I fear I cannot stand the weight. (I'm fading) I just want to sleep... (My memory, it fades) *** I'm afraid I've gone and made a fool out of myself again, I knew you wouldn't understand my reason, And now you're not talking to me at all, You see I didn't mean to let your memory fade, It's like I was being pulled away by another force, Something I didn't mean, something I can't control, I don't even know why I'm still here... I don't know why I'm still here. I should leave this place, I know it's wrong, I shouldn't be here in your mind, I can't help the way that I am, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I can't stop feeling so low, I'm afraid it's already too late. I didn't mean to let you slip away, But the thought of losing you just doesn't sit right, To keep you awake and alive, I need you here, I'm not alone, Without you here with me I can't go on, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I don't know why I'm still here. I didn't mean to let you slip away, I just can't shake this feeling, That something inside of me is broken, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I don't know why I'm still here. This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "Super Mundane" by TheSoftSophist
An explosion, two million boats, Less than a third vote. 'oh, the problem, is they lack common goals" The rest boast, but it was about the same before. The belly distends, the body groans, Inside you would hope the innards grow, But they don't. Their parents croak, clear the bones, Inside you would hope for inner growth, But instead they find more civil wars, Complain of the guy next door, To the grocery store, government and local media, Instead of getting to know.
Inside its silent eyes lies science, 'Mine', like a child it cries, looks outside. Giant's eyes wide, where is his gigantic pile? His highest pride defiled by tyrants, Find me a guy who wouldn't sigh. Final smiles, like wind can fly by, like time it flies by, like kites. Like a demon the giant tries, Though like giant piles of hay, May blow away in the wind, Giants below may just might, Or unjust, but ultimately he decides.
Paper, mind racing; April, outside rain; Days, time, pain. Trial, minor inheritance, Inside raging, vain, Water droplet pacing. Lies, decadence, Left in the sunset. Am I adept? Think, look back. Flies in everything, Trying anything, I, tried everything. Trial, cherry picking, Many years, Their meaning? A small committee, Press, briefings: Ideas discrete, Their leanings. Where is the time for healing?
Right person, wrong time, Mother was right, Life is not a slice pie, Sweetness inside, Yet better divided. Imagination lame, Deception, I change, Mirror, terrified gaze. Do dreams for tomorrow, Define today? I wish to wish my dreams away, Live a simple teal or gray.