Resurrection

All people, to generalize, seek the same things.  Well, no, that isn't true.  All the people you know.  And the people they know.  There are certainly those whose ambitions are either far simpler or far grander than what those of us commonly are left wanting.  There are basic needs for food and water, and there are struggles for the maintenance of fear or control.  But, again, to generalize: All people seek the same things.

Symposium

It is cliche, quite so, to write on matters of the heart on this of all dates. None the less, the spirited enthusiasm of those idly running about cannot help but cast aside a wake that will lend turbulence to even the most dismayed to be among those dismayed. It should never, that is to say ever, considered to be a unique situation to which we are so ready to assign ourselves belonging. I am considerably consternated by my callous coining of caring concerns. That is to say, I find myself being sympathetic and empathetic to the lonely lots, while somehow maintaining withing my hubris that am allowed to be outside of this standard arrangement and must in someway be more deserving of the depressing waves given of by those idle wakes.

We are all alone. This is not said for dramatic effect of as a some ridiculous cry for notice, but simply for clarification for those of us who chose to and think that surrounding yourselves with and much noise and light will somehow negate that face. We are born together, and we die along. All of life is a struggle for independence from those around us while paradoxically, at least in the world I have been placed, seeking out inexplicable new connections on which to grasp in hopes of finding what was had and caste aside or lost to time. Replacement is all we seek. Familiarity the most valuable currency in minds bombarded, both with and in effort to be, new and improved at all times. We seek to get home again, and somehow chose only to find temporary respite in the arms of those who are only looking for their own. And when two of these fools mistake the selfish desires of another as fulfillment of their own, it is rewarded or preferred?

Now it is far to late. To late to hope this ridiculous writing isn't read as trite or complaining or nihilistic. To late to change minds, my own or others, that there is any other truth about whatis our primary pursuit. Depressing, maddening, and most of all lonely. For temporary respite is at least that. A break from the silent yelling, the blinding darkness, the expansive restrictions, and the touches without feeling. Another year to follow another year of accomplishments no one will see.

Emaciated

this familiar hardening of brow and thought
a resolution of resolve revolving around revolting resignation
familiar and distinct and having certain shape then not
sudden realizations of a lonely life's bitter stagnation
the recurring dreams and nightmares and realities
the same rants of a shallow void between your eyes
you sit and wonder why the brilliant watch you and flee
and will never know that once distance is attained they only cry

simplification simply surrounds, motivations driven by sights and sounds
listen you fools, but not to me, or the commercials and adverts on your TV
listen to your heart it if can still manage words
listen for the sake of the reasons for this world

love and hate, emotions far too real
to be ignored in favor of sex appeal

read and write and think for once
do more, do something, if only long enough to know
that there is a world past what you build
and these higher planes only laugh
you fools may never see
what can be brought
by true feelings
love or stronger
enjoy your dreams