MY CATCH 22
Teenage years
It wasn’t any easy preserver
I was never in gangs nor the thug route
Bullied to no end
Everything was why?
Never could figure out
It seemed like an adjustment period
Times of fuss
Fights upon Fights
Life seemed to fall into place
The word Prosper became meaning
Sunshine became an embracing warmth
Fresh air pure
Wonder flourished into understanding
Wisdom a solid sustaining
A new day in a better tomorrow
I am proud and head up dignity
Life I never thought I would see
Here I am
IT’S TIME
The Sun and Moon diminish
Darkness has come
Redemption no more
Thunder roars and Earthquake shakes
A world years of corruption
Never learned and always thinking Evil
Destruction mounts
Ignorance virtues
Echoing Souls
Heaven’s wrath
Questions with no answers
Fate turned to fear
Distant Justice
Times up
Pay the Price
JACK BE
Jack being thinking
Understanding would be missing
Thinks that
Brings no fact
Mathematical approach with no Subtract
Says words
Has no meaning
Unassured
Questions life
Excepts no advice
A world his own
Loss in his own thoughts
Observes, but what does he really see?
Doubtful
His life is suddenly on a pause
He is the cause
The name Jack Be
He is something to see
Genuine maybe
...
Snake dance
The frown lines of persistent fear have already wormed their way under the pores of the skin.
Lean, acting on inner orders, just as wise and foolish. In the closed window of eyes eager to testify, it is becoming more and more difficult to feel the Truth and the Good. We have to wait for the final showdown and no one asks: how long? or what for?
It consists of skinny pearls of light ruins in the afternoon of the constructed house of cards.
Concentration, shrewd, double-edged calculation converge in a single point. The vulnerable soul now thinks twice about who it can reveal its tormented past to, who can it really open up to, like a flower, truly? When they run, they lean more and more outwards, until they end up hanging on their own legs, money-hungry career monkeys, ass-licking, slobbering idiots.
Everyone still feels the expanding passage of time.
The palpable beater knows that only the minutes can expire permanently by tic...
Angel
One of a beautiful soul just arrived
You may not notice but she is pure as white
Calm, quite, and wise
A gentle reminder to take some peace of advice
Can I keep you for awhile?
You soothe this innermost feelings aside
You're such an angel in disguise
Happy to be right by your side
Longing for your presence
Such tender loving care in essence
Having you as my confidence
Putting me into silence
...SYNTHESIS
Already drifting further and further away: not only from Life, from the microcosm of Existence, to which it would still be good and advisable to hold on faithfully - but also from the camp of the cheap, wretched horde-human blue, deliberately avoiding, far away. Executioner Time already kneads our molecular cells every day, and later discards them completely as useless cripples.
The immobility of dreams might still be necessary so that we can forget the thin, lying-tin reality. The same neutral, multi-classed Lack receives its innocent victims, because more and more people are blindly hitting the thinned membrane wall of an invisible Life. Just hitting back and forth without support, just like a bouncing ping-pong ball in Space and Time, as if the theory of relativity had been rewritten. Expanse has long since been abolished, only bird-bone bodies hang on the horizons of empty spaces, some permanent, indifference-smelling, vile arrangement, with which they...
AS YOU SNAP ON YOURSELF
Let's say you play it, because you yourself now believe not only your wretched conception of the Real, the silly circumstances of your awakening, but the whole of the immortal, flirtatious glances, which would have been worth even going into the fire for.
From you, this step-mother, your world, another small, but still more significant piece, keeps slipping out of you, and while you are thinking more and more that you are not deliberately revealing, you are not showing the mirror tiles of your stripped Soul so that they can get to know you better, you are still wondering if it is good is that you deliberately exclude everyone from the tragedies of your life, like a seven-locked door.
- Have you seen the hunchbacked toilet lady while wearing transparent shoes and you can't understand, let's say, does she believe in more livable Tomorrows?! The worst thing about a dream is that in the end - unless you are a lifeless stiff yourself - soo...
In the hour of self-pity
I thought the devastation on all total levels had now become permanent. The swings of the playground were used by strange hands, as well as faces bleeding from wounds. Many times it would have been better blindfolded than stumbling through human-lost, accelerating Time deaf-blind. It's as if only the hostile children play just like a cat with a mouse. We kill and humiliate each other at the same time, just like absolute adults.
Then I dream of an empty tire room. Crayons, colored felt-tip pens on the table - I'm standing high on top of the big slide; someone will knock you down unnoticed, but I would still cling to the useless ring of steel railings. No one lends a supportive hand or even helps!
I am amazed at how palpable the evil tendency of the comic is even in childhood, and I am terrified of those who have ruined me spiritually and put my life on hold. – I still remember the pathetic continuation, I found myself alone agai...
HIGHWAY WELCOME
Bags packed
Travel on track
Destination anywhere Bound
Adventure rush sounds
It was the Greyhound Bus
Stretched Dog on bus both sides
The journey it will provide
Settled in my reclined seat
Total laid back
The air conditioning was fine
The Driver announced stops in route and final stop at the end
Travel had begun
Highway to Highway
Off Ramp adventures
Around the bend
Scenery upon scenery
Bus conversational friends
Journey far
Relaxing being better than driving a car
Friendly faces and places...
A SALIENT-EXAMPLE
In the noise of the deserted street, just like in the secretly whispered Morse code of prison walls, the entire series of bat-observant coincidences is still lurking there, almost in protest; the ceiling of our hopes was swept away one by one by a Hand with an Executioner's fist. Our dead can close the lonely walls of the Soul against us.
The buzzing, deceitful half-dreams often tempt the living, who are preparing for the sober robot in the morning and hear the Jericho horns of the factory sirens wailing mournfully from afar. Wouldn't it be better to fall back into the Infinite, or just fall out of History right where we are?! It is as if the Yew-life Existence, which we once believed to be our own, now depends on Latrok's chess game. Our crooked mirrors slowly curve towards us.
They are tricked, led on and betrayed by the scrambling Tomorrows. Crying wrinkles on the marble faces of Time is still better than lying to ourselves with a ...