The Ravings of a Poet

What once was, forever taken it is.
What rises from the sea, will someday return.
As the sun was born from dust, so dust shall burn the sun
And the cycle of birth and death continues.

The words I write will last a while,
And slowly they'll reenter my mind.
A thought once forgotten, dead in my head,
That lived in my writing comes home.

A reunion between mind and thoughts,
A somber celebration, as the scribblings are lost
The ravings of a mind relayed to others now dead,
Born again in the mind of the creator.

A leaf falls off of a tree
As it decays, it becomes the soil,
the soil that the tree consumes through its roots,
Funny, as the roots of the meal are in the tree itself.

So then we look at the roots of the route
Through which the mind has traveled,
A path, like a pathogen, almost contagious in nature,
One nurtured through thought, and forever increasing in complexities

Yet the complexity must peak, and entropy must ensue
The mind will degrade until it returns to its infancy
The path will loop to its beginning, and this pathogen affects all.
No mind is immune, and the end is the beginning, emptiness.

An empty mind has the capacity to learn all
But has no special features itself.
A cargo box is useful, but pointless without cargo.
The dead have no cargo, but death to life it goes

From ashes to ashes from dust to dust, from clichè to petty clichè.
The repetition, is true, but false.
The ending is just a beginning, but the beginning is not the same as the start.
The ending of a star can be a burst of light, but its new life is different.

Uniqueness is the difference between the ashes
Difference keeps the dust unique.
No two things are the same, even if they are the same thing.
As the end begins, and the beginning ends, the cycle of rebirth becomes a a vector

A vector of progress,
Showing that there is no cycle of reincarnation
Rather a cycle of change in a single thing,
Aimed towards an ultimate uniqueness.

As that sun burns out, and releases its last spec of energy,
Small dust particles are born.
They are not the hot mess that made the sun,
But a hot mess made from the sun.

A birth to one is a death to another
A new beginning is a much-needed end
To all perspective, and to none the tunnel,
Drawn with perspective, but representing a lack thereof.

Contradictions are everywhere, yet nowhere can you find them
For something true cannot in itself be false.
But the falsehood itself is a truth, and so the truth is a lie.
The cycle is a truth that lies to those involved.

The you after you is not the same as you.
The you, you are now, is you; you aren't you in the future.
Change is inevitable, and all change is bad
(All change is good as well) Where do you stand, in the well, or above it?

The life of life is long and prosperous, but its death will bring a new age.
Is there a different life to come from the life, life once lived?
Yet at that time, these ravings of a poet will be long forgotten,
And have returned to my mind in a new perspective.

Organized Chaos

  The world is made of glass, and a rock has         just broken through
     The           world has shattered, as if by          some revolutionary         breakthrough.
The rock         is a revolution, and to us           he just threw
A pebble        from the moon,          on            a trip now through.

            But as t    he shards collide, a new standard is set
As the grains divide,       the shards, land in a set
     The pattern of               chaos      is order, order chaos set
And so a bridge was           built, but a rock won the set

                                         And so begins the race
Two distinct in race
                As chaos        thrives my heart will race
                                                    But the expansion of order will too race.

        From order,                       chaos comes through
And the sporadically              changing norms show that nothing is set,
And once you see beauty in entropy, you find that chaos and order are of the same race.

Friends No More

Friends No More

 

 

Once I was your friend, 

But it seems that's reached it's end

The world is a bowling ball, 

And we are both just pins.

  

Never again will we laugh and talk 

And never again will I be mocked 

You've severed the rope that connected us,  

And now I fall towards rocks 

 

My emotions are just a string, just twine 

That you twist and that you wind, 

That you light aflame most days 

And that you treat as grime 

 

My jokes to you are dirt 

And to me that just hurts, 

So I dug a hole through my jokes 

And buried myself so you'd smirk. 

 

The others you speak of, you treat me the same. 

I am a cat in the ocean and you are to blame 

For the ocean comes from me, 

And from you the emotions came.  

 

My mind is a stone and you are a drill, 

Into the stone you went a little. 

At first it felt good, but then the stone cracked 

And there isn't a cure because I am not ill. 

 

You are a truly sick man 

You are just an empty can 

After I remove the cover the lies you told are clear 

So I've just one demand. 

 

Please sir, next time drill into yourself show us all the scam. 

I do not regret knowing you, I regret that our friendship was a sham.