Impulsive Grips

Feeling things is like,

Feeling things,

I don't like feelings, oh impulses where are you?

I miss you so.

The look on my face is distorted,

My eyes betray a soul that is contorted,

I feel like in this nucleus we have more,

Unfortunately it is the eschaton knocking on the door.

Tell me everything will turn out all right,

Tell me it is like this all the time,

But when she didn’t come back that day,

All control was lost and we had nothing

I saw her face in glow of the streetlight,

I knew I’d go before she even budged,

She was glistening like Galadriel,

Hewing into my soul as if being dropped in from above

Looking not to what we have,

I look to what we never had,

I was simple-minded and just a lad,

I was a child in the eyes of Eros.

Daunted I return to the scene,

Her smiling face serene,

Straight off of F. Scott’s pages,

Daisy here in reality’s final stages.

A picture of impulse I was,

Bended knee and head held up,

Staring down at me with doe like eyes

I just need you in my life is what I cried.

I knew nothing but that I loved,

So much in a span of time I created a rift,

I was on cloud nine thanks to her lift

For me reality being left behind was a gift.

Feeling things is like,

What she did to me in no expanse of time,

Impulsively I now walk away,

Wondering why I can’t go back to that day?

I would still be the fool I am,

I would still stand up and take her hand,

I would stare into her eyes, and she would know,

This is one grip that’ll never let go.

The Anarchists Soul

The Anarchist’s Soul is never quiet.

It delves in to the foreboding why?

The wondrous slide of knowledge,

Down the slope of hills built so high.

You may try and hold us back

Suppressing us to hold us down,

To bring us into cells of the void,

White space with no life or noise.

Blinders on full blast in society,

Today’s life a daze unseen,

No longer worrying about reality,

Solely focusing on trivial pursuits.

Looking for reason in all the wrong places,

Fighting the government against its own treason,

For treason verse treason is the name of the season,

Lies, Truths, Fears, and Confidences being poured in our ears.

We will not listen such a constant stream of shit,

We will stand in line waiting to break out,

For when we surge up as the mighty oppressed,

It will be such a blackout you will never forget.

Days will be long and the nights will be cold,

There will be one good thing though,

The relief of the weary, downtrodden, beaten, and old

The joy in knowing out none of us can ever again be sold.

The greedy will die out,

The just will remain in their stead.

The hate of the anarchist soul will turn,

 And become the beauty needed to sleep easy in our beds. 

The Perfect Fit

When you are fallen,

You must find your calling,

Or is there another option,

Is there one in which to drop in

We circle around the drain all day,

Wondering if we make sense of the games we play,

Acting like a shit because it’s all I have,

Spiraling down because the way up brings the drudge

The weary and the tired,

Forever together they are wired,

Forgetting where they need to be,

Only living in the muck of eternity

The thoughtless broken hearted

In the mire of things never started,

Stunting growth, and instantly becoming retarded,

Because failure knows your name and soul

At once I had you as a goal,

Now it is nothing more than an ember on a coal,

Lust overcame love for a fleeting moment,

And it was then I forever knew we’d never be whole

Tell me why oh why do I think at night,

It is the reason I begin to drink at night,

Waking up hung over and up,

On to the new day I must trudge

I am not the downtrodden,

I will not be the forgotten,

But there is one thing I cannot forget,

The fact that you and me could be a perfect fit. 

Judgmental Eyes

When history looks back on us to learn,

They will see the stupidity of a worm,

A beast out of its hovel,

Grasping out only to be squashed by tomorrow's shovel

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

For we are the beaten, the broken, the damned,

We are the culture of phones in hands,

Computers on a lap’s, office's taking naps,

The continuously connected disconnected

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

All of the sudden things once said will have come and gone,

The questions pondered daily will be mindlessly quoted in tomorrow’s songs,

Dylan once said the times are changing,

He just didn’t know it would be forever-long

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

I pray we do not bequeath a future of what is already dead,

A world of Zombies, walking alive yet undead,

Orwell you had it when you taught us creative thinking would die,

Only 1984 has gone and passed you by.

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

Leaving it all in time behind time,

Killing the lessons for a service new and unrefined,

We could have given so much,

Instead we created access to always dichotomize richer and poorer.

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

Dean had it right; we need to dream as if there is a forever,

But dying today became an unacceptable way to live,

We fought and sought for the evermore,

But in this battle we could never settle the score

Why, oh why, do you turn to us with your eyes?

Is it payback for believing our lies?

Constantly seeking a better tomorrow,

And all we have now is constant sorrow,

And now it’s being returned by your judgmental eyes.