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@caratacus
Our hopes
Our dreams
For the morrow
Lies broken
and trapped
inside the house, of
Silent sorrow
So you’ll
Pity me
We’ll party not
While our friends
In effort
We forgot
In soothing darkness
With moving air
I quietly creep
Into anything but
Gentle sleep
No longer here
When darkness
blankets Shadows
But soon the sun
And with it comes
The memories, of
being your son
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Battling demons
Battle scars
They reach
They stretch
These cracks
Across the stars
They’ll take a lifetime to heal
So long will they last
It won’t be until death comes
That they seal
Love letter to tequila
I was never a tequila drinker. That feeling you get, when you feel like you’re about to throw up, some people get that after getting sick on a particular type of alcohol. Just the smell of that particular type of drink sets them off. I’d never drank tequila and yet, when I smelled it, it was as if I’d had many bad nights suffering from its ill effects. Until I had good tequila. Now I long for it. Much like I have always longed for the Southwest. Dry, exquisite desolation, where tequila is the rain. The elixir that balances my soul as much as it slakes my thirst. It is both the fire on the cool desert night and the cool desert night that quenches my overheating body in hot scorching sun. I’ve never been much of a drinker. It’s never much agreed with me. Instantaneous headaches, general malaise. Anything related to misery comes to mind. But now I am concerned, after all these years abstaining, I may have developed an unhealthy obsession with a liquid that transports me to that romanticized region of copper, green cacti, viridian, gold, rose and all the magnificent hues at sunrise and sunset. Those things that our senses and brains have evolved to awaken the soul, set it afire, and make the heart ache; burning into mind a haunting memory of constant yearning. Heaven is Zion.
I went in search of a woman
To barter for your life
pent up inside myself
With courage and desperation
The wind could not carry it away
My rage
tore out the marker
From a little girl’s grave
While making promises of monuments
And golden guarantees
My search coming to an end
I return once again
To find I’m too late
You’ve left while I was gone
I’ve nothing left I can do
Except drop to my knees
In the driving rain
On the steps of where you slept
Your last night
I put my bullet
In my coat chest pocket
Where maybe love
Might outweigh revenge
There’s a horse
Tied up outside
Where two paths cross
In the dead of night
The saddle is on
The reigns held tight
Time to make my choice
I’m on the path to the light
Now I’m heading
I don’t know where
It’s new moon ignorance
In the dead of night
I’ve got my heart full of faith
To keep me right
But there’s an itch in my finger
It’s vengeance I figure
The back of my minds gone dry
It needs something to slake its thirst
The blood of my enemies ought to satiate
My dying self control
Next thing I know I’m staring straight down the beaten path
Thought I’d be breaking trail
In this moonless night
But here I am heading for that same ol’ story.
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Pain and isolation
Over stimulation
Seek out
Time and place
To live alone
Away from everyone
A way to keep
From coming undone
Sometimes the pressure lifts
Others buried,
Pressed into
A painful, sorrowful
Position
Pain in isolation
Yearning for spring
To be free outside
Alone
But the poison’s in the air
It’s everywhere
Like the smoke in the summer
Until the fall
When the grey returns
Before darkness
Fills the hours
There’s no escape
From abundance of knowledge
And inability to action
Is this how Cassandra felt?
Words
When you need em most
Seem just out of reach
Other times
When I have nothing to say
Except to rhyme
I can talk on and on
Endlessly
Without saying anything
Oh I can suffer from storieosis
So many points to be made
Interconnected (but only)
Inside my brain
How to paint the picture
Connecting the dots
When I can’t seem to put my finger
On the spot
Yet when it comes time
To say one simple thing
Some grand thing
There are no words
What should be three
maybe four words
Have none
And I die
Inside
It’s probably for the best
We don’t revel in the past
Focusing on yesterday
Is looking the wrong way
When you finally came around
Well it was too late for me
I finally had the blinds
Pulled away
Yet not for free
But I couldn’t let you go
Not without seeing
What it felt like to be
The one who (finally) got to
Kiss you
Now I know
What it’s like
To be the one to confuse
An honest heart
(This honest heart)
That was built for me
I finally know
What it’s like
To break an honest heart
That was meant for me
Oh confusion
Runs around
Confusion
Knows no bounds
Oh confusion
Thinks it gets around
Confusion
Doesn’t want to
settle down
What do you do
When the first kiss
Is the last kiss (goodbye)
On a cold winter night
When she looks up at you
With tears in her eyes
You gotta let go
When you know
It’s not right
You gotta let go
Don’t let her on
Just let her get on
Don’t let her on
You know you gotta
Just let her go
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.
- Irish Headstone
Every day above ground
Is a day stolen from death
I see the clock
on the wall
Numbers
Lit up
Something
In existence
While others remain(s)
Gone
(Are buried)
Returned to nothingness
Every day above ground
Is a reason to celebrate
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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An apparition
Partitioned
Us apart
Was it one night
Or many more
That this ghoul
Did feast upon
My soul
My love for you
And everything else
Consumed
While still within
My shell
Emptied of all my cares
And compassion
How could I feel nothing
While my heart was ripped to shreds
We were both oblivious
For so long after
I’ve been curious
No
Plagued
By a mystery
I haven’t been able to solve
The root of both problems
I’ve had my give a shit silently stolen
Right from within my guts
What’s left when you’re empty inside
Apathy is all I can say
When All I can feel is
Nothing
So I turn
Into a ghost
Disappearing from you
While I search for meaning
It should be easy to find your keys
In an empty room
it's really hard to say i love you
She would speak out loud,
As if she were speaking to a crowd,
But the voices were all inside her head,
And the ones she talked to were a long time dead.
nobody honors the dead more than poets do
on a cliff top facing the sea I am in the waves beating a melody sirens weary of the same song wander peaceful and strong senseless as the ring stones where the Celtic ivy still grows i gave you the last word and now everybody knows. =====================
2021!
With the first link, the chain is forged. The first speech censured, the first thought forbidden, the first freedom denied, chains us all irrevocably.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
— unknown; the longevity of life and love (via theblob1958)
“October 17, 1946
D’Arline,
I adore you, sweetheart.
I know how much you like to hear that — but I don’t only write it because you like it — I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you.
It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you — almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.
But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.
I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead — but I still want to comfort and take care of you — and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you — I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together — or learn Chinese — or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures.
When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true — you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else — but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.
I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I — I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone — but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real.
My darling wife, I do adore you.
I love my wife. My wife is dead.
Rich
PS Please excuse my not mailing this — but I don’t know your new address.”
- Richard Feynman
