Category Archives: Critical

More than a Glance

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(Written at the age of 12)

My sight is blurred, my emotions are stirred, I cannot believe the events that occurred.

Gun shots are all I’ve heard, for the past day. How can I find my way back to how I used to feel?

Here I am about to steal the shoes off a dead man. He should have ran when he had the chance. Not even looking back to take a glance. But now he is there lying in a permanent stance.

All I can taste and see is dirt and smoke. I’ve forgotten how to joke. Smiles are gone, and frightened off all faces in this poor war.

I’ve fallen away from all of this, in my mind I am lost.

 All I want is some serenity. But, the shots keep firing. I keep tiring of all the death.

I knew this would take a toll on me. I can still see the war as it used to be.

Sonnet Intuitions

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(Written at the age of 12)

Are we really ready for something more?

Something that shows us who we truly are?

Use your pretty key to open the door.

Behind it will be the inspiring star.

The world; mysteriously shaken.

By strong forces that control our true fate.

Old idea’s and beliefs shattered, taken.

Emotions scattered in a confused state.

Finding the door is just looking within.

Then you will know how things happen and why.

Once we realize, it can truly begin.

Answers lay here, no need to search the sky.

See the future in very clear visions.

Follow your heart, use your intuitions.

SKINNED APPLE

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Bonfire grows, guitar strums, the river in the distance flows; water-sound hums.

Mother nature giver; enhances us fatter, round woes drum.

Trances brain-batter, society clatters, climbing up irreverent ladders, fumble down our paths, forget our original calves, letting go of our primitive halves.

Craving mouths open agape, wondering ?where? we come from. . . down the lake.

Importance transforms to impotence; dependent on the industrial world, destiny curled. . . curtailed by the wind of capitalism.

No longer free; to the woods we sinned, to the forest we abandoned, to the jungle as our greatest smuggle.

No elements to snuggle our skin; lost, bare: skinned apple, mutated pear.

At one last tree we finally stare; wondering ?what? it used to be like to have long hair, cradling nature as our nurture in one.

Earth becoming a dry perth, burnt by the sun.

If you have enough power in your smog-filled lung, stand up as trees turn to log, hog turns to meat-slab, crab vanishes from the sea, plea to the corporate democracy that all this demolishing is insanity.

Open your mind ?what? world would you rather enter, we hunt behind closed factory doors with electric shock tools, in place of our innate kindness we must implement rules.

We manipulate our world to be too easy, our instincts sloppy, our reflexes queasy.

Productive Rest

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Humble productivity results from rest.
No boastful benefits will be seen, only a subtle reflection in your wellbeing.
The crazy rushed world strips rosy cheeks of color.
The guilt of the lazy eats their own health alive.
From the inside out, stress cannibalizes its owner. 
Lower motives for a respite and reprieve.
Do not learn to resent yourself for things you were taught to believe about racing for an endless cause to feed someone else’s greed. 
Move when you see fit, for a cause to end in dead bulbs re-lit.
For now, take time to sleep, rest, enjoy.
For then, you’ll be ready when your dreams deploy.

Castle of Mist

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We are wandering in a maze of empty motives, infertile soil, superficial determination.
Adamant over a droplet, floating over a sea of salt.
Courageous for water crackers,
forceful for feathers.
Caring over empty craters,
cowering under mindless debaters.  
Water a bare patch of soil while the fake fluorescent sun blinds with its watts.
Dedicated to a vanishing world, overrun with marketed thoughts.
Convinced to give up dreams, in favor of a false world and hollow word.
Chatter and clamor about immaterial, never to manifest concepts.

Effort for Wind.
Drifting directives, belief in meaningfulness invented out of nothingness.
A castle built of Mist. Defend it as though it is made of Diamond.
As though it holds a secret purpose no one knows. That no one will ever know.
Diamonds invisibly floating in the mist,
coating us with incandescent polish, so easily wiped off.
Glimmer while you can.
Keep your mind in this place of illusion – inside the lie we gleam.
Inside the lie, we are sane.

Stacks of puffy paper, crinkled edges.
We fight for dull green, wrinkled sheets, dirtied white, we fight.
To break out – Free yourself from the maddening cycle of what you’ve convinced yourself is real.
To realize just the opposite is true.
Your priorities placed for you, on a sheet of melting ice in the Castle of Mist.