Poems: 160213 - February 16th, 2013

[Robert Morpheal]

040213A
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You might be crazy,
but I am trying very hard
to get there too.
Blow my useless mind
and call that breaking free
to the other side.
Follow a song,
and get lost in the lyrics.
That thing called sanity
never did a damn thing for me.
Never got me anywhere
I really wanted to be.
I practiced it
the way virtuosos practice
their instruments.
It always ended
on a sour note.
It never made me one new friend
or a dime to count on.
I know now I did it all wrong,
and I should have gone crazy,
if I wanted to be someone,
among all the crazy people
in this crazy world,
of crazy making craziness.

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040213B
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It is when you have lost
so badly,
you do not even know what win means,
compared to the habit of losing.

A habit you tried to break,
countless times,
but never quite found the knack
as to how to really do it.

You never could even the score,
and come out on top.
They pushed you under
every time you tried to get up.

You didn’t make it as a genius,
and you were no good at playing the fool.
Tried your hand at nothing special
but you failed at that too.

You dream loser dreams,
full of empty streets and factory scenes.
You never found a way out
of the mess where you fell in.

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100213A
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The hardest lesson,
but the most important thing to learn,
is not to ruin anything.

It is all too easy to ruin something,
and generations have been doing that
for countless thousands of years.

So much laying to waste,
and reducing to ruins,
that ruining seems all too normal.

People ruining each other’s lives,
and building upon layers of ruins,
as if civilization depends on that.

One good ruin leads to another,
until everything is completely ruined.
Then the excavations of history begin.

Building up the tearing down,
as if something has to be slain
for anything new to be born.

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160213A
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I came for you,
but you were never there,
when I came for you.

Eventually it was too late,
and we were stricken off the list,
as being another type of illusion.

I thought I saw you,
somewhere across the street,
but the traffic light stopped me.

Something always stops me,
when I feel like breaking loose,
from all that keeps me in my place.

I keep looking for you
in perfect moments of the past,
as if I could paint us both into the picture.

Everyone else keeps making big claims,
about how very important they all are,
but I cannot claim anything that large.

We should have eloped together,
avoiding any notice and intervention,
by either material religion or the paternal state.

I would have put a spell on you,
if I had been able to remain irrational enough,
so as to believe in such unnatural means.

You failed to recognize me,
when I did not bring any shiny new objects,
and someone else mistook me for a crow.

You could have set me completely free,
if you had chosen to make yourself my prisoner,
but you could not enjoy that type of bondage.

It meant you would have to tie me up,
in various ways, never to be free of me.
Perhaps fearing that that would cause hate.

Having paralyzed all of my intentions,
you no longer wanted to care for me,
making you rip the bandages from my wounds.

You wanted my flesh to dissolve,
washing away everything else that had touched me,
removing everything that had been soiled.

I wanted to pull you into me, before letting go,
the way the earth pulls in water,
mixing it all together, so that nothing is untouched.

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