Poems: 300423 - April 30th, 2023

[Robert Morpheal]

240423A
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The type of morning
within the classification system
as to the types of mornings
and awaken to a feeling
so extremely sad
that you only want to cry
not having any idea why.

It has failed to conform
to any actual clinical criteria
so you keep it to yourself
among all the other secrets
that are most of what passes
as definitive of your existence
between exclamatory assertions.

Particularly the sort that defy you
and prevent going back to sleep
where there was something left
of what seemed comfortable
and almost feeling natural
compared to so very out of place
and socially awkward.

Interspersing behaviour patterns
that try not to look too suspicious
in the prevailing climate
of increasing oppression
that passes as the slash pendulums
that come with political change
sliding across your little pit.

You awakened from a dream
that was as alright as any
into a world that never is
but that is only a part of it
because it usually happens
as to the reality and meaning
of any sort of awakening.

You would rather go on sleeping
instead of conforming
in those austere and severe ways
that make some popular
as dilettante bits of smirch
rather than being erased completely
after being made a spectacle.

The only crowds you ever know
are the usual sort of crowds
that show up to anticipate the fall
of a tightrope walker
starved by the length of the wire
and continually terrorized
by the shortness of life.

Then again it is not any of that
buttery mass from the churning
labelled as over think
getting in the way of muscled
build ups of mass attractions
from which you are the wayward
secretly broken thing.

Something has happened
and you do not know what it is
but you might never know
what it was or might really be
because it is simply that feeling
sometimes comes with awakening
to something far less than a dream.

You wish you really could
live your very own dream
the way those others live theirs
but it is never that simple or clear
as to what will come to you
when you go your own way
because you are not of that crowd.

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240423B
-----------

Life is mostly the never found
of the reasonably thought of
in the spaces that are in between
what is missing between spaces
where we fill something in
to take the place of any longings
in chanced and make do ways.

Habitually referring to emptiness
as being something more full
and denying anything being empty
in our having become victims
to that ongoing war on discontent
where everyone is to play a part
in another perpetual war effort.

Maybe I do dream of you
and maybe you do dream of me
in that place of never meet
being dreams of the never know
outside the difficult boundaries
separating one reality from the others
in the constant of mix ups.

It is a fact I never met anyone
that I ever imagined actually meeting
in any of those situations
that I would have liked to meet in
and all my attempts were cancelled
as to finding or creating the scenery
for any such act on any such stage.

How the theatre of the absurd begins
in too many usual and common ways
doing what makes no real sense
as if it has a much larger significance
and trying to convince ourselves
that the routine gestures are important
to having some sort of future.

Too late when we finally discover
that it is never really that way
and that perhaps we really were
under the spell of an evil magician
in the course of all those attempts
to defeat an unbeatable futility
at games where no one ever wins.

Eventually to make the discovery
as to that other ugly truth
that there is no actual future
unless one is willing to believe
and to live the lie of a future
some evil genius constructed
for one to slide straight into.

Even the scoreboards are all lies
designed to keep you playing
because it uses up time and energy
for which there is no other use
and if you think you are winning
it is never any sort of real prize
that actually lured you to try for it.

The experience that you get
is never the experience that you want
no matter which way you turn it
something revises the plot
and the sequence gets cut
leaving you with what was in mind
as limited as outtakes.

You become discarded splices
dropped to the cutting room floor
turned into shambles of moments
that could never be played out
because you were blocked access
to that part of the reality matrix
where other fictions actually live.

They are living on that plot line
that you auditioned for
but you never got the part
and your demo reel never chanced
to be able to include any bits
demonstrating what is wanted
but you know it once was.

--------------------------------

240423C
-----------

The idea of going somewhere
has its illusory continued appeal
despite a long litany of experience
that accurately predicts the same
degree of perpetual disappointments.

The problems of time and space
being magnified so very large
while the gods play dice games
that make for infinite combinations
excepting any that are really wanted.

It does not matter what you want
because the tease is always the same
as to the highs and the lows of it all
in the gone under and over ways
that it always tends to work out.

You can work at it forever and more
to getting nowhere at all
because working at it is never enough
and you are always left to needing
whatever you do not have.

Something is always missing
and even if you know what it is
it does not matter a tiny tinker's damn
in the habitual trends of over think
between the really know and the not.

We go that way perhaps until gone
and no one can ever really win
at any of the numbers games
but some make believe and pretend
to make it seem alright in the end.

The statistics of experience convince us
that we do not really count as anything
to anyone we might have wanted
to count us in and in any such ways
that we would have appreciated.

We will always end up at something
quite different and sometimes it is
actually a passably good time
in the ways that time passes in places
that we try to make more comfortable.

Then realizing there is no real chance
that we will ever be experienced
as an old song becomes a private lament
about the absurd things we could do
compared to the things we could not do.

It has nothing whatever to do with trying
is the other rule that defies our acceptance
but you can try all that you like
to get to the same sort of nowhere
and nothing really to do with it.

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240423D
-----------

We sometimes linger in that memory
of how it was to climb up
only to slide down again
fearing where feet thud against earth.

And sometimes we begin to wonder
about the impossible way up
but wanting to get to somewhere
to slide down into the comfortable.

As if someone desirable might be there
down at the bottom of the slide
who might actually catch us
rather than hard cold rutted out earth.

The feeling that there is no one up there
on that cruel lonely climb up that tower
toward that sky that is the limit
and always feeling the same pull down.

As if there is somewhere to go
when you actually get there
where there is that someone
you always wanted to know.

When you get there you find
they only want to play with you
but it is never your game
that they are willing to play.

You had to be there much sooner
and had to stay there much longer
but that is never the case
as that also costs far too much.

So you scramble to the top again
and then you slide down
until it becomes a routine thing
and all the thrill is gone.

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280423A
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Searching for those clues
for solving an ultimate mystery
without knowing anything
as to what the mystery really is.

Or why it is is worth solving
but you have to do something
and you are given that to do
even if nothing else.

So you are given to pretending
it is that one deep mystery
that you always wanted to solve
even if it is not anything really.

You can go on like that
and sometimes people believe you
paying their respects
to the poorest of choices.

They are as quick to ignore
what you thought any better of
and they never really want you
where you wanted to be wanted.

They never really want you
how you wanted to be wanted
and they want some other thing
that they imagine you could be.

You feel you need someone
but you feel weary of them all
playing you for the fool
that you have to pretend to be.

You do not know what to let go
when there is nothing else
to really hold on to
and time is always running out.

It was never really last time
and it is never really this time
but everyone has their deep mystery
that is different from yours.

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280423B
-----------

Maybe there was more to it
but something was taken away
and you can never really know
what that might have been.

You never have what it takes
and what you have is not wanted
within the shifting probabilities
that make up randomized lives.

It becomes the same bad luck
even when it is something different
and the only thing left to do
is those similar sorts of mistakes.

You move on down the line
to where you will not be recognized
in any more embarrassing ways
as to the usual fetch and carry crowds.

There is only some more depletion
where you were not already deleted
from the usual lists of names
that are only there to be ignored.

Where did all your chances go
along the long hither and thither
always hoped for the better
but that was never what came.

They always said it was so easy
but actually it proved too difficult
to die to so much in so many ways
for what you never really get.

You cannot get there from here
is the way that map tends to read
and you feel you should give up
trying to go anywhere at all.

There is no point getting out there
to all those contrary outcomes
and the pointless conversations
that are a scratch from the roster.

It is only another circle game
knowing it is none of your business
and it never really was
more than someone's dirty scheme.

You are always out of your place
but you can never be in it again
to your own or anyone's satisfaction
in how everything is arranged.

If you cannot own it yourself
life proves there is no point
and someone always takes away
what you never actually had.

There is really no way out
of the sort of bind you are in
where the end is the beginning
and the beginning is the end.

You made the usual errors
of trying to start and start again
until it all got worn out
wearing you out with it.

You will not find it anymore
because they stopped making them
at least stopped making them that way
and none of the replacements fit.

You become nostalgic
about the appeal of bits of history
that moderns neither live nor practice
but that does not appeal to you at all.

You could throw it all away
because some of it meant too much
and you hoped for better
than left at nothing to anyone else.

What is the matter now
that was not the same matter before
but you hardly really know
what the matter always is.

Seems everyone has gone on
and all you want to do is to retreat
to somewhere before your own time
rather than the way that it is.

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280423C
-----------

We wear ourselves down
in the go around habits
that secretly look for whatever
we never really find.

In cities full of such places
and I too used to sit by the window
waiting for I never knew what
that never really arrived.

It is that difficult sometimes
and the white light is too painful
because it is not really anything
as to any part of any spectrum.

That huge blur into nothing
and in particular nothing for you
as to that white light haze
that covers over everything same.

I never sit there anymore
and I no longer know anywhere
where I can take that sort of pain
in those sorts of common doses.

I hear of various remedies to that
but do not know the right people
and somehow missed out
on any of those invitations.

More of those same words
that I do not need or want to hear
having nothing to do with me
and some other's lucky charms.

I do not know anywhere anymore
where it is anything different
and eventually one abandons
any such indefensible stand.

That sort of siege without relief
and another waitress comes along
responding to an order
while gathering up the emptiness.

I was only there to meet someone
but they never actually arrived
and that seems to be how it is
as to how that game is now played.

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280423D
-----------

Public invites that do not interest
feel like they are paper cuts
sliding across the eyes
leaving slits of historical vision
as to what did not work out.

Another sort of snow blindness
blinding the eyes with unspeakable
and more ordinary sorts of longings
railing against the white spaces
that offer no real and true openings.

It is all completely closed up
despite those sparse instances
where you can walk in
and you can look around
in the process of finding out.

There used to be something there
where there is nothing anymore
and the history of what was there
has become too difficult to endure
as anything but more erasures.

A blanked out sort of sensibility
that offers no further details
except no one does that anymore
and we are made the losers
put out into an ordinary misery.

Nothing noteworthy in that
except a feeling of going somewhere
that no longer actually exists
to be left to feeling totally vacant
right down deep and all inside.

You find you were replaced
in every other sort of life
by someone or something other
but you can never really replace
what you lost or never had.

That makes you very special
in the most extraordinary ways
left to sifting strayed impressions
that all amount to nothing
as they were never meant for you.

Never really meant for you
but you imagined a feeling
and you added in your meaning
to what was never really there
in the battle against nothingness.

You are never actually the being
that you could ever want to be
leaves you the odd one feeling out
on the fringes of a scene
that you can never get to play.

Someone else got all the parts
and there was no place left for you
in that or any other script
that you could ever want to play
so you get ushered out.

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280423E
-----------

I have seen the countryside
stretching for what seems forever
bright of the early of Spring
and the blossoming of everything
except for my own life
which is urged to give up
on such futile journeys being born
from what they cannot find.

Patience has fallen away now
same as the petals of blossom trees
torn away and dropped in abandon
in all the making of so restless
conditions of abandonment
tumble shack structures
falling in on their lonely standing
ground that is passed over and lost.

Being an ever more restless creature
that most would do well to avoid
far from any such need
and further from ordinary desires
having nothing truly in common
as to how those would pass time
making sense of that senselessness
in an undisturbed contentment.

If there was somewhere to stop
that would have made any difference
I never knew of it anywhere
and it was only a passing through
your world of smiles and strangers
where there is nothing to stop for
along that hopeless form of pursuit
that cannot pursue anything.

Capturing it as faithfully as possible
the way that a captain makes entries
into a daily journal of progress
but with no such specific aims
and never really knowing the port
where I might choose to tie and berth
for anything that is a semblance
to passing as pleasant shore leave.

I never found and do not know any
as to that sort of ordinary living
in ghosting a way across haunts
along your far and distant horizons
knowing no real understanding
anymore than being condemned
to strangely different languages
garbling up any real intimacy.

I no longer really understand you
and you no longer understand me
in your never having felt anything
of my sorts of loneliness
made lonelier by your pastimes
where I can only be an onlooker
on the verge of every estrangement
to your lines of usual business.

There proved to be nothing for me
and no one to really share it with
in all those constraints being imposed
on imaginary realms of possibilities
whether reasonable or not
within any larger schemes of things
beyond the more typical manifests
of tawdry sorts of usual commerce

Perhaps I was left to wanting
for what no one else really wants
and no matter what that really is
because it is all the very same
and so I watch the blossoms
burnt to brown in the sunlight
dropping their white dresses
to brown earth beneath.

It seems too late for that too
and I cannot imagine anymore
how to really feel free anymore
apart from the usual tragedies
that seek to always take away
what has never yet been given
except as something imaginary
as if in some far too distant place.

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