Running Late

Somehow it doesn't matter, you see.

As vague as that might have sounded, it is what's 'ultimate' right now. Did I come to be as a culmination of chaos? Does my perception distort reality to such a degree that it is incomprehensible to any fellow Homo sapiens (if in fact they are real)? Does my significance actually amount to nothing? Do my values, my beliefs matter even on the smallest, tiniest scale? Is my infinitesimally 'tiny' self ever going to make a difference? I don't know. So, it doesn't matter, you see - truth doesn't matter at all anymore.

There is a void inside of me like a collapsing novae. Sucking everything in as it crumbles seemingly into non-existence. One day, maybe today or tomorrow or the day after and just like a star does, it is going to explode. Someday, I am going to be so over-whelmed by my own consciousness that the heaven watch in awe (perhaps, or perhaps in silence) as my pathetic non-existence cries out one last time for a brief moment of acknowledgement as I burn out into a secluded, ominous form - hollow, feared and loathed. But, that doesn't matter either. Someday I am going to die. Or, am I already?

The night sky glitters all the same. It is enticing at the least. It gives me a smile - depreciating maybe but a moment of awe in which I find myself drawn into staring at them, looking at them and realizing - just getting a hint of how passionate they are over what they do is worth the mockery I sustain myself. And, who is to say it matters anyways? Betelgeuse might already have said her last words. Orion nebulae might already have harbored life. And, somewhere some really intelligent civilization might be looking over our little planet - our dear Earth's past version, in her teens as vanity reigns her and she tries to take over the bears' home. Maybe she will survive long enough to freeze over even but I won't be around. No, I won't be around as the ones looking over us decide to pose as 'God' one more time or when our Sun decides his daughter is getting a bit too vain and puts a stop to her advances. So may possibilities and yet the only thing I can be certain of is that my conscious mind will never be able to see what really happens. Maybe nobody (humans, at least) is that lucky. So, you see, it doesn't matter.

I am but a mere human, separated by the rest of life-form by a power to contemplate, to imagine. That's it. No entirity of anything. No truth for me, for us. We are dead inside and it will reflect out soon.

Searching

I have lost my way.

Waking up just like I do everyday,
Sometime a bit later than I usually do,
I watch the world through the window pane,
A world where I once grew.

The sights are enticing, nay!
The sights now bring to me sorrow,
The people I see through the window pane,
Were the same the day before and tomorrow,

What is lost, what isn't there anymore,
What ceased to exist - the fear won't go until -
The query is made - the 'why' with a different plot,
Why am I alive, why am I breathing still?

What is there to this grandeur,
Contemplation if it is not?
What is to life or living even,
If it's all pain and naught?

I need a way out,
Even if in endless strife,
For the joy in living lives only,
If there is a life.

Besotted

"You know nothing of fear, my friend",
He said as he sat sighing beside me,
"Fear of death you mumble till you end"
"Yet no fear could be as frightening -
As losing she.

"She speaks so soft - an angel you'd wonder,
And smile so pure onto your face joy it brings,
The song no words the choir can but ponder,
And her face when you see, you heart sings"

I smile unknown to him that I can but laugh,
At the delusions this man carries,
He will see how little she is, soon enough
Or maybe once he marries - she.

"You know nothing of love, my brother"
He speaks on with his heart, out loud.
He claims, "Love is she - "
"Blessed onto me",
And his songs of her, fill the air,
As he smiles with a face so proud.

She, a goddess if you may, is mortal,
Your love is, your life is but a blur,
She is nothing more than mediocre,
She is not love, not joy, not immemorial.

She is a human, like then all,
Insignificant - equal.
Love is no time, love ends the same,
Love is but a passion's game.

The Goddess of Love

So fair when seen from Earth,
Up close this goddess is hideous.

Fuddle

The sobriety of the delusions that surround us,
Among the chaos that sound beside me,
Of a hundred men making a redundant fuss,
The shadows of death is all that we see.

Within the sanity, a voice can be heared,
Within us, though, silence clings on to be,
And, we laugh at a love that we cherised upon a time,
The joke, the humor is all I can see.

But, hold me one more time, just once my heart,
Let the light fade as we all vanish into darkness,
And, the shadows of those men overtake our sobs,
As we cower into the disparity we harnessed.

Know what I am - yes, that is all that counts,
The sorrow is evident in your eyes,
And, let this be known, as the departure mounts,
We are, at last, free of the lies -
Of a love and of the illusions of care,
As, at each other, we hopelessly stare,
Into a sound that within us rings
And, at the memories, all the memories the longing brings.