The Projection

Do not become lost
In this projection
This hologram
The unequivocal divine
Within your chest
Was thence spoken of
By sages
In ancient lands.
Foreign tongues
Spoke honey-imbued symphonies
Of essential truths.
These
These truths
Become unforeign
When correct understanding
Erases that
Prior
Sense of alienated woe.
Thus,
Sorrow
Does not exist
Outside
The projection
Where
Wandering souls
Remain entrapped.

These Words

In the crevices
Of formal communique
Lurks
A deep despair
A lonely lament
These words
We use
Shelter us.
We hide behind
These words.
Syllabic melancholy
We have so much
To say
Yet,
These words
Are a barricade
Fallacious
Fictitious
Inside these words;
False idols.
Outside these words;
Buried intentions.
Below these words;
Hollowed hope.
Above these words;
Spared emotion.
These words
Can be plastic
Can be cruel
Because NO true meaning
Is to be found
In this formal communique
Though veracity
May leak
Perhaps,
Seep
From the corners
Of inflection
Though veracity
May emanate
Perhaps,
Vibrate
From the chords
Of tone
Siphoning through
Excessive verbiage
Perhaps,
A shred of truth
Can be found.
That molecule
Of connection
Is a shimmering jewel
In this hell
Of plasticity
We must grasp
With all fortitude
To this shred
Of truth.
Perhaps, then
These words
Will not have been
Wasted Sound.
Perhaps, then
These words
Will save us
Collective.

From Memory

I wrote of you
Before we met
Here
On this plane.
I felt you
Before we met
Here in this realm.
I touched your lips,
Caressed your face
From memory
Of a distant time.
We are now here
Face to face
Yet, this 'here'
Was once
'There'
In a distant time.
Whether this life
Or the next
I shall remember
The way you feel
From memory.

These Ideologies

If these ideologies
Make us kill
Our brethren
Are we not insane?
Different vibrations
Of one energy source
We seek to silence
Only ourselves
By silencing the 'others'
Why cannot we see
That 'they'
Are 'we'
And 'us'
Are 'they'
Then, the 'they' in us
May convey
The deeper truth
That exists
Outside
And much farther above
Any limiting
Imprisoning
Catastrophic
Blasphemous
Ideology.
These
These ideologies.
Are we not insane?

The Edge of Sanity

Only at the edge of sanity
Is freedom found
For the 'sanity' of this world
Is insane.
Constricting conformity
Contradicts our essence
The conspicuous conundrum
Yet remains elusive
To the encumbered spirit
Which was never separate
Yet, we feel alone
Disconnected from the source
It need not remain
Our destiny
To be isolated
Separated
Divided
Misguided
Controlled
Limited
Alienated
We are not meant
To be encapsulated
Or encased
In the hell of plasticity.
And, if plastic dreams
Are deemed sane
I would rather skirt the edge
Perhaps, jump that ledge
And I would not fall
But only rise
To a better world.