Sunday, October 15, 2017

a sunny beam



oh love i love you
do you love me may
i count the fucking
way?

or compare thy
pretty
poisons to a perfect
sunny day?

who would buy it
if one chose to be
sincere?

or pointed out the
truth that all of life
is quite unclear?

oh love i love thee
hate thee may i forgot
the ways to count?

or


 compare thee to a
mystery which still
haunts
in vast amounts.

nevermind...

(you are a sunny
beam.)


all the worlds a stage.

all the worlds a stage.
++++++++++++++++

all the worlds a stage he
said.

just play the greatest part
you can..

and remember the books
you read.

(that taught you how to
be a "man.")

to be or not..

I AM.

a collection of Random and
Intended Thoughts!!

(which save or
damn.)

all the worlds a stage
he said...

but lately It seems...

like
The Stage is
Dead,

and I
AM Living
Out Dreams!

(repetitively
in My Head.)

jsh

a Certain Tool.

a certain tool.
+++++++++++++

why put meaning(s) in
collective jars?

to

sit upon your shelf of
selves.

how can you reach the
stars?

(what if they shine
for Hell?)

abandon certainty
ye
who enter here.

for
faith is not a certain
tool;

but cloak to wear when
it's unclear!

(and most who wear
it
play The Fool.)

jsh






unearthing the grave of innocence


unearthing the grave
of innocence.
++++++++++++

the Mirror
Smiles
at My Frown.

(discontent
with Every
Audience.)

as I
Seek

"The
Upside
Down."

(To Unearth
The
Grave of
Innocence.)

+

and
what of
The Shadow
passing by?

(looking
in My
Window.)

It
gets
Hungrier
when
I Cry!

(should
I Lead,
or
Blindly
Follow?)

+

My Soul
has
known

The End
Before.

and
will know
The End
Again;

has
Knocked
Upon

That
Broken
Door!

(Unopened
By A
Friend.)

yet
The Mirror
only

smiles at
My Frown,

agreeing
with The
Audience,

that
I Am
from
The Upside
Down.

(Born In
The Grave
of
Innocence.)

jsh










Thursday, October 12, 2017

a letter to the editor of self.


a letter to the editor of self.
++++++++++++++++++++++

Considering the
absurdity
of your statements sir,

I must
assume that you're
insane;

how is it possible for
Anyone
to Live Death in Reverse?

(would the End not be The
Same?)

I've met your type
before.

Silent and weak
though A
Veil of Mystery makes
you
seem Interesting;

yet every time you
Speak
I Swallow Nails!

(Without
Digesting.)

considering the absurdity
of
my thoughts

i can only
assume...

that i'm going
insane...

for how can any
Dream flourish
as

it Rots?!!

(does it all not
Feel The Same?)





riding that fabled snake.

riding that fabled snake.
+++++++++++++++

i'm not half
baked,
i'm whole baked.

riding
the fabled
snake;

through dreams of
love
and hate and death

i
feel when i'm
awake.

+

you
may have
thought
the

world was
round,

but its just
a
Scrambled Egg,

that Shattered
Into Light
and Sound.

(when The
Actor
Broke His Leg.)
+

i'm not
Insane

i'm
OUTSANE;

a
Puppet
Without
Stage,...

or Demon
of Neurotic
Type

Who Loaths
This Modern
Age!!

You
might have
thought
me One
of Us..

and
Once
I May
Have
Cared,

but
lately I've
felt
Ominous

as if
An Absence
Haunts
My Stare!

+

I'm not
Dead

I'm
Undead...

riding that
Fabled Snake.

(Somewhere
in My Head.)

jsh








Wednesday, February 22, 2017

rivers of denial



ever spend
hours
searching
for the perfect
words?

only to be
made
speechless
by a smile?

or
listened to
the
Laughter of
A
Clown?

(while weeping
rivers
of Denial.)