Engine Grind awAy

Don't move to stop it. There's no need.
Just watch the engine grind away.
It'll never hold together,
it's been too late for years,
just waiting for this mess to break down.
Did you think there was hope for you?
Did you think you could just "get out?"
Did you think one fine day you'd...

No kid,
you're in for the duration.
You're here until the Darkness swallow you whole.
Look, just look how sunny it is, today.
Did you think it shine for you?
Just watch that engine grind away.
Hear it cough every three seconds?
It won't keep those lights on much longer.

We know your dirty little secret.
(No, not that one. Not the one you're thinking.)
You think you're gonna drown it out,
keep it out of sight?
Just watch that engine grind away.
It's got some time left, sure.
You've got time to think, not much more.
Hear it cough every three seconds?

Listen to the water running,
drop by drop till it's gone all.
We want you to be one of us.
Is that so hard?
You won't have a choice for long,
not long, not so very long.
Why not come willingly?
Not so very very long...

Just let it go.
You know you can't hold on forever.
See the lights all flicker,
already, dark now light.
Just watch that engine grind away.
Give up that hope.
Give up it all away.
We'll have you soon enough.

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(Photo credit: "Darkness" from Photographs Hunter on Flickr)

Why You Never See Poetry Online

"You can't write poetry online," they say,
"There's no market for it."
Craven, knee-padded, cowardly, unimaginative pricks.
(They're all a bunch of limp-wristed jagoffs,
if you ask me.
They're just afraid of the comment section.)
Put your money where your mouth is, you lousy bums,
unless you're too busy sucking Robert Frost's dick!

"Oh God, technology's so alienating," they say,
"We just can't say what we mean anymore."
Well, lemme tell you something kid:
don't write a damn poem if you're scared to say what you mean.
Not in the twenty-first fucking century.
What, are you scared you'll piss somebody off?
Scared you'll hit a nerve?
Scared you might have to start caring?

"I tried my best, I really did," they say,
"These people... they just didn't understand my genius!"
Look at you. You're pathetic.
(Don't worry, I mean them, not you.
You're special, of course, and women can have penises, and whatever.)
Don't pretend to try if you're not gonna do the damn thing.
If you're a genius, be a genius,
and make it look easy for the rest.

"I just don't have time," they say,
"I don't have time and I get so tired."
You wanna hear the truth?
You're a coward, and you know it.
You wouldn't still be here if it wasn't true.
You're scared to take charge of your own life,
and it's why you like hearing me talk this way.
It's nice to hear somebody say what you're always thinking.

"But you're wrong," they say,
"You don't know the first thing about me."
True. But I know your kind.
Too scared to stand up for yourself, right?
I know your kind. I hang their heads
over my fireplace.
Silent. Weak. Passive.
Too scared to speak up and defend themselves.

"You can't write poetry online," they say,
"There's no market for it."
Bleating sheep getting led over a cliff...
If you can get your lips off of Robert Frost's cock
for a solid five seconds, do me a favor:
make this go viral. Make it explode.
Be part of something amazing.
It would make me very happy.

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(Photo credit: "internet" from x61.com.ar on Flickr)

Collapse

And if it breaks, it will not start again.
It turns the days and marks the tune of time,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

All struggle's struggle's sake, and it's in vain,
this thing we've built of stone on slipping slime,
and if it breaks, it will not start again.

See wheels all turning, newsmen with their spin.
Though it may rise up to the heights sublime,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

See farmers in the fields, who grow the grain,
who hold it till the start of wintertime;
see if they break, they will not rise again.

Though some would say it suns on Adam's sin,
while others blame the rich men for the crime,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

The ending is contained when it begins,
the engine thrummed before I set to rhyme,
and if it breaks, it will not start again.
The motor runs a race it will not win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Collapse" from russellstreet on Flickr)

Ocean

Sit with me a while,
here by the peaceful waves,
the gentle rolling waves
that never ever end.
Just think,
they were rolling in when you were born,
and they'll be rolling out when you go.
There's a comfort in that, I think.

Sit with me a little while,
and remember when you were a child.
You never doubted then,
never questioned life's goodness
or regretted its start.
There were a million new things,
every day so bright,
every moment so precious.

Sit with me a so-short while,
and try to hold the passing moments.
You can bring back the wonder,
rediscover the beauty,
and see with child's eyes once more.
You can live an adventure again.
You can win back that innocence
and make every day amazing.

Stand with me, right here.
We'll explore new lands,
discover new treasures,
and find new friends.
We'll rescue princesses,
prove ourselves worthy,
and celebrate with song and dance
through all the deepening night.

Run with me, right now!
Run to the ends of the earth,
and find what sets your blood boiling.
Fight. Win. Struggle.
Victory at any cost.
Run to the rising dawn and win!
This life is worth living.
This life is worth winning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "ocean" from Chris Luczkow on Flickr)

At the Walls

Fade to the end,
come fade with me, here at the end.
I can hear the bells ringing;
they've breached the walls.
Soon will be swords, rattling in the distance,
men shouting, sharp commands.
Before long it will be a rout.

Was there ever time to flee?
It's too late, it's too late.
Mother holds me close
as a woman screams in the distance,
screaming "No," then "Stop," then silence.
I'm glad the screaming stopped.
Mother says I've always been a good boy.

I am afraid.
We hide under the bed,
but I'm afraid the monsters will find us.
She says to stay quiet,
but I can't stop sobbing.
There's banging on the door.
Mother says I've always been a good boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "The Birds" from Rosana Prada on Flickr)

Death Comes For Us All

Let's go fast.
Get it all over with at once.
That's the best thing, dying soon.
There's a fear of death, I'm sure,
but more often than not
what keeps you from ending it
is more the shame of giving up.
If you do yourself in,
it means you couldn't cut it.
You weren't tough enough.
You folded under the pressure.
Do you ever wonder how many of us are here
just because we'd be ashamed to end it?
Come on now, be honest:
is there any goal in life
worth all the tedium of the thing?
Sickening, really, the way life drags on,
the way it's such a superhuman effort
just to be a mediocre hack.
(I'm sure it's painful for you.)
Sometimes I almost wish I'd been a doctor.
I'd love to do assisted suicides.
Send those gentle souls off to oblivion,
one by one.
Save them suffering.

So very humanitarian...

It's all about death, in the end,
making love to that icy quiet death.
That's why you can't commit suicide;
you'd be too easy for death.
Suicide is for sluts.

Be good, then. Be virtuous.
Fight off death till your last breath.
Make it take you by force.
Death comes for us all in the end...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Nude Woman and Grief" from x1klima on Flickr)

Why I Want to Run A Megachurch

Sometimes I think I'd like to be a minister
and run a megachurch.
They make damn good money
and get to make a speech once a week
about how the people who give them the money
are a bunch of thieves, and scoundrels, and hypocrites.
Talk about a sweet gig!
Think about it: you literally get to ride around in a limo
and make piles of dough
for calling people disgusting sinners
who are all personally to blame
for the death of the Son of God,
the most super-holy and pure being that's ever been.

I can't imagine anything better
than being paid to verbally abuse people.
It's even better than getting paid to do nothing.
And all the women, oh Lord have mercy!
My poor long-suffering trophy wife
could indulge the hell out of that victimization complex she's got.
Don't get me wrong, oh sweet Jesus,
I'd try to be good.
I just couldn't resist the temptation
of all these guilt-ridden, deeply repressed,
emotionally scarred women
all coming... to seek the good Lord's sweet-sweet forgiveness.

(And it wouldn't all be hypocritical, you know.
I really, really would feel guilty about my infidelity,
not to mention the whole
"faking belief in God for personal gain" thing.
But I wouldn't be able to resist.
The temptation would weigh on me,
and the massive guilt would be part of the draw.
Besides, you know the old saying:
"The worst part of being single is that there's no one to cheat on.")

I mean, I really don't understand
those asshole scientists like Richard Dawkins,
always trying to bash religion and junk.
You'd think a man who wrote a book called The Selfish Gene
would understand what a fucking sweet gig
all these ministers have.
He's probably just jealous
because he went through all the effort
of getting a PhD in biology
when he could have gone to seminary
and propagated his selfish genes a lot more efficiently.

Not that bashing religion isn't also a sweet gig,
especially when you do it in a really dogmatic way.
People are dumb enough to believe anything,
especially if you sound confident when you say it
and always let them feel like they're in on the joke.
I mean, honestly, the idea that God doesn't exist
and that we all just came out of nothing
is just as laughable as the old "invisible man" sky-God
with his flowing beard, you know?
It's just a question of belief.
Which mostly means it's a question of which belief pays better!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "megachurch_bus" from genebrooks on Flickr)

Pretty Much Everything You Need to Know About the Internet

Click here! Click here!

Choose me! Approve of me! Notice me!
Act now! Act fast!
Only 7 left in stock!
When you see it...

You won't believe what she shoves up her--

AdBlock!

Give me your email address, sweet God,
give me your email address,
buy my thing please,
you've got to Share If You Love Jesus!

"People with this insanely common habit are highly intelligent and susceptible to clickbait"

#BlackLivesMatter
#AllLivesMatter
#NoLivesMatter

How to delete Google Search History, by SEOMetrix.
(You have entered incognito mode, you nasty fucker, you...)
Whoops! Did you mean "big tits redhead POV blowjob?"
                (Show results instead for "big tithes redhead POV blowjob")

But that's none of my business...

"Rich Handsome Millionaire Tells Fans 'Don't be Cynical' on the Series Finale of His Wildly Popular TV Show..."
... probably funnier than you. Buy me food and tell me I'm pretty. I'M NOT HERE FOR HOOKUPS SO SWIPE LEFT IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT!
"10 Reasons it's the Patriarchy's Fault You're a Fat Lard"
"Guru Megaguru, who used to be a medical student, says your anxiety is caused by too much money and says he's willing to share the burden"

Update: That friend you haven't talked to in 10 years has a birthday today, and you'll look like an asshole if you don't say anything...
"69 Reasons Why You Will Never Be Man Enough..."

not that im looking for sympathy or anything i just wish someone would care and love me even though all i am is a waste and a drain on everybody elses time and i cant be bothered to make something of myself or actually try to become desirable lol

"Slut who felt bad the morning after gets regular kid tossed in prison on rape charges..."

But that's none of my business...

Trump says something crude and offensive.
Hillary caught in another lie.
"Remember to Like and Subscribe! :D"
We are the cutting edge, keeping the world connected
through science and technology.
"Ooooh yeah, oh fuck yeah, oh fuck me daddy, fuck meeee..."
"You see, it's that superior virtue, or Te, is not aware of itself as virtue, and so it doesn't cling to itself, and so it really is..."
Please select your wireless connection.
"President Obama addressed the nation this evening..."
In the name of the Father,
and of the Vagina,
and of White Jesus.
Amen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "povpnx-15" from stallio on Flickr)

Tear

Let me tear you apart, let me rip up your pieces
and leave you in a pile beside the trash can
where I threw out the rotten steaks this morning.

I've wondered what you taste like;
I've heard it's a little like pork,
and tender, because we make it so easy for ourselves.

Just imagine what I'd do to you,
the teeth, the blood that spurts from your throat
in little bursts in time with your fading heartbeat.

You'd love that, wouldn't you? Just for once.
Even if you had to pay for it with your life's blood,
you'd do it just to see it spurt all over my face.

Come on now, let me tear you apart,
let me let you out of that awful cage,
the skin and bone trap. I'll release you.

Never another little pain, never another worry.
I can make it easy, like falling asleep.
You'll never have to hurt again.

I'll be so gentle, and so kind.
You'll never have to worry. Just go to sleep.
Just sleep until the nightmare's all over.

Call it a gentle goodnight kiss. Sweet girl.
You've been too strong for too long.
Let me take it all away.

Let me help you. It would be so easy.
Don't you see I understand?
Don't you see I'd like to help you?

Let me tear you apart, let me rip up your pieces.
You'll never have to be afraid again.
Because I'm the thing you've been afraid of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo Credit: "Blood Donors are Cool" from Peltier Chevrolet on Flickr)

Then

Let's be friends, like we were then,
the way we could be
when  you were a girl and I was a boy.
We played on the playground,
or swung on the tire swing,
and you were always my best friend.

Why can't we be friends, like we were then?
We played hide and seek,
and it was so fun when you found me.
We could just have fun, then.
We would play pretend, and when we played pretend
it was just for fun.

I wish we could be friends, like we were then.
Things are different now,
and so very complicated.
It's not your fault, it's not mine,
but we'll never be simple again.
We'll never be innocent again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Tire Swing" from Amy Aletheia Cahill on Flickr)

You Knew Me When...

So if the world must come apart, and all the fragments fly,
I wish I'd seen your pretty face and heard you ask me why.
Tomorrow or another day at last will bring the end,
and it's my inmost pride to say that you, dear, were my friend.

You knew me in the morning and you sang your girlish song,
and as you danced between the trees I felt there was no wrong.
I was a silly boy, you know, and made you laugh all day,
and music on the air and laughs were all the wind would say.

You knew me as the day grew hot, although we grew apart;
I hid myself in numbers and you showed yourself in art.
I watched you from my distance and I wished that we might meet,
and you danced all the evening long like rippling fields of wheat.

You knew me when the noontime sun shone down upon the land.
I ground my teeth to see that fellow take you by the hand.
He kissed your lips and called you dear and made you his, that May,
and though that summer swelled so bright, all I could see was gray.

You knew me in the afternoon, and gave your boy my name,
and once or twice the neighbors said we looked a bit the same.
But no one ever thought a thing, so never think of that,
and if we've any secrets we'll just sweep them 'neath the mat.

You knew me when the shadows grew, and winter came to chill.
I saw your little trio go a-sledding on the hill.
We'll never know just what it was, what rail or drift was tossed,
but I recall the accident when boy and man were lost.

You knew me when the nighttime came, when we were grown so old;
we huddled close together then, as all the earth grew cold.
And when you passed on in the night my soul began to weep,
but soon I know I'll follow you into that final sleep.

So if the world must come apart, and all the fragments fly,
I wish I'd seen your pretty face and heard you ask me why.
Tomorrow or another day at last will bring the end,
and it's my inmost pride to say that you, dear, were my friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Freedom" from Lauren McKinnon on Flickr)

Best Things About Being Rich

The sixth best thing about being rich
would be going on about how I'm
"A self-made man."
All those human worms would think I was judging them,
when really it's just that I don't care about them.
I'd talk about the virtues of hard work,
and self-discipline, and planning,
and chuckle to myself while their eyes glazed over.
It would be so gratifying.

The fifth best thing about being rich
would be having everyone automatically agree with me.
Everybody would suck up to me,
and I'd just spit in their faces.
I'd say stupid stuff
just because I would know everybody who agreed
was a worthless spineless limpwrist prick.
I'd hate and respect whoever disagrees with me.
That would be the fifth best thing.

The fourth best thing about being rich
would be talking extremely loudly
about all my rich person problems.
I'd talk so loudly and so insensitively
that some people would say, "He really doesn't know
how much of an asshole he's being."
But I'd know,
and I'd make them wish they had my problems.
That would make going out in public at least semi-enjoyable.

The third best thing about being rich
would be giving embarrassingly extravagant gifts.
I'd start my own TV show
just so I could give a free brand new car
to everyone in my studio audience.
I'd just love to see them squirm at that.
They could never pay me back,
and they'll secretly resent me all their lives.
That would be delicious.

The second best thing about being rich
would be all the women I could mistreat.
I'd have like, three of them all at once,
but as soon as I got them in my bed
I'd get so nervous I'd start crying.
But they wouldn't laugh at me,
because I was rich,
and I'd hate them for being nice to me.
And that would be the second best thing.

The best thing about being rich
would be having a chauffeur.
Because I hate driving.
I hate cars, and pretty much everything
that moves faster than I can run.
I'm not sure how many cars I would have,
but I wouldn't drive them,
and I'd really only have them to show off to women.
God, I hate cars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Money, Cars, Girls" from Johnny Silvercloud on Flickr)

Who

Who are you?
Son or daughter, born out of time
to drift like dandelion seeds on the air.
Who are you?
Child of space and time,
daydreaming wanderer of immensity.
Who are you?
Bright flower of the morning,
that will shrivel by the afternoon.
Hear my quiet voice and know me.

Can you hear the wind?
It reaches every corner of the earth,
and yet it's only here alone.
Can you hear the wind?
It brings rain to dry places
and teases grass from the earth.
Can you hear the wind?
It sighs in the still hours
when the world has gone to sleep.
Hear my quiet voice and know me.

Do you love the earth?
It has been here all your days
and will outlast your very breath.
Do you love the earth?
It is all you've ever known
in all your peaceful years.
Do you love the earth?
One day it will end
and pass like all the rest.
Hear my quiet voice and know me.

Do you see the grass?
It feels so nice between your toes,
so green and very good.
Do you see the grass?
It grows between the cracks,
smoothing the rough edges.
Do you see the grass?
It covers the earth in green,
so delightful to look at.
Hear my quiet voice and know me.

Who are you?
Are you the whistling wind
that whirls across the sky?
Who are you?
Are you the ancient gentle earth
that supports each little creature?
Who are you?
Are you a single blade of grass
that cools a heated brain?
Hear my quiet voice and know me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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(Photo credit: "Earth" from Kevin Gill on Flickr)