Empty Diary

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With no past behind me to marvel at I look only towards the future.
Usually I forget about the present and what I lack to build a pipe dream.
My fits come too many at a time and my diary’s always by my side yet always empty.
I count the seconds of the day like a clock obsessed maniac,
increasingly taking note of nothing, yet creating thoughts
that fill the empty vacuum my seconds leave behind.
It’s not that there’s nothing there for me to look back or forward to write on.
I’ve always taken everything in and hoarded them wrongly.
Locked them in my heart and thrown away the key.
In all my days,
all the words I could have written.
I’ve looked away and always forgotten to look back.
So how can I?
How can I ever look down and write in this empty diary.

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Deep Musing II…. Along the right path of insanest madness

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If someone has a cape and spare time to wreck his castle in no time,
before I join the geeks in line to see red on vals before pool- dead arrives,
while Shakespeare loomed said thou doest like this?
I say I will do like that!
Whether by Elizabethan or UK version or by my own African dialect or insane submission,
true coaster proclaimed wanna bl33 but I sayeth nay! No. Ahh kakai and so and such.
If dark clouds caught up to me Bentham or Arkham helpest me.
For poetry and philosophy caused my fractured psychology…
reading them like bed time stories wroth wormholes in my dreams and released the words that you see jumbled here.
Save me from 10%, dead cell isn’t like red cells but it has the power to place me in cells while not white or green.
If maybe downward to hades was sickly I wouldn’t seem perky with madly deeply and deepest darkest maddest Musing.

I shan’t say Amen just Blessed be.

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Me against the world

I’ve grown tired and weary of this endless tussle.
This madness over traded notes, titles and roles.
I’ve shrunk from the expectations you heaved on top of me,
blocking your senses to all but the reals you wish to hear.
You are the world stage guised as heaven and I expect too much so you plunder at will.
While I demand goals just to feel satisfied,
you expect a cut of dreamy wonders in return.
I’m your circus master and you are my weekend acts,
yet I leave my quarters open to you and wallow in your cage for life.
My heart and a troubled mind are my weaknesses and your slave.
You are Gaia and I am man,
You can judge and I will act.
You will watch me become my own executioner,
live away the pain of my empty existence,
never numb of my nostalgia.

A traveller’s thoughts…

We were born for this journey.
Call it a blind tourney.
Where we’re raised to pasture,
given a misguided purpose.
“Find yourself” they tell us,
they give us that zeal so we psyche ourselves up.
Practice for 9 years and find ourselves in 3more, then decide after another 4 to live 5 aimless decades of marooned delusion that,
adds up to surpass our number.
Along our merry way under a tick tock time lap,
we practice faith to cure our phobia and battle loneliness with absolute culture,
Mingling among some lost travelers who never read of Gulliver.
We grow up to be,
Men lost in testosterone driven myopia in a weak alpha society.
Women with dry hump craving,
jealous of another strong man’s freedom,
trapping him with guilt and male feminine domination.
Its such a vicious cycle,
an endless catch and release phase in a one fish pond.
Good ole society calls it the best sort of living,
an easy limit for the hitchhikers with short vision.
Its a worthless journey,
I say.
Letting the present pass us by,
fortune cookies and sooth sayers bring us joy.
Google quotes as statuses we treat as hope,
then forget we ever spoke them.
If only along the line, any man walking with the divine saves us,
let him teach us by the god’s mandate,
to live and see before we follow.
Maybe then,
Maybe,
Our journey home to heaven would not be another handout,
a checkout from a library called
The Journey wrong.
A traveller’s thoughts.