Fools....can it be anymore descriptive?
A fine line we walk throughout our lives.
We live for it unknowingly as our blinded eyes search
in the dark for some shed of light.
Only to reach out and fall face first into the mud and
dirt that has become our daily existance.
We deny with every fibre of our being that we cannot
and should not fall prey to the herd mentality of human life.
Fools...can it be anymore descriptive.
HA! Can it be that the mind of a genius is prone
to spew babble and sound like an idiot?
Or is it, that in truth an idiot that speaks thus, and we
percieve it to be a wellspring of knowledge?
Alas, could it be truthfully an idiotic genius that we
see and hope it is otherwise. I cannot say. For I am
neither idiotic, nor a genius for my mind cannot
concieve such notion as to warrant conceit on my part.
One word. One word...is all that it takes to pierce
our paper hearts, and cause so much joy or pain.
How is it, that that one word can do so much, or that we
even allow it to do just that? Are we, as humans wrought with
fragile emotions and our thoughts filled with chaotic
memories of the past, so easily waylaid with one word?
A word that can, if allowed, uplift us soaring
beyond the clouds or bury us deep within the
muddy ground. Is this then, the sum of our meager and
mundane lives? To be forever bound and enslaved to one word?
How then do you justify, that one word?
thank you....but coming from you i half expected more than a futile attempt at criticism, even if you've somewhat watered it down so as to not hurt what feelings i may have had
but the fact of the matter is...i've generated some sort of response from you which is, ironically better than no response
so in a sense no matter how dull and derivative you say my babbling prose is, it at least affected you...to a degree
From out of the mouths of youth come words fraught with uncertainties.
But what then comes out of the mouths of supposedly wiser, more mature adults
who claim such absurdities? Perhaps insecurities? A fear of knowing academics but
to not know anything else but to spit venomous volumes of gibberish in the
hopes he considered something else other than a fool? I claim no such outward
trappings of intelligencia as some would, therefore I cannot say that I am wise.
But wise enough to know that when I do speak, and not necessarily from the heart or
for that matter from my mind, I speak softly and carry with me nothing. I strive at nothing
to stir the ire of others, nor seek to whet their emotional outbursts, no less so
their psychoanalytical perception of unwanted and unperceived conceits.
No. I desire none of that. Does this then mean I search for truth, though
vain in the attempt? In truth, if you wish to inspire me; not with words or
actions or for that matter inaction and wordless thoughts, but rather
through simplicity of offering nothing.
Pity the one who raises himself above all others
For simply doing so.
Pity the one who seeks comfort unsought
For simply doing so.
Pity the one who reeks of staleness and
ambiguity
For simply doing too much of nothing in the
hope of rising to comfort his bruised and wafer thin ego.
Think for a moment, and you'll have spent a lifetime on
a wasted effort.
Act, and your behaviour will seem uncouth, unkind, and filled
overmuch with rancor.
By the gods...is there nothing of great will that is beyond
your sanctity of mind and body to consort with
whoremongering, desperate, by and large spineless
men?
Pity the one who reads this and thinks it is his life.
Last edited by Fëanor on May 25th, 2005 at 07:04 PM
An ode, for the muse that doth inspire
Prithee, Lo! with bemused ire
Forsaken thus, e'er he sat
Birds doth fly, thus to shat
And did he so with fingers found
Towards his mouth, the taste abound
Shameless levity, O' happy days
For this, I often say:
Off thy knockers, lest you dismay.
Of the man who often mock
And yet adorned with garrish frock
Behind gelid walls thou hast hid
A fool with ne'er to bid
Come one, come all
Let us not dally, nor stall
For the road that leads
Tis but the one he pleads.
An ode...an ode I beg
Smirksome, loathsome dreg
My platitudes are empty, are they??? Well at least I don't tell everyone that they suck, just because I can. I happen to mean it evertime I say I like someone's poems.
No criticism is futile as criticisms are based on opinions. However, everything else you said is true. I'm just trying to get people to be a little more original, that is all.
__________________ Come, my child...Your life begins here...
on that point, we are on agreement....yet with the profusion of rap and so called alternative music, sex saturated media, and with no new talent in the finer form of poetry and prose, how can one be 'original'...and with so many other influences that abound?
and please...i care little for those supposed modern day poets of which i give no more than a passing glance....call it what you will but i find it, bland
I feel that the true modern poets of our times are the rappers who's lyrical dexterity is mixed with potent political comment. Obviously, I'm not talking about 50Cent here...But check out anything by The Roots, K-OS, The Beastie Boys (amongst others...) and you'll see the poetry is as alive, fresh and brave as it was in the times of the Romantics...
__________________ Come, my child...Your life begins here...
HA! you mention The Beastie Boys the most underrated rap groups to have come out...none have yet to match their style and wit...but then since i am a fan of theirs, my opinions are - well, mine
yet you can keep gangsta rap and the lyrical rhymes of wannabes to those that want it...
The Beastie Boys are dope, yo. I went to one of their Free Tibet concerts last year...They were so good. Most 'gangsta' rap is pap, but I'm down wid sum of dose dudeZ, yo.
__________________ Come, my child...Your life begins here...
KMC Community Forums
May 25th, 2005 05:52 AM
...thanks cold
thanks again, but such praise is not worthy of me....really
