onetwothreefour
Bluelight Crew
third draft:
I ended with this:
Concrete logic drowned
Leaving unwashed chalk in its wake
Where there two halves make a whole but
One is incomplete
Begin:
These fraudulent times require gifts
of grace from naive spectators assessing
Acted lives and their maudlin stars
Stars to these projected skies we gaze upon
Weeping falsely
Mysteriously
- tears of misdirection
But are these tears less valid in such
harsh (but, as they say, fair) hindsight?
Or is your contention that intention is the
Factor of determination best?
As always you punctuate my impost
With your inimitably gracious
and Truthful gaze that others pointlessly
(and sadly) label 'naive'
...that word again
Yet - my painful gain is their
Mistaken regretted unmissed (how?) loss;
The void they search infinitely to
Fill with misshapen blocks they must
Force unevenly into holes made for others'
Sometimes it makes me wonder if
Instead you're just my hallucination:
The slight escape from this world
Keeping me sane in some paradox
Some ironic joke God is having at my expense;
So minor my thoughts must seem
But I am lucid finally
I invent beauty
I ignore this narcissitic intent
(Or is it latently pervasive? I don't feel stifled, do I?)
No.
You are real.
You
Are the irony.
I began with this:
The irony that plagues me less
I am unable to reach where yet my fingers touch
Unimaginable yet impossible and real
A place I loathe
A place I love
A place....
first draft:
concrete logic is drowned
leaving unwashed chalk in its wake
there, two halves make a whole
but one is incomplete with no other figure
these fraudulent times require gifts
of grace from naive spectators assessing
acted lives and their maudlin stars
to these projected skies we all gaze upon
weeping false mysterious and
tears of misdirection
are these tears less valid in such
harsh - but as they say, fair - hindsight?
or is your contention that intention is the
factor of determination best?
you punctuate my impost
with your inimitable gracious
truthful gaze that others pointlessly
and sadly label 'naive'
but my painful gain is their
mistaken regretted unmissed loss;
the void they search infinitely to
fill with misshapen blocks they must
force unevenly, into holes made for others'
sometimes it makes me wonder if
instead you're just my hallucination:
the slight escape from this world
keeping me sane in some paradox
some ironic joke god is having at my expense
so minor my thoughts of you might seem
but my mind has never been so good
at inventing such beauty. my
imagination stifled by latent narcissism.
so no, you are real, you are the irony
that plagues us lesser, unable to reach some
even unimaginable and yet impossibly real
location, i loathe it, but...i can't.
this is, as usual, unfinished
I ended with this:
Concrete logic drowned
Leaving unwashed chalk in its wake
Where there two halves make a whole but
One is incomplete
Begin:
These fraudulent times require gifts
of grace from naive spectators assessing
Acted lives and their maudlin stars
Stars to these projected skies we gaze upon
Weeping falsely
Mysteriously
- tears of misdirection
But are these tears less valid in such
harsh (but, as they say, fair) hindsight?
Or is your contention that intention is the
Factor of determination best?
As always you punctuate my impost
With your inimitably gracious
and Truthful gaze that others pointlessly
(and sadly) label 'naive'
...that word again
Yet - my painful gain is their
Mistaken regretted unmissed (how?) loss;
The void they search infinitely to
Fill with misshapen blocks they must
Force unevenly into holes made for others'
Sometimes it makes me wonder if
Instead you're just my hallucination:
The slight escape from this world
Keeping me sane in some paradox
Some ironic joke God is having at my expense;
So minor my thoughts must seem
But I am lucid finally
I invent beauty
I ignore this narcissitic intent
(Or is it latently pervasive? I don't feel stifled, do I?)
No.
You are real.
You
Are the irony.
I began with this:
The irony that plagues me less
I am unable to reach where yet my fingers touch
Unimaginable yet impossible and real
A place I loathe
A place I love
A place....
first draft:
concrete logic is drowned
leaving unwashed chalk in its wake
there, two halves make a whole
but one is incomplete with no other figure
these fraudulent times require gifts
of grace from naive spectators assessing
acted lives and their maudlin stars
to these projected skies we all gaze upon
weeping false mysterious and
tears of misdirection
are these tears less valid in such
harsh - but as they say, fair - hindsight?
or is your contention that intention is the
factor of determination best?
you punctuate my impost
with your inimitable gracious
truthful gaze that others pointlessly
and sadly label 'naive'
but my painful gain is their
mistaken regretted unmissed loss;
the void they search infinitely to
fill with misshapen blocks they must
force unevenly, into holes made for others'
sometimes it makes me wonder if
instead you're just my hallucination:
the slight escape from this world
keeping me sane in some paradox
some ironic joke god is having at my expense
so minor my thoughts of you might seem
but my mind has never been so good
at inventing such beauty. my
imagination stifled by latent narcissism.
so no, you are real, you are the irony
that plagues us lesser, unable to reach some
even unimaginable and yet impossibly real
location, i loathe it, but...i can't.
this is, as usual, unfinished
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