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A path was once walked, when
a mind took flight to a time beyond,
searched for self through timelines,
found self in a room filled with
paintings and grief, saw self drowning
in sad riches, pages and addendums,
pens and newspaper headlines with
my name flooding all pieces,
masterpieces and yet the master
left in pieces, peace in pieces and
newspaper pieces used to cleanse
the rear of its’ feces, lost in beauty
and also mischief, found self as
a thief; the one who stole wisdom
from lady wisdom’s palm, yes on
a ledge of time I stood, the time capsule
melting away as I awaited to be heard
by him who was I, I wailed in great
grief, trying to understand the brokenness
of a weakened man, stared and stared,
eye away; experience and truth rather near,
teared through reason and tried to
reach that mentality of he who was I
to soon live, yes, the misunderstanding,
the false melancholy within which I dwelt,
shrivelling in my sight he seemed,
so I reached out my twitching hand,
yes, that which was soon to understand
the beauty and grotesque sight of age,
as hand moved through the layers;
time waving and dwindling not so far away,
palm reaching his head, the wind blowing
away the little that was left of his hair,
he saw I as I saw him who was I,
and time decided to freeze itself as I
attempted to free myself, yes, something
happened there, consciousness had met
itself, yes, the confusion of physics and
all biologies, no same thing could exist
at the same time; yes, a rotten fruit
dangling from the old tree of life,
glitches and reality cracked, like a
splinter in the middle of nowhere, like
a break or a tear on an old painting,
the screams and groans, the pain
that echoed out of nowhere,
now here was I bringing the rapture
upon my own mind, upon my own
self, yes I had caused what could never be.

Saw him who was I lose the structure
of his flesh, joints and knees kissing,
the head bending, the books and pens
dwindling into something lacking substance,
I had become that which was not to be known,
yes, I had become the poison within
this warming boon, aye, I had lost
the feeling of self, the feeling of him
who I had snatched from an inevitable
demise, this had become a time where
time failed to shake hands with mine,
this had become a moment when the
living became the dead whilst living,
or maybe I was already leaving and
defying what it meant to be living,
aye, poetry had sold me to the apocalypse
of my own age, page by page as reality
became a ruin I saw all the pain,
the grief, the confusion, the abstraction
that had poured out of this old man’s
empty head, my fear had become that
which I had feared would be, spiralling
commotion, the failure of harvesting notions
from physicalities that were blooping
and rooted in unseen moments, the
crack in time, history and the future,
this had become a circus of sorts,
we changed form, from bananas to
babies with weird shaped heads,
aye, we became figures, numbers and words,
objects and abstractions, this had become
the shrivelling and tearing of our
true ethos, too much freedom, now tethered
with how Gaia feels when acres quake,
the feels of being molded by the manger,
this had become the thesis of cabbage,
I mean the thesis of migrants, those
who had now ventured into the unknown,
those who were now piercing through the darkening
light, aye, we were now chewing our own
words, divinity in washing dishes,
truth in lies and mischief, laying
eggs and carving edges of mountains,
lips becoming fountains from where
hypocrisy and heresy would live and also die,
new breed of those carved from within fermenting
shells, we became serpents chunking
on the holy fruit Eve was supposed to chunk on,
aye, he was the worm within the fruit and
I was I who chunked on him, we
lived and died within moments that weren’t
moments at all.

Back to the garden, seldom carnage,
we had become one who had come
of age, I and him saw ourselves being
spewed out of Eve’s womb, Cain and
Abel, we were one in separated shells,
destiny asked us to follow the divine script,
time came for the gift to be given,
the godhead chuckled as we dwindled
with a raging fear, I had to kill him,
slaughter him and become the evil sibling
to be cursed for all timelines,
I felt the sadness eating away my flesh,
memory of the poet who had to die not
of age, but of page, nothing
to be done or to be said, loneliness
and darkness, the night became my light,
I became more of a dark prince, leaving the
garden of Eden unweeded,
all was lost, then a wise woman came to
my own redemption, held my
falling off flesh, she spoke of
dementia and alzheimer’s and how all
would be the end of my world,
she held my head as I faded away,
she held my face, tears and despair,
I tasted the ocean on my face,
she then held me by the puddle,
washed my head with the dirty
soothing waters, kissed my forehead
and with a sweet tone told me of
this life while her goodbye echoed within my
skull, she blew a soothing kiss,
and I felt myself melting away, I saw self
become dust, being slingshot away;
into what was and what to be,
then I saw you,
yes you, the lost reader,
then I felt the need to weep,
then I saw mother once again as
her sweat and tears became one,
she gave me a smile, a sad look
in her eye, this was me seeing a beautiful
flower smiling again at me, her
body became a flowerbed once again,
while her deathbed was left with unwashed sheets.

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork By Mariusz Lewandowski

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

Dear Empty-Head

What if a Poet could meet his older self? What if time could be reversed and moved forward? What if there’s no time at all?

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