#Philosophistication

What is your DESIRE?
SHE asked.
Knelt on that golden brown
mat, questions from another
sane madman, I shackled ideas
onto my tongue, imprisoned
thoughts at the back of my skull,
kissed my silence and sulked
on worldly violence, found
myself in a pool of carnage filled
with thoughts, screws and bolts from
broken bones and loose groins.

Then I grasped nostalgia,
stuck in Disturbia, new mania,
maniac with innocent intentions,
ramping up from floors of
the Nile; floor polished with
bloody skin, fleeing from the light
to the open darkness, in thought
housing migraines, finding substance
in the pith of senselessness, consciousness
goes to nap with the weaknesses
of my enlightened kind, the time has
come to fetch my beliefs, tree of
life and I prune the leaves, pages
eternal; in this context I’m the errored
syntax, in this era I’m the blind,
fold my minds and unfold them for
you to nap on, dip into my eye a tampon,
I bleed sight, enlightened much; iris
squashed; lens into dust, saw the
divine and I delve into the earthly tide;
baptize and ablute before I see more
of the broken sky…

“Scribe…What do you DESIRE?”
SHE asked again…

Gazed and spat out my spirit;
‘Drops of ink spilt is mere spilt milk,
truth reeks and it steals a heaven’s kiss,
no grains for your lips, no manna to feed,
slit throats of ideals, mix what I feel with thrill,
kill bill and another skin is pilled,
I desire nothingness, that which might
leave me sane, for insanity comes
with something, so leave no thing
in sight, bring forth the empty firmament,
the beginning that began as a darkened
canvas, carve me nothing, bring
forth futility and let me afloat in
an empty something’s entirety, tarnish
a complex identity, strip off worth,
obliterate reality, the tears seize
to exist, the cries, the corpses on
sidewalks of religious streets, wars
driven by fallacies and policies
from idealized drunk citizens, push
pens and a bullet snaps a toddler’s
skull in Afghanistan, I need nothing,
grant I nothingness, my desire is
for earth to retire and leave I to
notice and love the nothing, allow
I to be part of that empty void,
spoil me with a nonexistent existence.’

“Breathe again Scribe,” SHE said.
“Just like we practiced…
This is your canvas,
write the story you wish would
be, with protagonists and antagonists,
smile as you create your world’s seed.
This is as divine as you may become;
painting over logic’s sight.
I have said, Ye are gods.”

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Tomasz Alen Kopera

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

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