#Philosophistication

Breathe out the universe,
find reality in a single verse,
curse a rich man and bless the
poor peasant, throw stones at
the government, hypocrites in
torn pants, let me drink my
sanitizer and feel intertwined with
a new dimension where there are
less recessions, ablute my intentions,
I’m dark within, I’m the Joker with
Thanos’ intentions, I’m following
the collective connection, my conscience
drowns in a pool filled with dead
black mentions, ancestrally connected,
the future is a new culture in procession,
in this world there is no emancipation,
let me drown into an open sky, my
spaceship has arrived, abduction
by the beings from another time,
I’m undressing myself from
my organs, flee into the unseen
skies where the reality of guns doesn’t
haunt my race’s pride, detaching
self from human glory, this civilization
seems a bit phony, cough out religious
allegories, poisonous subjugation,
clinging on the next eon’s human anatomy,
this is a Rebel’s transfiguration from
this world of figures and fate wrapped
around coincidence’s hand, leaving
the land filled with blood and incomplete
corpses, sipping on the tears of the clouds,
scream with pride, think out loud,
the vibrations are like tentacles,
stealing you from your comfort
zones before I escape the ozone’s stronghold,
hold my hand and let’s float into
another world with seven suns where
enlightenment infiltrates a stubborn
shadowed heart, hold onto this spaceship
crafted from the sewn words and
metaphors that read the mind,
escape this confusing orb, this
pebble filled with ideas and fading
lives.

Done cursing the governments,
done with embracing my cursed life,
write your name in cement,
your existence mattered even
when only experienced by the
beholder’s eye, now hold onto the
tentacles of my thoughts,
this is no longer about a raging
font, don’t take hold of the man
of the cloth, he’ll steal your soul
and leave you drowning in self carnage
and loud silence, the silver lining
in this life is hard to see when the
darkness is blinding, every thinker
has some substance, every thinker has
to preserve a certain stance, images
are being sold when the soul is just
a child that never learnt to escape
the childish hell’s gate.
Try to listen to that poisoned mind,
you’ll find yourself searching for
a helping hand, find yourself tied
neck first into a dangling string,
we’ve been stung by Eden’s serpent,
less are now servants of a kind
heart, many want to earn more,
it’s either you’re a friend or foe
of these people, stay with me and
some inner truth will serve you
from these trending universal lies,
we’re all spies trying to sabotage
ourselves, too drunk to be aware,
to high to be grounded, we’re slaves to
moving time and the sensation
of having a broken heart,
art will only heal you when you
choose to see what’s within your heart
as that which the art forms.
Prune yourself from this tree of
life, you’re not free when you’re
fragile enough to instantly die.

Breathe in, wait we’re about to die,
let go of these thoughts that dangle,
I’m not your Savior, I’m the scarecrow,
showing you the truths behind your
shadows, hide from these philosophies,
I’m morphing, turning into the
Reaper’s scythe, or an angry teenager’s
knife, I’m not angry; it’s the art that
fumes from my oesophagus,
is there a tomorrow, is abstraction the
only truth in this confusing shapeless
orb, blow the harps, blow the trumpets,
blow the flute, blow the blame from
your lungs, plunge into the reality that
everyone is a devil, a device of their
own desires.
We’re crash landing,
there was never a beautiful
positive poem, just adding
more negativity to your
isolated life, let’s perish
in each other’s arms.

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Image by Jeff Christensen

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©