Home » Posts tagged 'illusion'
Tell me his name
And I’ll give him your word
Though to an illusion
I can not confirm—
Within him lies many,
Within you lies more—
His name’s but of flesh and bone.
So tell me your name
And I’ll give you his word
Be it not an illusion,
Something I can confirm.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people love to tell others
Not to subscribe to another’s bullshit
But watch, and listen to their own.
Another commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, these same people
No matter how delusional
Will acquire followers like sheep to a Shepard.
And they do it warmly, and with a smile.
And they’ll agree with you entirely.
They’ll make you feel safe.
They’ll tell you what to see and how to see it,
Treating you like their own personal parlor trick.
Their greatest illusion will be their acceptance.
While the bullshit they feed
In return for a profit—they’ll make themselves
The prophet—which they need to feel sound.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people who can’t be alone
Will do everything it takes not to be alone
Even when that means taking you with them.
They will win your will, with or without your consent.
They will make it feel like your own choice
To gain your trust, and dissolve you of fear.
Though fear isn’t always a negative—
Often it’s a tell tale sign—so
These commonalties I’ve noticed
Are geared to my liking, but at least
I’ve got the peasants fortune to tell you
That, prophets for profit will always be cunning.
And though wolves wear many clothes,
So do Shepards.
Nothing feels good tonight.
Nothing sits well.
Nothing but myself and beer
to drown away my very American illusion
of happiness—my dear, I’m not sorry.
Please understand.
Make my bed
Spread the sheets
They are white
They are clean
There’s a nestle of bird
Who sing softly and sweet
There are bills
To be paid
Overdrafts
To be made
But I’m conscious today
Knowing that rot can wait
I have given enough love, I’ve wrestled with the thought
Spared quarters like rain to a cynical saint
I’ve got no time to spare
All this death in the air
Has me feeling quite good, transcendentally great
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
I’ve no cross to bear climbing trees and it’s clear
That I
start to see past
The sun and moon
The sky opens up
There’s nothing left to do
This closure’s my mantra to you.
Wash my face
Clean my teeth
Knock on wood
Once a week
There’s a pub inn Philly
Where I dug my own grave
Comb the depths
Of your hair
Try and act
Like you care
I’ve been watching your play
Mixing tonic with pain
You have given enough love, so much work to be done
Put your suitcases down, for a while and remain
Like a park bench in autumn
Or leaves that have fallen
I’ve got proof there’s a cure, you just gotta find yours
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
It’s a tale to be told, when you’re young and your bold
And now I’ve
Got to go back
To the way I was before
And now you’ve
Got to go back
To the way you were before
This closure’s my mantra to you.
It took losing
everything,
to come to the conclusion
that I am an illusion
and we’ve always had
— from the beginning —
everything
to gain.
At the same time
everything is happy
everything is sad,
it’s where I’m at
and somehow
it isn’t all that bad.
Smile and a frown
features remain neutral
while cars pass down
Magnolia and “Córdoba,
Leyana y sola…”
my home
is just
an illusion
under cloud.
Words Of An Average White Male 