Poetry of an Aloof Junior by Z.M.G. (old books to read txt) 📕

all that it seems?”
Fiction, reality…true or dream?

Why are these simple numbers so complex?
How do they cast this confounding hex?
And that question I can answer as well,
So please, do come whilst I tell.

Math is an entity of times ancient,
Beloved family, yet we estranged it,
For Math brought with it a blessing and curse,
A tangible, divine magic which sent many to their hearse.

Your eyes glint, seeking the magic,
Desiring to know what is so tragic,
And of course, I shall indulge,
The story that only I may divulge.

Math brought to us a grand epiphany,
One that sewed a great cacophony,
A tumult universally disruptive,
Dangerously and rapidly deconstructive.

It gave to us truth, reality,
A drug of great substantiality,
The result the same as all addictions,
A permanently scarring conviction.

It strips us which makes us humane,
Confiding in us methods simply insane,
We are taught simplify, equate, evaluate,
Instead we complicate, complicate, complicate.

And herein lies that very plague,
Freedom from which we plead and beg,
It leaves us deprived and depraved,
Of a purity, an innocence that can no longer be saved.

Again your eyes shine in the mystic,
Contemplating, “Is this force sadistic?”
And so I smile and continue,
“No, Friend, this was not the intended venue.”

Our people were made to desensitize,
Taught to realize, not fantasize,
Bled of our most precious traits,
One which waits, and one which sates.

The first is our unsuppressed emotion,
From which spawns love and devotion,
A trait of immense and supreme strength,
That now treks towards its final breath.

The second, our unique imagination,
The human panacea to all dilapidation,
Replaced by Math’s science of medicine,
Where people scream, “Let us in! Let us in!”

The combination of these divines our humanity,
The imbuement, our feeling and understanding,
But no longer do we possess these,
As we sink deeper into our delicious disease.

We tried to defy an inhuman power,
Although it sought to aid, we now cower,
For we see what knowledge has incited,
A war, to which all powers are invited.

Now your eyes fill with sorrow,
As you look around our crumbling borough,
Tears free as the blinders finally fall,
And you awaken to what will appall.

Now at last you see clearly,
The betrayal of all you held so dearly,
And know the true, the felt value,
Of all the “progress” so shallow.

As I near the awaited close,
I display that which actually shows,
Understand there is no extravaganza,
In the care beheld in the final stanza.

Now I reveal your attitude, masochistic,
“So how does it feel to be a simple statistic?”
The final statement, I speak far more emphatic,
“To know you’re merely a human mathematic?”

"Metamorphosis"

A legacy of numerical naught,
Fraught with clear distraught,
Sighing to the winds of time,
Ashed in the fires of crime.

Fades out from the moment,
Dispersed in the dust torrent,
Wrenched away from the hands of youth,
Stashed ‘way from eyes of sleuth.

Without it, younglings die,
Loss of purpose, they wither and cry,
Seeking replacement for their void,
Of their need now destroyed.

And though their numbers are few,
May have no effect on any of you,
And though their cries soft, reach short,
May collapse to the slightest retort.

You sneer at their weak clutch,
Laugh at the behavior of such,
Revile their simplest request,
Defile their most basic behest.

And there’s no mourn, no sorrow,
No promise of a hoped tomorrow,
Just leave them lying there,
Stripped down into despair.

Avert gaze from their naked form,
Numb soul to their emotion storm,
Ignore their whimpered sobs,
Walk off to your filthy jobs.

Deprive them of dignity,
Design them with duplicity,
Pry out of them the primal,
Feed them fury, and make it final.

Now face your cretin creation,
Drawn in deep desperation,
Children, beastly aberrations,
Of such vicious degradation.

Face scarred with river of tears,
Eyes inflamed with written fears,
Demented out of human sentience,
Into creatures relentless.

And you turn and forget,
Of the demon that you beget,
Once a child innocent and naïve,
Into hellion now besieged.

But remember those gentle eyes,
Sweet smile free of lies,
Warmth of love, and heat of passion,
Before you infused your fatal fashion.

"My Humanity"

I try my best to stay evade,
But it follows like Death’s shade,
Yet what though, do I hide from?
I’ll tell…just come.

It is the most basic human want,
For which we all try and try to flaunt,
And yet very few succeed,
To win…to achieve.

It is Love to whom I am tethered,
To that feeling am fettered,
I find it so enticing a concept,
However, there seems a precept.

No matter how hard I try, I struggle,
I’m left broken and befuddled,
Here to be eternally refused,
Zealot of use and abuse.

I just seek one sign of affection,
A couple minutes of genuine attention,
Someone to hold me close and sigh my name,
Who can free me from years of shame.

It is truly my greatest weakness,
In my quest for humble meekness,
Collapsed by my most human desire,
A deep thirst for that passionate fire.

Someone to fill up all my heart,
A little sweet, and a little tart,
Who melts me to my very core,
And un-ices me forevermore.

Is it so wrong?
Am I too far-gone?
Beyond such strong deservance?
Unworthy of such preservance?

A little love, a little warmth,
A mate here on and here forth,
Is that really so much to ask?
Really so difficult a task?

Just need someone to cuddle me close,
Wash away my feelings so morose,
Like I said, just one small sign,
And commit my heart unto thine.

Ah, but such is life so futile,
With renditions and tricks so subtle,
Provoking such hateful profanity,
What madness, what insanity…

"My Own Poison"

Solicitous, yet so welcome,
A long-time visitor in my house,
Dulling the shine of my “chrome,”
Nothing but a parasitic louse.

It’s okay though, I want you here,
Consume me and capture this body,
Dominate my core made austere,
Rebel the physic and defy immunity.

Let me kneel to this prayer of poison,
Trickle through my throat and cleanse,
Absolve the malaise within,
Purify me of all future then’s.

I’ll gladly walk this course of corrosions,
Submit to the will of burdenous others,
Time elapsed reveals evident erosion,
What now my sisters, my brothers?

The agent now pulses in my veins,
Slowly besieging my heart,
And rapidly my life here wanes,
However, that’s not the worst part.

It’s that you’ll be left with his husk,
Devoid of life yet still a puppet,
A remembrance of the day I walked to dusk,
And left a masochist’s marionette.

"Phantasmal"

Lips brushing softly
Spirit held aloft,
A small sigh of joy,
Love for a lost boy.

Wisp cups his cheek,
Heart meek, eyes seek,
His closened clutch,
To the ghostly touch.

Gently, he clings,
For what it brings,
Sweet apparition,
Silent petition.

Hazed stroke of fang,
A sweet, red tang,
Faint, subtle mark,
Slight and undark.

So fades its trace,
Spirit Love’s face,
And his foggéd mind,
Trapped in the sublime.

Dusting with the mist,
He lays, unkissed,
Cycled shadow sought,
Relapsed without thought.

So the boy closes,
Sedated with his doses,
Sleeping, sleeping,
Forever…dreaming…

"Plague of Society"

A malevolent flurry,
Encased in hellish fury,
Totally terrifying,
Yet sadistically satisfying.

It lies within each of us,
Deadly and destructive, and thus,
When we engage in this fatal epic,
There is no alleviating antiseptic.

This demonic manifestation,
Unique with each demonstration,
Attacks in devastating new forms,
To forever feed the eternal storm.

This circumventive force,
Yields no rendition of remorse,
Merely a presiding hate,
Which no action can abate.

It is the fuel of War,
This dynastic destroyer,
Consuming all in its wake;
Human spirit it shall break.

Humanity, the obedient victim,
Catalyzed by our own sadomasochism,
From which we become the Infinite Paradox,
Whom the master malefactor mocks.

How, though, is this what we have become?
Our own re-complicating conundrum,
And sadly, it is not easy to realize,
That it spawns from what we fantasize.

For it is we who are the shameless leader,
We who are the mindless reader,
The tasteless desecrator,
The hopeless fabricator.

Our forms are the written word,
The spoken sword…
The bleeding bullet,
The garroted gullet…

We are the creation turned vile,
That which will not – cannot – reconcile,
And so, what lies in our impropriety,
Is the very Plague of Society.

"Song of Sorrow"

Crystalline drops of sorrow fall around me,
Tinkling on the foggéd floor of memory,
Puerile essences of the emotions within,
Chiming out a soft and unspoken hymn.

A melodic verse of the inner spirit,
Spun from the drops of eyes tearéd,
Pealing out the tale of his silent soul,
That he himself no longer can show.

Revealing heart of onyx, and soul of diamond,
Mind traipsing through time out and time in,
Ever-composing new harmonies and beauties,
Under the meandering guise of “illuding.”

Then upward glance the eyes of cloud and mist,
A moment’s glimpse ‘way from the encompassing list,
Faint breath of dream and back to the song world,
To once again move where the gemmed notes twirl.

"The Eldest Corruption"

It was spawned in ages ancient,
By those sinned and oath-bound silent,
To inspire a realm of dilapidation,
And so suffer a race emaciation.

But its power laid unforeseen,
For the summoners were left in bloody sheen,
Where it rose to final release,
To on its new world, Hell unleash.

So see the demon now descend,
Upon our human rift where’st attend,
Thus plague us for the eternity to come,
And pass to us mentality, worrisome.

Even now though, we are still failed,
For purity and morals lay curtailed,
As it resides now in our modern time,
Ensuing sin, caressing crime.

It breathes in our generation, sweet taint,
Bleeding the influent legacy of the Saint,
Twisting the minds of our youth,
Enacting in their bodies, behaviors uncouth.

Such is it, its beautiful maleficence,
Bathing in the majestic magnificence,
Oh, the black flavor of world obsidian,
Railed on our one-way ticket to oblivion.

It sighs.
Sweet, sweet chaos…

"The Harbinger"

I seem to have a natural talent,
For throwing into perfect imbalance,
Whenever it is Peace that I am intending,
It is instead Pain that I bring.

These teen years are really quite twisted,
Loves and hates listed, hands always fisted,
It just never seems to be anywhere fair,
In my encompassing and circumventing lair.

The lies, the deceit, the fabrications,
The dies, the defeat, the lacerations,
All constructs of my marvelous little world,
Where all that good and wonderful is furled.

Now mistake me not – my intents aren’t evil,
It’s just that my errors are simply unbelievable,
They start our small, harmless, phantasmal,
Then erupt, catalyze into something quite dismal.

Please understand now what I desire,
I’m not after some infernal fire,
Not going to instigate some tidal wave,
Or even start some typhooned knave.

Though – granted – it usually ends catastrophic,
Going through processes really cataclysmic,
Where some points are stunningly atrophic,
And the end result beyond seismic.

I imagine that all this sounds insane,
To hear