All that glitters

Golden

Evr'y twinkle's a diamond, all that glitters is gold,

all shimmers are silver, or so I've been told.

they say happiness comes from shining truth

it's truth or falsity is moot,

'cause honesty's not gold's strong suit,

and all that holds us, sparkling glue.

Simmering, shimmering, flickering, glimmering,

sparkling, twinkling, hovering, shining,

burning, fading, gleaming, flowing,

glowing like a diamond mine.

Fizzing sparks, beating hearts,

gilded gold on Noah's ark,

light so bright that it seems dark.

Syrupy spirits in uneven flow

counterfeit coins like a firework show,

and all this shining, blinding slow,

standing still, you can feel it glow.

Paradoxes in motion

Don't worry if this poem doesn't seem to make sense, it's not supposed to. That's kinda the point actually.

Nothing is ever as it seems,

What is truth, and what is dream,

The difference between smoke and steam

a neverending solid stream.

Impossibility lies in shards,

as the elements fall apart,

molten bone pours out my heart

that always stops but never starts.

The world churns and twists and turns,

broken water starts to burn,

I hope that we will start to learn,

that truth begins in a ceramic urn.

Flowing forests of molten glass,

through fields of blades of sharpened grass,

and the world flows right on past,

until it all is brightened black.

Coming to life

Sometimes in my writing, I like to have the poem told from the point of view of and inanimate object, making them come alive.

This time, I'm wondering if they already are.

Awake.

We are intelligent. We are sentient. We are evolved. We are.

The only question is who we are.

and are we the only creatures that can think? That can imagine?

That can ask these questions?

Or do machines have dreams?

Do stones sleepwalk when nobody is watching?

Does my desk remember what I write on it?

We think we are alone on this world, but maybe we are looking at things wrong way 'round. Maybe your car wants to travel the open road, maybe the trees are trying to talk to us,

maybe skyscrapers reached for the stars, and couldn't quite make it.

Maybe once we destroy ourselves, our tools and machines will stand up and walk and talk, and start all over again.

And maybe their tools and machines will try to talk to them,

and maybe,

this time,

they'll listen.

Weather Report

Good morning.

Today will start off with light confusion and scattered bleariness in the morning, followed by heavy footfalls.

In the afternoon doldrums and cynicism will set in for the majority of the day, with frustration increasing towards 4:00

and alcohol levels increasing dramatically as the workday end.

The evening weather has a high likelihood of take-out and cheap beer, with a 75% chance of Kraft dinner.

Minor arguments will break out later, accompanied by hurt feelings and insomnia.

Secret meetings will increase tonight, turning to widely scattered limbs and disorganized clothing.

Also tonight a steady increase in muggings, overdoses, alcohol poisoning, an suicide.

In global weather

The middle east will experience brief changes in atmospheric pressure and government, with a 50% chance of hostages.

During the afternoon tempers will flare briefly with scattered gunfire and rising body counts.

In North America morning will see a precipitation of government misdirection and human rights violations, turning to a steady rain of terror in the afternoon.

By tuesday, worldwide weather will have changed to widely scattered panic and confusion, with a 100% chance of chaos.

Goodnight.

Only Human

.

Only Human.

Teeth and claws,

blood and bones,

fur and fire

is all that remains in my dusty attic of a mind.

But I still remember.

I remember death.

I remember the ground painted red.

I remember fighting every accursed day to be human,

in my house on the hill. All alone.

The children threw rocks at me,

their parents hurried them away.

and tried to burn down my home.

But still I fought it, fought to keep what little sanity I had left,

and then it all became

too much.

The jeers,

the curses,

the attempts on my life.

All I wanted was to exist!

But a monster they wanted, and a monster they got.

It all became a blur, but

I remember,

the dead,

the wounded,

the hunters trying to kill me.

So this is what I have been turned into.

A creature who lives to destroy,

who lives to cause misery, because I do love company.

A creature harried and beaten, twisted and hated by everybody who drove me to become what I am.

So I ask you, my civilized friend:

who is the animal here?