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When waking to dreams of me sleeping, in reality,
the difference between the two is nothing more than a difference of eye positioning.
time and time again iRun into issues related to the art of communication. iSpeak; but, the words heard and, more importantly, the meaning deciphered is often times not at all what iTried to convey...
iDidn't celebrate my birthday this year. Actually wanted to, but for some reason, it just didn't fall through. August was busy work, training, maintenance, and qualifications. September was the on-set of the extreme fatigue iFeel now. October was team training in Florida. November...?
Nothing new, iAm at that point where after all that's stacked up begins to wobble. iWonder when the collapse will come. My return to America depresses the shit out of me. iFind it hard to parallel, to exist on similar planes... iCannot concentrate. iFeel somewhat like an animal, of the endangered kind. Driven from my natural environment by poachers of the mind, heart, and spirit... and now, in unfamiliar territory, am hunted by vile and unusual creatures.
iStarve
iStress
and in the dismal darkness, iAm alone.
What's worse about it, from my perpective at least: iFeel like iTried this time. For the first time in a long time, iDon't think iPushed anyone away. Yet... there's no one here.
NOTE: iAppreciate those of you who would say that your always here for me, that you care, etc... But, iMean really, there's no one HERE for me, but self.
iDon't need words of encouragement, promises to always be supportive, or inspiration that eventually things will get better. iKnow these things. iAlso know that tomorrow is not set in stone, so at this moment...
iLean on the intangible: dreams and memories.
all iAsk, is that when my gelatinous support structure collapses... don't help pick me up, if you're not going to walk with me long enough for my own legs to heal.
It rains bricks and bones, and
In the chaos I start to drown
...never learned to swim, because
My feet could reach the ground.
Somewhere 'twixt the crunch of
me choking on the fine debris
...I had a revelation that
The rain was caused by me.
The storm cloud was my sorrow
The lightning was my fear
The rain was tears of those I hurt
And, that's why they aren't here.
The only logical solution to it all is that we are speaking different languages. Generally, internationally, help is free.
Copyright 2008poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action.
Time is the enemy of lovers, who stand frightfully upon his doorstep...
begging for seconds to kiss
pleading for minutes to say good-bye
on hand's and knees, prostrate before their prosecuter, asking only to remain in one anothers arms for a lifetime.
And, he... with his hands thrice, moving so swiftly 'round the face of despair; yes, he will laugh at them in quiet ticks and abrupt tocks. He will neither grant nor deny the lovers their plea. He will turn and walk away, across the sands of infinity, of which no great amount of tears can moisten enough to transform it into clay, delaying the precious moments of quixotism...
Quelque part, de façon ou d'autre, loin loin...
L'ange pleure ses larmes de douleur.
Pour, bien qu'ils aient aimé, car aucun ne pourrait aimer...
Le coeur d'anges a été déchiré encore.
Déchiré encore par des épines encore.
L'ange est mort en larmes de douleur.
I believe this to be the most efficient method to express it all. Close your eyes and look... look as the eagle looks, from the highest heights. Look as the snake looks, from sandy pits and jungle floor. I guarantee you cannot. The minds eye is truly powerful... but, no man nor woman can see from the eyes of another. Its one of those trees in the forest deals... if it falls, does it make a sound? Think about it. Every friendship or relationship you have, you still do not know that person. You know what they want you to know. You may argue that if they have indeed shown you who they are, then would it not be true that you know them? I say no, and no again. For the simple fact remains that you are not them. There is no way for you to explore the recesses of their minds... and surely you are not with them 100% of the time.
We invest so much of our lives getting to "know" others... but, who are you? Do you have a heart of thorns?
©Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Art courtesy of asantell @ http://www.deviantart.com
sábado, 10 de noviembre de 2007 a las 13:45 |
walking along the riverbank, I noticed a small sparrow had landed in a nearby tree. I could not help but to stand and watch as it gently pecked out each of its feathers in a seemingly random order. I thought to myself, even this small bird understands the need to find some sort of order amidst all of this chaos. So, here we are tumbling down the rabbit hole once again... And not unlike Alice, of that famed wonderland, we're all lost and just a tad bit confused.
The time has come my little friends, to talk of many things.
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
cabbages and Kings...
And why the sea is boiling hot,
And whether pigs have wings...
If we spend our entire lives rhyming,
And all of our time singing songs, what have we accomplished?
In this reality, it seems that no one really cares who we are. No one matters to anyone. So, as a no one to everyone, one could infer that everything we do accomplish... need only satisfy ourselves. Whether we write poems, sings songs, or discover life on another planet, each task that we as human beings pursue carries with it some purpose. 
The Walrus and the Carpenter from the Lewis Carroll Original Consider this, I can sit in my room all day and you will forget I existed. For even in that instance, by me not leaving my room I may have saved myself money; and, by me not spending that money, I may have affected the sales of some store. So, every action carries with it it's own reaction. Sir Isaac Newton knew what he was talking about.
The "staying in my room to save money" bit is a metaphor... It easily applies to many instances. If I stay in my room, I may have saved myself from emotional harm; and, by refusing to indulge in the risks of romance, I may have broken someone else's heart. Action. Reaction.
I've known for quite some time that the name of the game is: "Kill or be killed". I simply refused to admit I was playing. Now, that that it has been proven that, inevitably, I am, indeed, a player of said game... let it be known, that should the situation arise, I would (and without hesitation) kill you, to prevent my own untimely death. (once again this is a metaphor, folks... not actually discussing murder. I have to say this, because some of you have smaller than average minds and dwell only in the literal.)
Speaking of staying in rooms, I should probably get to sleep myself. It is late at night and my mind is beginning to wander. Perhaps some sleep will be just what I need, after all I still have a lot of life left to live...
Ciao,
Dario the rude Italian
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. The Walrus and the Carpenter is briefly quoted, additionally a photo of the titles original art has been used. No part of Lewis Carrolls' The Walrus and the Carpenter may be reproduced without prior consent of the original author, or equal representing party. Art courtesy of Feasley via deviantART @ http://www.deviantart.com
martes, 06 de noviembre de 2007 a las 11:04 | Editar nota | Eliminar 
There comes a time when you have to look at the tabletop in front of you and count the bottles... empty. Drained to the fullest extent. So, on shaky legs we stand. We kindly pay our tab. We walk from the smoke and clamor, back out into a dark world.
Swirling in like an import on tap, the shadows of my past have once again been placed in front of me. It's kind of funny now, looking back at who I've been... compared to who I am now. Drink. At times, these days, I often want to cry out at the top of my lungs,
"WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!"
I mean, honestly, this is just what I get for ever giving myself away.. haha. Drink. Nonetheless, here I sit, wondering what the path will look like when the time has come to head home. What was a straight (not-so-narrow) road... has now become a busy intersection. Red lights all around the grid. You know. That eerie anticipation, as each vehicle rolls slightly forward, as if asking permission to cross. This 4-way of death, and just as you say,
"Fuck it!"
your foot presses pedal to floor... You know. Yeah! Just as you get halfway across the intersection, your mind plays a vivid scene featuring the 11 o'clock news and a 4 car pile-up. Drink.
All I've ever really wanted is for Darryl Lamont Campbell to be the man from storybook romances. Dreams do come true, ya know! Drink. Ever since those days we had to announce to the rest of the class what we wanted to
"be when we grow up...."
Darryl has secretly wanted to be a sterling gentleman. 
Another one bites the dust. You can keep your fame and fortune. Keep your high praises. I'm just so washed out now... Drink.. and Drink a little bit more. I know I'm rambling now, but I promise these words all come together in the end...
Eight no-so-neatly arranged bottles stand beside me... and during those brief moments where the room has spun back to its rightful orientation, you'll see me take a step. Drink. The downfall of which, is only that, I may not even remember this in the morning. How could I ever expect to learn from this mistake. I know that when all is said and done, those cars at the intersection will make it through safely. Drink. Yes, I know that in due time I'll down this last bottle with no worries... Yet I also know, that this life I lead is tumbling. A fragile tower of bottle caps... that I just couldn't resist to push. Drink and belch. As one more bottle is sucked dry, I'll look down and see my life crumbling down. Someone, drive me home. I'm drunk.
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Photography by Darryl Campbel
Domingo, 21 de octubre de 2007 a las 18:10 |
Its the simple things that we sometimes forget... It is the sound of waves crashing against rocks at the shore. 
Crashes at the Rock by Darryl Campbell It is the setting moon, giving way to a beautiful new day. It is her smile, unseen, yet felt 'neath each word she writes. It is the subtle swirling of whirlpools whirling. It is that rare majestic moment shared between two people on the damp sand, as the tide falls, hours before dawn. It is the sparkle in her eyes, remnant of the thousand suns dotting a darkened sky. It is the lethargic whisper of summer winds and spring rains. It is the off-balance shudder step as she jumps into your arms, planting a long awaited kiss on your lips. Its the smile you flaunt, alone in your bedroom, when a thought of her creeps into your mind...
They are the slowly dying artifacts of once cherished romanticism. And just when realization strikes... just when you've thought you lost it for all time... A friendly voice reminds you: "...Love never leaves us.." 
Phoenix by nelsonp Deep, underneath all your sorrow, buried far below your self-expectations, that quiet quixotic flame still embers. All it takes is something simple-a simple kiss, blown your way... to ignite the feeling you've longed to remember. Your heart catches updrafts from the ensuing burst of heat, and takes flight. It soars near the sun like the phoenix, born again from its ashes.
If all the flowers of Babylon were a bouquet, I'd give them to you willingly.
If the gusts of Autumn could carry my love, I'd send sweet nothings across the sea.
If the sun's rays could bend, I'd form, for you, a ring of endless light...
If I knew you loved me too, I'd ask you to be my wife.
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Photography by Darryl Campbell. Art courtesy of nelsonp via deviantART @ http://www.deviantart.com
martes, 04 de septiembre de 2007 a las 2:06 | 
Yellow Means Danger by IsItReal She speeds by
on the fast track to love,
but slows for the yellow light
hanging above, intersection..
allowing the world to catch up
to her idling engine
allowing thought to transpose
into poetic diction
allowing reaction time for me
to apply friction--
to anti-lock brakes, and
avoiding the mistake, of
crashing through cross traffic
while my RPMs race... 
Red Light To Heaven by emmimen
caught up in the magic
and enjoying the chase...
I stop beside her.
Light reading red,
Green Light by Cwistak I catch a glimpse of her eyes lit up with fire...
and, that's all I've seen--
'Cause she sped off,
soon as the light turned green.
-poeticDesCent
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Art courtesy of deviantART @ http://www.deviantart.com
He writes 'twixt the low hum of electricity. He writes in the dim glow of computer screens, head bent low over loose leafed sheets. He writes to guitar riffs and digital chords. He writes of you...
Memory lane is right around the corner; you know, the same street you've meandered down for years. Fingers tips meet finger tips, as anxious tongues lick waiting lips. Setting sun meets horizon as waning moon begins its run.Sunset Stars and Moon (artist not listed) Ah, how his eyes close tightly. Oh, how he grips that pen, forcing images to become words.... And this world... with its poets, with its love songs and first kisses, with its close calls and near misses. He drifts away. The lights in the city become sparse, as happy heads are lain to rest. He wishes upon satellites for the chance to see you again. Riverfront walks... late night talks... The gentle wave of flesh as you inhale, sleeping soundly with his arms wrapped around you. He counts the stars tonight and remembers the glisten in your eyes after a kiss. He stands wracked by the night wind and remembers the cold gust of lonliness.
"Where are you, my love?" He asks, "Do you dream of me?"
Smear black ink, his palms are sweaty, he's barely listening... His iPod plays, as he stares at the dark asphalt wondering whats buried underneath. The only thing keeping him dry of tears, is the fact that he knows it was worth leaving... And now, DC sleeps alone tonight. Under the layers of dirt and sand, some great civilization once stood. As another night comes, so does another layer of sediment fall over the life he once led.
Remember the "high" you two felt at the mere sight of one another. Remember how the freckles in your eyes were mirror images, and when you kissed they were perfectly aligned. Think back to how it felt... you caressing his face...Piece To My Puzzle by kristinasdfg speculating that God had made the two of you into correspnding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay. Does it still take your breath away when you remember the sincerity his voice when he that told you he loved you??
His heart is still your home. Let these letters blur into the image of his face. Allow the air to slowly escape as you taste that which has become untastable. Relax the shoulders that once used to nestle into his chest. Embrace the memory, and know that when you sleep tonight... As your hair drapes across your face....All The Worlds A Blur For Love 2 (artist not listed) As your pillow carries you away into a land far away... As the empty space next to you fills with your dreams.... He is thinking of you.
Je suis ton chevallier dans l'armour brilliante.
Te amo, la mia principessa.
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Art courtesy of deviantART @ http://www.deviantart.com
my favorite line " A society where we've learned to hate with ease and love with much difficulty"
Nothing but truth lies in that statement
the difference between the two is nothing more than a difference of eye positioning.
They, you, whoever, just said what ive been trying to say for months unsuccessfully in a little paragraph.