Poetry

The Search

you looked around and found nothing
this was not because you were blind
this was not because it was dark
it was because there was nothing
yet you kept on searching
and all you could find was a book
so you turned in into a home
and filled it with ones like yourself
you all were not blind, you could see clearly
it was not dark at all, a light was shinning at every corner
and in the front you had two candles
but there was nothing, yet you kept on searching
you had your book and you had your home and you had your people
yet there was nothing, and still you search
i cannot blame you, searching for a way out
searching for a way to be forgiven
for a way to see the light, for a way to hear the words
the false sense of security that you now have
you still search but there is nothing, you have your book
and you have your home, it's time to end this
it's time to rest your little eyes
sleep child sleep
what you search for is a blank
an empty space in the hearts of your people
an empty space that you cannot fill
an empty space that will never be filled
sleep now, it's over, your heart is broken
but your soul is strong, i say to sleep,
and yet you still search, now you have your book and you have your home, and you have your people, and you have stupidity
you looked around and you found nothing
but you are not blind, and no it's not dark
i'm sorry to tell you, but there is nothing
and there will never be something, no matter how long you search for it
you will not find what you seek
so sleep little one sleep.

- memphis

My Friend

Your Hair is abstract and in shambles,
like scattered bales of hay.
Your face is beaten and scarred,
like the rear of an ass.
Your eyes are empty hollows of maddness,
beconing and swallowing any thing that crosses their path.
Your arms are strong and contorted pipes,
on which you rest your life.
Your hands are weathered and tough,
like old leather gloves.
Your body is beaten and torn,
like an old battered car.
Outside your battered and ugly,
a sore to the eyes,
but only I know the truth.
Inside your a monument made of solid gold,
and studded with diamonds.
You are my friend, for you I will run the last mile, for you I will fight, for you I will, my friend.
- Gova

Life

In my hands I hold this fragile object.
This objects name is life, it is fragile, and supposedly precious.
It dances, to and fro in my palm,
Going around in circles, dying and being replaced by its young all the time in the same circle.

I look at life, as it dances, and I wonder what am I to do with it?

I could shield it and protect it from harm while it dances.
That would be the right thing to do.
There is so much evil out there that would want to harm life,
what would it do with out me?

But then an idea flashes in my head as I hold life.
I look at its absurd dance.
Always going in circles, never going anywhere, or getting any thing done.
It’s just wallowing in it’s own pointless stupidity on my palm.

I look at life in a new light.
In this light I can see that life is useless.
It’s not going anywhere,
And it’s not getting any thing done other than getting my hands dirty with its pathetic stupidity.

Now I look at life and I am mad.
While I look at life, I wonder how many pieces I can I can break it into…
-Gova