Broken Man.
by Maverick.214
broken man
sits on mound of dirt
waiting for something different every day.
the smell of iron rich blood permeates
a useless vein;
it drips outward into the universe.
broken man
reaches for an empty yellow glass
drinking down the bitterness of regret
the taste of an elusive victory quenches
a fruitless life;
it defeats his purpose in living.
broken man
listens for some higher voice
searching for an answer, a burning bush, an angelic tune.
the sight of another brilliant sunset blinds
a lifeless corpse;
it destroys his illusion of a finite existence.
broken man
you are dead inside
existing for nothing but yourself.
the time has passed yet another empty moment--
a spent torch;
it reminds his future reincarnates of their impending fates.
nobody likes a broken man;
broken man doesn't even like broken man.
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Forgive Thee, mine enemy, for I am still unable to forgive thyself.
Anyway, yes, I'm still trying to understand the questions of life rather than blurting out the answers which I have no firm understanding of, in the first place. It's going to be a long journey. This is just another stop along the way where I post my random thoughts. I like to think of it as a very cheap form of therapy. So sit back, hit the video play button and enjoy the free music, read along, and don't try too hard to figure it all out. Like I said, it's a long journey, indeed.
About Me
- Maverick.214
- Brooklyn, New York City, United States
- The less you know, the better. Shsssh, the walls have ears.
Fav Websites
My Photo Album
Fav Books
- 1984 (Orwell, G.)
- 300 (Miller, F.)
- Animal Farm (Orwell, G.)
- Catch-22 (Heller, J.)
- Deep Thoughts By Jack Handy (Handy, J.)
- Encylopedia of Bodybuilding (Schwarzenneger, A.)
- For Whom The Bell Tolls (Hemingway, E.)
- Jarhead (Swofford, A.)
- Minority Report (Dick, P.K.)
- Sin City (Miller, F.)
- Slaughterhouse Five (Vonnegut, K.)
- The Catcher In The Rye (Salinger, J.D.)
- The Pearl (Steinbeck, J.)
- The Prince (Machiavelli, N.)
- The Stranger (Camus, A.)
- The Wealth of Nations (Smith, A.)
- Welcome To The Monkey House (Vonnegut, K.)
Blog Archive
Mp3 Collection, Vol. I, Section 8, Edition 32, Sub-Section 16
Create a playlist at MixPod.com
Dharma
Forgive Thee, mine enemy, for I am still unable to forgive thyself.
What are we but the thoughts in our minds which project the actions through our bodies?
I don't have all the answers.
Yet, I possess all the questions.
I don't have a calling.
Yet, I know I am on a mission.
And I don't know who I am.
Yet, I fear you may know what I am.
In the end when the moment comes for me to leave in the right manner and not through careless indecision or painful devolution of emotion, I wonder dearly if I will ever be able to repay you from this poverty of spirit and, thus, in doing so shall I satisfy your need for vengeance or my need for reconnection with all that was lost by my hands? If you cannot share in the guilt of our failure then assign all blame to me, whereupon you may take only the good memories and whisper their names in hope that they shall not grow into the familiar strangers we became. This much I ask of you.
Go in peace toward the shores of tomorrow, and find whatever or whoever your karma holds in reward for you. That much I pray for you. I will stay behind and drift upon the currents, letting it take me back to the memory of a tender kiss by a silent pond. Without such, I can never find peace in this life.
My love always begins with a poem. And, sadly, it should end with a poem. I am unable to find the words this time around, however, as the Dharma teaches me the following universal truth, which I have struggled to disobey, disavow, and distance myself from:
"Love like time has no beginning, no end. Unlike people full of anger, hate, and ego, who waste their own time, time remains pure, constant, and unbroken as true love."
Yet, I possess all the questions.
I don't have a calling.
Yet, I know I am on a mission.
And I don't know who I am.
Yet, I fear you may know what I am.
In the end when the moment comes for me to leave in the right manner and not through careless indecision or painful devolution of emotion, I wonder dearly if I will ever be able to repay you from this poverty of spirit and, thus, in doing so shall I satisfy your need for vengeance or my need for reconnection with all that was lost by my hands? If you cannot share in the guilt of our failure then assign all blame to me, whereupon you may take only the good memories and whisper their names in hope that they shall not grow into the familiar strangers we became. This much I ask of you.
Go in peace toward the shores of tomorrow, and find whatever or whoever your karma holds in reward for you. That much I pray for you. I will stay behind and drift upon the currents, letting it take me back to the memory of a tender kiss by a silent pond. Without such, I can never find peace in this life.
My love always begins with a poem. And, sadly, it should end with a poem. I am unable to find the words this time around, however, as the Dharma teaches me the following universal truth, which I have struggled to disobey, disavow, and distance myself from:
"Love like time has no beginning, no end. Unlike people full of anger, hate, and ego, who waste their own time, time remains pure, constant, and unbroken as true love."
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