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-Nihilism-

if there's always been nothing
empty, amorphous, absent
then there has always been everything
full, whole, awake
in some form
forgotten or norm
yet what can one know
amidst this maelstrom
that infects us with the effect
of reality?

I know everything
and I know nothing
for it is something of a calamity
feeling what you scrawl as god

this has nothing to do with insanity
for nothing taught me something
in dual polarity

I thought down a pale road
choked over by the willows of morality
leaving behind the prison of stone pillows

weaving a quest for clarity I walked with the load
of a hundred thousand shifting shadows
cast from the light of black star shine

were can we draw the knowing line
in the fine sands of our lives
bitten by grinding time
and it's rows of cold steel knives
lining the long jaws of days
that clamp down hard to conform
driving your mind to distances away
from the concrete patterns it would pave
clogging your heart with plastic that betrays
the passage of passionate hot blood to your brain
the sane arrive to the thought that only nihilism can save
any sense of what they were
from the world

and the black hole starts sapping
jacking into strip away the false folds
taping into break away the molds
cracking into sever the shackles holds
trapping the ebony light to which your soul was sold

thinking you might get lucky
sinking into enlightenment
you just might find nothing
and at first it might seem comforting
until you have to deal with everything
again

I wouldn't speak to you
if I didn't think you could be my friend
I would preach to you
if there wasn't something inside you
that could survive all ends

something I found left with so few
places from were I could begin
to illuminate the shadows that grew
longer then anything I ever knew

like a white light that was everything
that fused instantly with nothing
the black and white truth
that was written on my heart
the seeds my flesh had pocketed
from before the start
of present tense being

for you can aim your arrows
at the sky
you can scold me with scarabs
that would leech my blood dry
you can drink the fire
that burns in my eyes
you can obliterate me
with out explaining why

nil me in your world of pretend
because your everything is my nothing
and my nothing is not the end
I will never be empty again

Thats really what it is, sweeping visions of sweeping feleings...it's not really that personal..it straight forward in saying what it says, I think, I wrote it quite universally. It's plausible you have never had these feelings on the level I have, because I was searching for them, but didn't get whatI expected completely.

I truly believe in what I have come to in my head, and my heart. Regardless of what happens, it will keep me full, and regardless of what I face, I willnever waver from it. That does not mean I am not without sorrow, pain, or dispare, because I am human, and the world is imperfect. I say to you though, oh, embrace being swept away...it's everything to grow.

There is a safe place in all of our heads, like a clearing people make for us in a forrest. It's all most people ever know, some people's clearing is bigger then others, so be it. This is all they come to know because they are taught to fear the forrest, and people fear the unkown, and they are limited to what they are taught. I myself, liketo run free in the forrest, naked on chains.

It's an analogy, and obviously not proportionate to everyone...perhaps I would be better off if I didn't think of them either...but then...I would have to stop writing!

bump, thought this was a good one, bump.

There were creatures living on the bottom of a stream, clinging with all thier might to the weeds and pebbles that made up their homes, for the current was swift and strong and to let go, it was said, was death. But then came the day that one of the creatures took a deep breath and released his hold. He was battered and bashed along the bottom as the current drove him into the rocks, but eventually, the current lifted him above his fellows so that he floated near the surface. And all the creatures below him shouted in awe, "He must be a prophet! A god!"

~paraphrased from Illusions

Well, that's one of the parables that was told...at the beginning, I think. The book tells the story of a man who is learning 'the truth of the way the world works' from a man who has already attained the ability to perform miracles, simply by realizing that he already has the ability to do everything already; "why punish yourself until you feel you've earned the right to know this skill, to do this deed" he asks as he picks up an instrument he's never played before and composes a haunting melody. There's a lot of philosophy that's introduced, and the author really makes some compelling arguments. Your poem reminded me of the book, a bit.

Yeah, here's the book: "Illusions: The adventures of a reluctant messiah" by Richard Bach.

which I never did....wow...are you people still around here?