the wandering

young and dumb, when i
was enticed to a
fruitful wilderness
a phantasmagorical oasis
where i went
i could not tell
parts of the journey
i could not spell

i met many
they spoke and dressed like me
seductive words dipped in poison
unbeknown to us

i was unschooled in this form
of skullduggery
the Word? familiarly unfamiliar
to me

i went in
wholeheartedly, forsook
friends and family
i was taken...

don't regret many
but these actions 
i regret regrettably

caught in a web
of deception from my inception
born again?
the travesty of a false reality

imprisoned by the ghostspell
bewitching false messiah
serving man not the Man

followed man's opinion
on what's profane and holy

don't regret many
but these actions 
i regret regrettably

yet i journeyed
thought i was a freed slave
but really an enslaved freeman

oh, how it's taught me
this journey
went wandering to find me 
only to finish at the beginning

with me


Copyright © 2013 Otis Matthew a.k.a psykoe
All rights reserved. No portion of this post may be reproduced, 
stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by 
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or 
otherwise without the express written permission from Otis Matthew a.k.a psykoe.

goldfish by shelley eastwick

drifting towards the edge of the murky canvass that they need,
my wisdom is too colourfully innocent for them to leave me free.
piercing my surface with their spears of hope and falsity,
their language reaches out to make me bleed instead of be.

and so I struggle forward like a goldfish in a storm,
screaming streams of questions like a child not yet born.

i mimic for the eye the tumbling, choking, downward spiral,
knowing that beyond this, possibility wears me like a smile.
drenching my senses with their waves of theory and industry,
they tell me that it is only my mental mirror that I see.

and so I struggle forward like a goldfish in a storm,
knowing that they cannot cage my ever-flowing form.

this equilibrium they are forcing fails to balance me,
for i know that this struggle is but a mask hiding the fears of the sea.
i have no inner turbulence.

no battle of me against me.
i just remind them of how sublime, and yet insignificant, we can be.

and so i struggle forward like a goldfish needing air,
but elsewhere i am merely washing goldfish from my hair.


Copyright © 2002 Shelley Eastwick 
All rights reserved. No portion of this post may be reproduced, 
stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by 
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or 
otherwise without the express written permission from Shelley Eastwick.