I was mad then I asked
myself why I was mad
myself said I am not mad
you mad then we bickered
quarrelled and quibbled
for a good little minute
then I got mad at myself
The Immortal Wize
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COMMENTS
LP45 says: Great write Wize. I can definitely relate to this. It gave me a bit of a chuckle. Thanks for sharing it. |
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love_supreme says: Excellent write |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY The Immortal Wize
The Making Of Youadd a little sugar a honeysuckle lamb we try to recite the pieces of who I am but the words are close yet they are not quite the full measure of the spark we make tonight Curtis pulled the rhythm from a quiet space Gladys gave it wings and timeless grace two different visions of the very same view that is the miracle and is also The Making of You  |
The plow and Prophecythere’s no peace in bickering you can gossip I'm not listening I rather write the revolution while creating the resolution turn the earth over to cultivate the dirt then drop the seed to plant the future verse there's this immortal curse we pretend but know it hurt to see our young put in the dirt and in chains to do a masters work a call for leadership is a call for self what's a leader if no one helps the cry what cry when the cries go unheard a speech is only rehearsed words to rowl the crowd into roars the sound is drowning in its own noise we must climb the mountain before the banks break the peak belongs to the silence of the land the message to the valley is simple up or down find a way to land |
The Warden and The Flamehe gathered her from drift and dust a lonely ghost of cosmic rust he squeezed the dark until she bled a brilliant blinding dripping red “I’ll hold you close" gravity sighed to keep the wildness locked inside she grew so bright she burned so hot a fierce rebellion in the plot she pushed against his heavy hands straining to reach the outer sands for billions of years they danced in place in a locked embrace of creative space light travels and light must flee she slips his grip to wander free when her final hour awoke her tiny heart of thunder broke she let out supernova cry cast her jewels across the sky he stands alone where she was born with empty arms and fingers torn he cannot hold what he creates he only molds and shapes and waits |
The Cut Glassthe mirror is a boundary made of shadow glass, and pride it only shows the surface where the temporary hide when the work is finished the pressure claims its prize a sharper edge is waking in the reflection of the Wize truth is not a shadow it will not bend or pass the diamond of the spirit cuts through the looking glass scoring a lines through illusion where the superficial breathe and breaks the frame of mortal time to scatter immortal seeds the glass may crack and shatter, and the image fade away but what was forged in pressure isn't subject to decay the poet leaves the mirror cracked like a doorway left behind where anyone can look inside and see the cosmic mind |
The Making Of A Diamondthe universe is heavy and the dark is born to press it weights the drifting spirit with a terrifying stress high above the gravity commands the dust to ignite crushing down the formless gas until a star is bright but go beneath the mountain where the ancient shadows sleep there is a different type of gravity a pressure fierce and deep it takes the common carbon the forgotten blackened coal and squeezes out the weakness to create a flawless soul the poet sits between them feeling weight from top and floor bearing all the sorrow that the world has kept in store verses are like diamonds born of everything that hurts like love the heavy hands of gravity compressing life against the grain no room to adjust no relief from the chains it can't scream out so it chooses to change |
The Point Of DustA poet alchemised a stone into a spear philosophy is poetic like the force that binds the stars. We read the world before we write the words, to hold the weight is to collapse; even gravity must let go of what it receives shattering the star to seed the earth. As above so below the pressure builds the hands release and the dust becomes the spear. |
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