DYT'ed Fact or Fiction

Fact or Fiction

A crazy thought, an intense shot

Locked inside the confines of my mind,

Self made, not out of the boundaries of what we so

Frequently call consciousness,

It’s simply Imagination not actualization, a painted image

Real but at the same time not of this world.

To my unconscious mind it’s as real as it gets,

So why do I have trouble believing this exists.

I would paint you a picture, but its grandeur

Would soon be blander, for the elation

Lies within the mystery, not

Looking back like it’s some kind of history.

For now the oil is cleansed,

The looking glass is transparent again.

The Promised Land lies directly ahead,

And the only thing keeping

Me, for it, is myself.

These stones that I so frequently tripped on

are acting as the pushing force,

in moving me from now until forever,

From point A to point B.

A Brief Beginning (Terrible Poem)

       

  A Brief Beginning

The valley was cold
and my hands were freezing, really freezing
it wasn’t very pleasing.
The longer I walked, the colder I got
I fought with my body to stay hot,
but the sun had went down and my body was getting colder
I was losing my personality, getting a little less bolder.

The moon set high in the night sky,
Shining light down
I found my way to my destination.
There was nothing in sight,
Of course I did leave without a destination.

Unsure of what to do and where to go,
I sat in a cave and lived the rest of my days,
I stayed very warm.

Behind the Viewing I ( Inner Poet)

Behind the Viewing I

To the trained eye the inner confines show simply an observer,

A stationary nomad, subjected to observe,

Things that please and others that quiver my knees.

A relative place known as Colorado,

But beyond the surface, I live a place in need of

Rewritten history.

An insightful morning breeze tells me things are going,

To be just peachy and fine.

When a string of my heart chimes it not to be.

A couple of struggles and a fire ignited,

A fuel of the fire,

Shortening the fuse,

Elation like carbonation.

To the conquered eye

 everything seems so cut and dry.

But my synapses keep firing the stuff of change.

A spirit residing not in the universe but outside of that,

In the place where reality is obsolete.

When even in life’s ever tiresome moment,

Words of life and breath irradiate subliminally.

My spirit long for the resting point, change.

Envisioning people.