P. 1
Man Is

Man Is

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Published by J Preston Lowe

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Published by: J Preston Lowe on Aug 20, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Man Is…(1990) In the earliest awakening, Of creatures born from debris, Only dinosaurs and no Humanity.

Yet man in thought is mistaken, For he believes that he first came, Into this world from above, In some god’s name. Truly, he is a beast in the wilderness Awoken in an elemental storm By some comet’s kiss Which built fires to keep him warm. Man is all beast, no soul intact. If he knew this truth How would he react? Nenavist do ludii (1990) I caught a glimpse of Life’s carousel; I watched the time spin by so fast. I felt that it was all in my imagination: The pain, the loneliness, and the hatred. But now I see, It wasn’t me. I’ve been poisoned from the start. Every woman I’ve ever met wishes to break my heart. Why do I even try? I make hollow friends, But when I die, No one cries, And my torture never ends. I feel so dead right now. I wish I could escape somehow, But no one lends a hand. They all stand and say,” I’ll be damned, Before I help another or give a little love”, Like men with guns they shoot the dove. As I lay dying, nothing flashes before me. In my lifetime, the whole world has ignored me. Even the flower in my hand, Cries, “to loneliness you shall be damned.” Then what is my life worth? Perhaps I should have died before my birth.

Introduction (1990) I would call Depression Death, For when I feel depressed I feel Totally cut off from the world –like death. I’m not always depressed yet the moments of joy Are eclipsed by the depression. People hate me; I hate people. It’s a simple solution to my problem: I counter hate with hate. I have no friends here, only hungry leeches. I see Normal People doing normal things like falling in love; I wonder why I can’t do those same things. I think love is an unattainable goal-the kind the Great poets wrote about. Love is wonderful, But Love is nonexistent. Of all things, death frightens me the most. I fear that I shall not accomplish anything Before I suffer and die. What can I do? I can fly away.

Truth There is no such thing as love or friendship: Each is an abstraction, a non-reality. People prey upon simple coincidences They hunt the defenseless;

They kill the intellectual. Love is said but seldom meant, Friendship is a lie—something to weaken our defenses. Until a whole, a half becomes, Until time creaks upon the wooden floor, And death rides in the night. Das Blatt (The Leaf) I saw a leaf Fall from a tree, Like a soldier in a war, Like a man from life to death. And so are we all leaves, And, in the end, will fall. Imitation she was like a fresh-picked flower, unspoiled by the dark fog of the world. her lips were as red as the rose’s petals; her eyes as blue as the cloudless sky, but I could not love her—she, being purity’s sister, was too perfect to be tangible enough for me to touch. like unsettled vapors from a bog, she quickly disappeared, and left me sitting here on this rock, awaiting her return, a return that will never occur. it’s just another woeful day in a world not of my making. On Austria And the mountains rose Like stone statues guarding Some huge secret from becoming Known by those who wished To manipulate the world. The air was still, And the only sounds heard Were the words Of people skirting across The paths, which lined

The sides of the mountains. Sadly, I sat on a rock, As old as the mountains themselves. Even my love wanders away Down some ice-covered trail; She grows more distant from me. Untitled Praise not those puppets who Seem only to resemble men. They dress like paper warriors on a New crusade against love. For they only cater to some cruel sense of honor, As if killing someone was like going to the movies. Life becomes a marionette—something that is Played with upon the stage—and is discarded When it’s of no use. Above all else praise not the greedy jackals; For soon they may devour your door, Leaving you with nothing but a blank Sheet of paper and a broken pen. So Go I Green flowers stand in some field Like statues in a museum. They shall soon crumble into dust, And so go I. Transparent Dreams Although the flowers were there In the forest of my heart, Something was missing, Something that meant everything. The clouds form faces In my most beautiful dreams. I see your face: lovely and bright; Along comes another to take you away. I feel my heartache very deep When I see you all of the time. Yet you wish to ignore me, To thump me like a fly off your arm.

Today, I am just another cloud in the sky: I am dark and filled with rain, But you stand around without a care, For your umbrella is in your hand. Imperfect world----Lights are flashing, Time has flown, Love is crashing; It's all overblown. Everything will decay; Happiness goes away. Everyone is looking for good, Though they're just puppets--made out of wood. As for myself, I'm weary from trying To find perfection when everyone's lying. Don't give me the runaround. Don't give me the runaround. I know this is only an imperfect world-An imperfect world. I know they have knives behind their smiles. I have been on this road for so many miles. Life and death are merely games For people who have no shame. Human beings are useless pests Who flock like some birds do-- in their nests. I would rather leave this all behind, And seek perfection in my mind. In the end, at least I'll be sure Of who I am, and that's the cure. That's the cure for this..... FOR THIS.... i m p e r f e c t world...

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