There was once a time I felt I was the center of All the turbulence descending down from God above, For it had been his wicked world which left me marred And if any love in this scarred world had once existed Then from this feeling I would most certainly be barred. For when the sun beat down so lovingly from heaven It would be only I who lie charred black when it set And if you told me I was paranoid and hopeless, I would say, “don’t forget: riddled with regret”.
But now I realize that I am not alone in this, No living soul has ever wished off Judas’s Kiss And, yet, still we are all stark alone in how we suffer The lives of men maintain no pattern, rhyme or reason So, therefore, each breath is nothing but a fleeting buffer. For each year marks a dawn of a deeper darker winter And each winter leaves a mortal man far more froze, If you tell me that the storm is simply pointless to defy Then I’ll just decry this mortal dread in prose.
The third episode to my podcast aired today and, like the introductory episode, I was very happy with how it came out. I discussed a wide range of topics, such as the family structure, spirituality, the war of life, love, my own personal family and the existential need to fight for beauty. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “The Savage Storm” from my first book, Rotten Man’s Throne…you can find a link to purchase it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08541HSXH/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_9YMTS5FE2QA6D2CB04VX)
Link to the video included below, please subscribe to my channel and tell me what you think:
From the warmth of his home, he critiques the world, In his mind he’s a martyr, his black flag’s unfurled, He votes with his passion, his news sources he reads Not knowing these monsters seek to shatter his knees! In bed with the monsters, the serpent of envy and greed, That demonic leviathan to him it still lies and it pleads, By indulging his fears and his pity his empathy is seized And engage with his sympathy to spread its disease! For each day’s a battle, in some book each day is wrote And for those who defy this, their armies go up in smoke.
It is him who I shall watch and it’s at him I shall stare For whose existence is resisted will decay in despair, To resist life is pointless and this nihilism is terrible to grasp So that fallacy becomes the cocoon of a fabricated mask! He who is sickened by everything that knows chaos and strife Forgets that what batters down walls will hone down his knife! So accept the violence and chaos, man, don’t shy from life And know that life is a war, man, please engage in the fight, Whether in battle with gloves on or at your table to write! For each day’s a battle, in some book each day is wrote And for those who defy this, their armies go up in smoke.
The Bum’s Lament is a series of poems I had written while languishing in a crappy studio apartment, no money in my bank account, no job, engulfed in depression and nihilism and bathed in alcohol and cigarette smoke. This book is an early attempt of mine to explore my own suffering and, in doing so, strives to understand the suffering of all of humanity throughout the finitude of the human lifespan. I was attending school at the time of this writing, a local community college, and was stricken by the lack of depth in analysis which the classroom setting could produce. My life previous, and my current life as well, exposed me to the dark pit that is the natural universe and, unlike my peers, the surface scratching that the modern academic setting yielded to me no recourse to understanding. This book likely will do no better, however, it is a genuine attempt with nothing held back.