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RedStoneEB
Senior Member

since 2003-06-08

Posts 772
uk

0 posted 2013-01-27 09:28 AM

The maddening mind, in a room with two windows,
Spheres the silhouettes of I, against the whites.
Each thoughtless action
Reaching for mechanism
Into the continuous routines, slowly rusting,
stored in the glass cabinets, a collectable.
My mind is a decayed processor,
And the lanes closed in need of repairs, the owner,
asleep in this Center of mass,
Waiting for an impulse, a motion from another source.
The flesh filled with the lines of many years;
life, fate, wisdom, strength, death.
The conscious keeps the intelligence, makes dreams,
Whispers in the silence, poking the embers alive.

I am here,
A suppressed thought among thoughtlessness.

I want so many difference things. “none I actually need”:
The word from mind to lips and out, spoken without a thought,
swindled from the true beliefs. In the justness of what I see
Came not I, but we.

In dependence, from the flow of society, flowering the slogans
We are independent, But I, dependent
Amongst the masses of other dependent self
with caressing hands led from the rough-like states
of being' which self sees in the wilderness.

Tenants of my mind,
Read my note “Evicted”.

Margherita
Member Seraphic

since 2003-02-08

Posts 22236
Eternity

1 posted 2013-01-27 09:44 AM

quote:
asleep in this Center of mass,
Waiting for an impulse, a motion from another source.

Very profound and impressive self-analysis, dear Lee.

The impulse is constant from the very source of LIFE, listen to your heart and connect with the most amazing "direct line" to the eternal ever present Source of life.

Your busy intellectual mental activity keeps you searching, waiting, reaching for satisfaction with regard to the meaning of your existence. This is very well done.

Wishing you well.

Margherita

"Love is the One who masters all things;
I am mastered totally by Love."
(Rumi)

JerryPat2
Member Laureate

since 2011-02-06

Posts 16975
South Louisiana

2 posted 2013-01-27 10:13 AM

You write deep. All of your stuff is filled with underlying meanings and agony, or at least wondering disappointment. These two lines seem to me to be the key line among so many excellent ones . . .

quote:
The conscious keeps the intelligence, makes dreams,
Whispers in the silence, poking the embers alive.

~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~

Victoria

Member Ascendant

since 2000-08-12

Posts 5869

3 posted 2013-01-27 10:19 AM

The flesh filled with the lines of many years;
life, fate, wisdom, strength, death.

There is a story behind every line...and
as we get older we want less for ourselves and more for others. I liked the ending too RS.

~Victoria

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
William Shakespeare

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