Lyric Poems - Poems For Lyric

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October 8th,2006 - Poem by dan hightower

It felt like something new, when the silence yelled at me… it was already 3 am and I had no idea how I had an extra 400 while losing so much of myself, had I really fallen? Had I really given in to the notion? Was I really that naïve, or was it mere bravado which propelled me into this grace? Was I loathsome or inept? Was I devalued or deluded? Could I really have been so blind, damn what a great lyric, why hadn’t I thought of that rather than just become it? Where did I stray off my path of moderation, where did I stray into this land? Why did I come back to it, and under these pretenses, what the bloody hell was I thinking, you can’t change people but you also can’t change yourself, you can’t amend behaviour so ingrained, you can’t offer enough to be enough to a void, you can’t become the void either but you can be void-like, conscientious of your own ability to be without, to repel, even if you repel truth, even if you repel good to attain a higher betterment of self, a higher version of self, the goodness attained from admittance of ignorance is far greater than the potential for goodness attained in spite of admittance, and not some bullshit admittance to someone or something or some graveside rendition of letting it all out, because you can tell the world but until you listen to your words, until you believe them then they are weak, without, missing, vacant, unworthy of verbalizing, unsuitable in the court of self, in the final fundamental tribunal, in the grandeur of possibility, it is better to be alone for the right reasons than with someone for the wrong ones which is a nice adage but fails to come close to sacrificing the visceral for the correctness of something painful, through hurt we may purge the bad, the terrible, the guilt-ridden evenings while another’s soul is being drug through the worst of it, the only thing worse than knowing is assuming and assumptions are sometimes all we have left, is it the liar who thinks everyone is a liar? Perhaps, but it is not the saint who thinks everyone is saintly is it? So why does the worst of us manifest like this as opposed to the best of us? And who’s to say that the best of us isn’t what is perceived to all others as the worst? Is there relevance of perception in judgment or are we even capable of passing judgment on ourselves? Can we look without being too intrinsically predisposed to an ultimate end? Or can we look within and actually have some semblance of perspective, as we don’t know anyone else to the extent we know ourselves, to the bitter biting truths that only we know, to the easily overlookable good, the good interred in our bones, the evil we do living on after us in grand form, the things we tore apart, from hearts to hearths, from hope to harmony, even that harmony appearing to be a cacophony to everyone but the participants, who are we to decide for another what they may need or want or like or have or aspire to or settle with or purchase or sell or price, why does it have to have a price to be worthwhile, when did we make the rule that worth is a measurable entity and that we will measure it by price, why not measure by, well, worth, worth in the context it is presented in, worth by worth alone, not value, not price, but worth, what are you worth? What makes you worthwhile? Is there a price for which you will sell yourself, even if not in a dollar or yen amount, is there a limit to your expenditures of self until the funds are gone and you can no longer reach in to find something worthy of trading, something anyone else wants, anything someone else wants, and why should we save any of this? To appease another? To gloat in our ability to be frugal of self while being philanthropic still? Where is this line, is it a universal line? Do we draw this line and they attempt to live up to it, or do we live in turmoil being afraid to not achieve it, what drives us ultimately, failure or success? What makes us make that decision affecting so many? What leads us? How do we know when we are leading or being led? Who’s doctrines do we adopt, or rather who’s do we adapt? Is adaptation a natural progression, like death, like the dismal end we all face, and why, why do you fear it, I say reap it, it is glorious in that it gives meaning to life, without death and it’s inevitability then where is the need to be good or righteous or even dignified, without knowing other people why should we strive to be someone worthy of knowing, and there it is again, that worth, that word worthy, and still I am lost as to who quantifies this? I guess we do individually, but again, that is objective and shouldn’t measurements be subjective, bound by some parameters or at least some new paradigm from which to qualify the measurements, some means by which to achieve an end, and no the end doesn’t justify the means, there are so many ends reached with distasteful and horrid means, aren’t there? We free a people through killing them, we save a person by making their world come crumbling down, we help the downtrodden, the very person whose downtroddenism is our doing, our making, then is it guilt that serves as fuel to help or is it greed, knowing that the people we help will ultimately forget we are the ones who devastated them and in the end see that we are the reason for any good they now possess, even if that goodness is a far throw from the potential for happiness they once possessed before we dispossessed them of it, of a future of their own making and instead gave them a future of our making, of our accord, of our doing so that me may undo it at any tyme we see fit, we are the nuisance that is necessary, we are the creature of our own making, much like the individual who allows for the evil to transpire right before them, the fearful who are capable of rising but afraid of the consequences so they are content to remain invisible and alive, I would rather die standing up than live on my knees, I believe Malcolm said that and I am sure in some form someone before him but it echoes today, everyday, in all ways conceivable for it to echo, it transcends and is true, and yes I would rather die standing but now I lay, I lay here and accept the easy in lieu if the great, I take the small because it’s within reach and broadly push away the big because with it comes anxiety, wondering, stress, disdain (from others and for self) , loathing, shit I don’t want to loath myself anymore but these choices make it impossible not to, make it only possible to, only possible to walk around with knots in my stomach and chemicals in my mind, nostrums to the plague, like throwing spitballs at a tank, like running underwater, like useless activities across the world which do nothing but occupy tyme, occupy thinking, occupy the option to embrace truth, the staring glaring gloomy yet hopeful truth, the fair if not uncompromising truth, the truth of each of us is within each of us for only we know our evils, our true evils, and we all have them, we are all criminals to someone, to something, some circumstance, we are all lesser than when we could be greater than except for the fact that lesser than is easiest, we all dance naked in the music of our laughs and some dance maniacally without fear, some dance with trepidation, some dance to catch skin grazings, some dance because we are there and others as though we weren’t, some dance and I have lost my rhythm, I have lost my beat in the midst of the dancing, I see the gyrations and I understand the movement, I know the sound of the song and I recall the singer, I know I know how to do this, I just don’t know why I can’t, why, why why, why can’t I catch up to where I was ten years ago, twenty, where did that goodness go? When did that innocence find a resting place and where is it? Tell me and I will dig it up to attempt to revive it, to at least properly bury it, to embrace it and know that it was real, when something is gone for so long you forget the reality of it and it lives in pictures, in words, in flashes of light, in fragments of life, in a collage as beautiful as it is complicated, life strewn about in mini shit storms, strikes of empty palms making red the skin, creating a moments grace, a moments silence, a moments quiet for which to breathe or to catch breath, to break the routine of what’s been happening, this path cannot lead to anything resembling enlightenment, anything resembling nirvana, as though I had a notion of what that is, what that encompasses, as though I once had and perhaps I did, not through another but through me, maybe there was a tyme where I could find it without trampling on it, without sucking the marrow out of it, without this defeatist attitude, without this knowledge of being defeated and not stopping it, what the hell happened to the smile that wasn’t faked or the motion that wasn’t contrived, not intentionally anything but pure, purely unintentional and often correct, more correct than anything else I have ventured to attain, more correct than anything I have wanted which was ultimately wanton anyhow, I have destroyed so much that so many worked hard to create, I wonder if a life of creation can repair the holes in existence I have punctured with this life, grant me a moment of clarity to clarify this opaqueness I can’t see through, this dangerously devoid line, the street laden with treachery, but treachery I create, the roadside assistance no longer able to assist me, the list of defenders shortens as my listless hands wield the beast forward, to find the end, the ending, even if that ending is me, even if the search leads to nothingness, at least allow it to be a nothingness I can wrap my arms around, a nothingness I can embrace…


Poems About Lyric

  1. 1. October 8th,2006 , dan hightower
  2. 2. You Can Be.... , John G. Nelson
  3. 3. Heres The Turning , Steven Smedley
  4. 4. Do Swans Smile...? , Dilshan Boange
  5. 5. Every Song Sings Your Name... , Rivers O'Donahue
  6. 6. My Mephitic Screech , Benjamin Feliciano
  7. 7. Beauty , The Light and the darkness
  8. 8. Prayer To Sappho , Harlequin Rose
  9. 9. Technically , David Knox
  10. 10. Mist And Moon , Frank Samuel Williamson
  11. 11. An Ordinary Man , Maurice Harris
  12. 12. Love More Love , George the Great VIII
  13. 13. After Reading Keats , Charles Hanson Towne
  14. 14. My Love's Avail , Maurice Harris
  15. 15. Cut , Perfectly Flawed
  16. 16. This Is Heaven To No One Else But Me , Dying Iris
  17. 17. The New Spring , Theodosia Garrison
  18. 18. To A Dead Poet , John William Streets
  19. 19. The Violin , Richard Watson Gilder
  20. 20. Adown The Land Great Rivers Glide , Clarence Urmy
  21. 21. An Invocation , Emily Pfeiffer
  22. 22. What Is Woman But A Song! , Timothy Thomas Fortune
  23. 23. A Lyric To My Son And His Guitar , elvira marchan
  24. 24. 432 South Eighth , Henry Meade Bland
  25. 25. Sierran Pan , Henry Meade Bland
  26. 26. Sonnet Xi , Philip Henry Savage
  27. 27. Awaken , Ms. JStar
  28. 28. How To Make Art Pay? , Saul McCandless
  29. 29. Write Me A Lyric , Ludvig Von Himmelstein
  30. 30. Singing To My Soul , Amanda Larsen
  31. 31. Silence , kalyani reddy
  32. 32. Here You Waited Too Long For Me To Love .. , BurningDesire PhekoMotaung
  33. 33. Sorry! 'Friend' , M Fiery Leo
  34. 34. Marinations , Joanne Burns
  35. 35. Songstress Of Night , Ron Pate
  36. 36. On The Earth , Narendra Rai
  37. 37. A Kind Teacher , Shaun McGurgan
  38. 38. February Diary , Vidi Pudinkz
  39. 39. Beauty , Matthew English
  40. 40. Phonetics , Owen Onion
  41. 41. Tears Are So Special , Jim Boone
  42. 42. Humble Man I Be, So In Love , Johan Fourie
  43. 43. A Moment Passed , sara winters
  44. 44. Mindless Losses , Conor Martin
  45. 45. Good Thing Going , Dorsey Baker
  46. 46. My Poem , Vonnie Gowing
  47. 47. Xxxi , Jacques Maurice
  48. 48. The Story Of A Poet , Zaarah Jasmin
  49. 49. Bird Of Sorrow , Albert Ahearn
  50. 50. The Book Slams Shut , Nicole Settimi
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