The Sophist

2015-09-21 12:00 am

Three loveless dynasties divine.
Providence in sheep inside.
Bleeding,
'Treating to be blinded.
The Feigning Suicidals.

Three peasants covering their eyes,
Not displaying thoughts inside.
Blinded,
'Treating to be bleeding.
A hopeless heart reciting.

Bed made and three pillows aligned.
Love lost 'tween a bout and twine.
Meaning,
Ends of never starting,
Twelve sorrows between two hearts.

Twelve hearts;
Their grief imparting.

Twelve stars align to follow charts.
Cosmic games of skeet in the dark.
Teeming,
Conducted by the stars;
An opera of three parts.

The loveless damned to be confined,
Only singing chorus lines.
Finding love within their sources.
Slamming on their desks with sore fists.

Bed tossed and our feelings opined.
Love found 'tween a tackle and twine.
Value,
Still,
But still restarts,
Twelve griefs of an ardent heart.

Earnestly,
Your soul departing.

The Sophist

2015-06-09 12:00 am

I have grown with the band,
When I couldn't sleep,
When I lack intrinsic wake.
When I watch them take the world;
I feel I do the same.
Symphony for a pilgrim's soul,
Divine beyond these finite words,
I dream to see them live.
That bond will never break.
Forget not,
Those tunes will never leave my brain,
Akashic records play forever;
Even in my grave,
I'll always love those men;
So much it's prolly gay.

The Sophist

2014-08-12 12:00 am

Bulwark for a king's depression,
Surely there is not.
Within the vast divine impressions,
Introspective thought.

A cirque carved in a sick obsession,
Leaves a body fraught.
Torn apart from mind's aggression
Coldness forced astop.

The Sophist

2014-07-15 12:00 am

Belly poked by intrauterine demise -
 infanticide - now I can poke her in her
 thighs. I fantasized that maybe the baby
 would have cried, or that I would have
 stopped it, crazy by the pain I feel inside.
 Now I swear there's nothing there. I lost the
 key to the divine.

I dreamed a life of orgies but my sex life is
 austere. Who cares? I drink nightly, and dream
 of an affair with a tryst. I jot prose for love
 not there and recite them to the one that I
 declare. I'm sick from life; to levy death is
 fair. I'm too sick to spread my sickness. Give
 them death, who fucking cares?

Aharon Yosef

2014-04-14 12:00 am

Vested in reality,
Blood of beasts and saints.
Destin blind with empathy,
Believing self divinely great.
And I suppose that's fine?
I mean, Hey;
What of judgements cast as mine?
Howbeit, 
What of judgements cast as they?
Pretending watch though eyes are blind.
Lay my head in shallow water,
Watch my face in clouds pass by.
Let me drown as hallowed fodder,
The message, 
Nearing.
The message,
Fie!
Simple timeless truths elude us.
Clouds in our heads,
Dreams in our skies.