The Realization of Self

An idea that I pondered to myself after watching some discovery channel nonsense. How can we truly know ourselves when we’re constantly living in our comfort zone? When we’re with friends, family, or coworkers, we conform to how they want us to be. We are constantly influenced by them in every aspect of life. Clothes, music, movies, everything is influenced by the closest people we know. We say we’re our own person, but the minute we’re presented with the consequences we choose to be influenced. Alienation and ridicule are what we choose to face if we decide to be our own person. So in essence, there are hardly any people out there that are their own person. They are a part of every person they’ve known.

An Island Story

There he is, laying in the sand,
Thinking of the girl, that holds his hand,
Their hectic life back in the city,
Was a wonderful mess, their life was a pity,
But now they sit and drink coconut milk,
Wrapping their bodies in cool soft silk,
Listen to the ocean how the waves beat the sand,
Listen to the sounds of the reggae band,
Drink up to life and love for all,
Making their life a wake up call,
Rain in the city was a terrible thing,
Here in the islands it just means spring,
No sewers or standing pools of squalor,
Just them in the sand drinking up the cool water,
The heat in that concrete jungle they had,
Was miserable, very dull and sad,
Down here it’s hot, humid as well,
But it feels so good like an ocean swell,
The taxies came and the taxies went,
The taxies added up to dollars and cents,
Here the only taxi is their own two feet,
As they get lost in their own island beat,
Tropical paradise for everyone,
They don’t want another life that’s not in the sun,
The water back there was dirty and green,
Here it’s a beautiful crystalline scene,
The waters are blue, everything is fine,
These two lovers are drinking fine wine,
They think about life, how they want to live,
Should we go back, settle down, have a few kids?
Or just stay here live a life at ease, but,
Then they wake up, it was just a dream.

Procrastination

I’ll finish this lat…

Life And Times Of A HxC Dancer

The doors open at six, the music begins at six-thirty,
It’s ten dollars to get in, he stands outside with anticipation,
He socializes with everyone before the opening act begins,
A meet and greet with old friends and new ones, talking away,
They talk about their lives and of their overall well-being,
The first band, a welcome sight to our friend as he approaches,
The tune-up begins, an intense feeling pervades the air,
He warms up with a boxer’s shuffle and some windmills,
The band is ready, the screamer breaths similar to that of a gasp,
With the downbeat, the entire band joins in for the breakdown,
The primal beat of the music stirs in our friend’s soul,
He swings his arms wildly and rapidly, spinning and kicking,
Feet stomping, making the earth tremble with every movement,
His moves are graceful as a butterfly, but clumsy as an elephant,
The people around him watch him warily, staying far away,
If he were to get near the people, injury would surely be sustained,
He suddenly stops for a break, his breath is heavy like a thick fog,
The heat is intense and causes the sweat to fall like rain,
The band begins a different beat, a two-step, our friend smiles,
A more graceful movement, he coordinates his feet with the music,
Something like a can-can, but more like donkey kicks with every beat,
The band finishes and our friend surveys the area of destruction,
Other dancers are limping and holding bleeding noses and lips,
One such dancer has been knocked out cold on the floor, no movement,
He smiles, leaves the pit and goes back with his friends, triumphant,
When the fun of the pit is over, the politics of the merchandise tables begin,
People talk amongst themselves, putting people down and praising the same,
Here he talks with different members of every band he has seen, such drama,
The drummer from “Fight Dirty” slept with the guitarist’s girlfriend from “Seneca”,
Meanwhile “Gates of Assyria” and “There Will Be Blood” are in a fight,
Then the fall of a giant as the band “My Hero Is Me” announces their end,
Money is spent, reputations ruined, new friends made, old friends alienated,
A vicious cycle at these shows, however the next band begins their tune-up.

A King & a beggar

His highness is given every value in life,
Never has he lived a moment in strife,
His meals are cooked, and fed to him in bed,
His armys to victory, by his generals they’re led,
As snug as a bug in a rug, he thinks to himself,
His queen sits beside him, a trophy on his shelf,
He rules his country with an iron fist,
From its power he gains absolute bliss,
But when the revolt comes, numbered are his days,
For the peasants will show him the error of his ways,
They’ll criticize and threaten with dishonor and death,
Until they see the king breath his last breath,
A few miles away, we can see a small man,
A beggar, poor man, a servant at hand,
He hath no possessions or duties to tend,
He just sits there and stories he’ll rend,
No proper disposition nor fancy clothes,
Not many highs, but plenty of lows,
But his life is envied by our ill-fated king,
Like a simple bug, he’s a simple thing,
No revolt or duties to tend to at night,
He’ll sleep like a baby and always sleep right,
Under the stars or a bridge like some troll,
But he thanks his stars his head is not on the pole,
When the peasants came, he stopped and stared,
And watched the King become a public affair,
Tomatoes and rotten projectiles were loosed,
Until the old King was hung by the noose,
The beggar reflects on his current state,
And sits in an alley and patiently waits,
Like a monk in a monastery, trance-like stare,
He bows his head and recites a prayer,
“Thank you God for the gifts you’ve given me,
And most of all not the curse of royalty.”

To A War-Monger

I was asleep, dreaming the most sweet dream,
When God appeared and led me to a dark, but bright room,
He said we would sit there and talk and watch the world,
Watch games of old, battles of  now, and wars yet to come,
We sat for what must’ve been days, weeks, months,
Recounting each action of humanity,
We watched the rivers of the Nile run red,
We watched the Trojans fall at the hands of the Greeks,
We watched the Nazis tremble as the armies of the world,
Descended upon them like locusts to a farmer’s crop,
And I saw the soldiers of the desert, dying tragically,
Explosions and bullet wounds, with an opressed people,
We watched each battle, studying every move and strategy,
The Blitzkrieg, the Phalanx, Delta formation,
We laughed in praise of the victors on those killing fields,
And jeered the losers for the shame of their defeat,
I became engulfed in predicting the victor of each battle,
Thirsting to be a part of that, I wanted it more than life,
So I looked to God and begged him for the chance,
He looked at me, laughed maniacally and then,
His face melted away, and my eyes beheld Satan,
A decoy of God, who chose to sate my appetite,
With the blood of soldiers, women, and children,
I was chained and left to be tortured, when he spoke:
“Do you wish war now? Do you wish to be a part of it?
Do you want your glory or your power? Answer Me!”
I feared this war, I begged for peace, for mercy,
“Mercy from the devil? Not a chance in Hell!”
He reared back with a flaming sword and thrusted it,
I awoke in my cot that morning, cold sweat, shaking,
My friends surrounded me, preparing for the day,
“What could possibly be worse after such a horrible experience?”
I looked at my jacket, horrified, I ran out of the room,
Everyone looked at my jacket in a state of confusion,
U.S. Army, PFC Johnson, frontline infantry.

War!

Haha, a challenge has been issued once again,
A Russian fighting an American,
They take their seats and prepare for war,
The White man attacks, and unleashes the horde,
The infantry out first, pawns of little worth,
They sneak behind the lines, and give Red a wide berth,
Taught never to retreat, only foward we’ll go,
While the progress is sure, it is also slow,
And should they make it to the battlefield’s end,
A massacre, slaughter, and Red’s will will bend,
So the big guns are brought, and it does sting
They suffer as well, all for their king,
Brave knights who know not their cause,
But they fight on and on, and on without pause,
Even the clergy, bishops and such,
Fight for their king, and hope to do much,
The castles stand strong, and repel the enemy,
But it comes down to their last hope, the royalty,
They fight to protect what is theirs and what shall last,
But if they should fall, then they shall fall fast,
If her majesty should fall, Red could still bring a win,
But if the King falls, then all hope is then fin,
And so with Red’s defeat, White smiles on his victory,
Repelling the threat of communism, America’s enemies,
Doing with the military cannot do, a purpose so lame,
He gave America hope, by just playing a game.

Don’t

Do not touch, do not disturb,
Don’t cross the line, don’t be absurd,
I’ve told you once, won’t tell you again,
Stop doing that, they call it a sin,
Don’t talk to strangers, don’t live in doubt,
But don’t call my name when you call me out,
Don’t sleep around, don’t do any drugs,
When you’re out drinking, don’t do any chugs,
I forbid you to do this, as well as that,
But we know better, that news is old hat,
It’s hard to imagine a life like this,
Where we cannot hug, and we cannot kiss,
A life like this is a waste, a big haunt,
How can we do amazing in a world of don’t?

Paradise and Parasites

A home, shelter, my one and only refuge,
The grass is green, the sands white,
The sky blue, the trail fresh,
Where people live in harmony,
War, pestilence, hate, indifference,
Non-existent on this island,
Just imagine it all, now imagine this,
This island is just within reach,
Unfortunately, not for us,
Non-existent because no one sees,
The relation of Paradise to Parasites,
A plague, disease, our setback,
From inside it rots us to the core,
Causing diseases like racism and hate,
The people live in chaos and peril,
Fearing for their lives with every breath,
A sea of hate that batters the beach of hope,
But this dying notion can be revived,
All we ask is that the people,
Who believe all hope is purged from life,
Recognize how quickly we can change,
From Parasites to Paradise.

The Warrior

A young soldier, no more than 18,
Sits with fear on the mighty boat,
His brothers, legends of war sit beside him,
Both dead from the last campaign, heros,
They fought valiantly, the gods would be proud,
May they fight forever in Valhalla,
The boat shakes violently, they’ve reached the shore,
His spine shivers at the thought of what’s to come,
“Cover!” shouts the shipmaster who points to the sky,
Arrows make the sky black and fall like hail,
They pierce armor, skin, and bone,
Like a hot knife slices through snow,
Few are lost, but each is vital to conquest,
This island will be ours by day’s end,
He grabs his sword, shield, axe, helm, and cross,
Mutters a silent prayer to Thor for a blessing, or curse,
It matters not to this young soldier,
If he should be victorious on this day, to his honor,
Parades, feasts, and nobility shall be his,
If he should fall in the vicious combat, no difference,
Parades, feasts, and nobility shall be his,
Valkyries will wing him to his final place of rest,
Oden’s hall in all it’s grandeur, however,
Should he fight, but die outside of battle,
Then he shall suffer instead of rejoice,
For the Gods smile upon warriors,
Not cowards and the sickly,
Those that are weak spend eternity in Hel,
So with a final thought as he departs,
He adorns his gear and rushes into battle,
Screaming, pleading to Thor to grant his request,
Death! Honor! Valhalla!