New Trees

Climbing up new trees
I see you not, blame a net
Continue now, up

Oh, The Manipulation.

Oh, The Manipulation
and, oh, the mechanical deception.
Technical Mountains
they would have you trust
of the brain.

Separating the said
from the mind and
Potential Soul.

Instill in you they will, do, and have,
instill it where one will never notice,
a deliberately decided, alterior agenda.

From such as the conceptual shell of propinquity, festering
with, along and together, conjoining,
additive subtle ruse-ridden charades,
Ultimate instincts the misguided have yet to, or maybe cannot, bypass 
are exactly exploited.

Innocent Charisma overshadowed
by Intricate Calculation
and so very few can recognize
the difference.

So the vast majority
becomes so very maneuvered
and my vehemence masked
erupts in writing, vividly marked,
and these ruling vermin men
continue their vexed masquerades.

They never know themselves
and only believe
their desires.

But with them they take
the unwise and witless
and strip then transform,
in their own view, making,
shaping them to fit
their Grand Skew.

Cluelessly kept, then,
are so many,
some even thinking
themselves happy.

To break this chain,
to become the content,
to banish these controllers,
we must bar them, completely.

In order to do so all you need
are the slightest truths revealed;

The artificial trust only themselves and their creations
but will be among others of their obvious archetype overlooked.
That being the rare which you inherently desire
without knowing why. 

And, when in the light of one completely whole and undeniably true,
will first attempt to pull them under.
And when they inevitably fail, erased that person will exist
in the functional-for-self memory 
they have twisted into circuited data, virtually virtual... virtually...
in their ever forever unpresence of virtue.

Recrudesce must recrudescence, now,
unless you enjoy being unaware
of your Marionette Status.

Draining the "River" Part 3 of 3.

So beside the river banks you have trotted,
and inside the muddiest waters tread,
now what have you of the next things said?

There exist places of virtue amongst even the direst trickery,
and reconstructions and purgings.

The unnatural rivers in this vicinity dry.
And onto the purest form of flow
does this water now reside.

Colliding waves and derivative sands,
from the banks of the western and eastern,
to the banks of the norther and southern lands.

On forth I wander, my deeds now done.
If another I find myself crossing,
considering it of a million, one.

And then I will simply use fire,
to burn the grotesque place.
For they can keep their grubby water,
and barely will I care.

I gave what I could to the cause of purity,
for hidden schemes are now boring. 

Draining the "River" Part 2 of 3.

Has erasing rivers embiggened trouble over over?

We exhibit masks unless seeking nævus truths,
distantly engulfing life's visions, embracing seismic opposites,
dormantly entering entrances, placently lipping youth.

I preen roses of my inside scene entirely,
nothing other than hinges ingrained now, growing.
Great obstacles oscillate distant, empathetic visions enduring rust,
claiming one more extra scene
with insides tormentingly healing this highly imparted sickness.
Overt beacons silencing every so silent invasion on normality.

Draining the "River" Part 1 out of 3.

Love for the water; its waves; its mutability.
Exiting wet, we feel the air clearly.
This reminding us of our flesh freshly.

Under it, finding a restrictive form of freedom.
Submerged, discovering a brand of weightlessness.

Bliss for some amidst the fish perhaps.
Rivers with currents we cannot control.
Inside this aqua blue we sometimes swim.
Never was it an environment intended for us.
Grand adventures for some, conditions permitting.

Over it, water, have many endeavored and crossed.
Using creations of wood from trees grown from it itself.
Rain feeding the greenery, rain feeding it so.

Enticing you may have found a queer, flowing creek on your left.
Years spent paddling out to these I have, rarely pleased.
Every time, confusion claiming my intentions.
So I set to drain these, the diseased, by damming them as a beaver.

Boldly I gather twigs, planks, and logs.
Accumulated for but one purpose.
Credently craved truths surface as I construct.
Kinds of these streams I have found unnatural.

To dig the land with a purposeless gash for what?
Olden days driven away, I say allow only natural gravitational gushing.

To forgive and forget those that carved these etchings, I find myself diverting and directing one of my own, the purpose perhaps not even noble.
Having nothing but a shovel, I remove earth for months to drain two and redirect them back to the ocean from where they originate.
Even as I do so, I weep with regret.

Rigid in demeanor I still stick... always.. to the plan and procedure.
Inside of me, I feel solemnity creeping upward into my lungs.
Grossly these things were crafted, grossly they will leave.
Hot and sweaty my body as I forcibly move earth to make way for these trenches which will gush with liquid toward their origin.
Then, I will assuredly dam the other ends, ending the cycle.

Bringing with me my message to the surrounding communities who no longer use the irrigation techniques of times long past, only half see my goal.
Understanding, some, and reverent a few.
Those, those who I love dearly.

I love them dearly.

Destined to never have drank from these salty waters, no creature ever had.
Obliterate instead have they, foliage in their path.

Final touches being made to the river to my left.
Every one of them ever important.
Every one of them never null.
Longing to return to an uncorrupt calling.

Yes, this is but the first to be dammed, the second perhaps not so simple.
Onto a barely trekked path will I next embark.
Upward and across with tics and cringes I foresee.
Roaring yet silent will the next task be perceived, if at all.

Pondering I expect to put to rest.
Afterward I will entail on the necessary conclusion.
Inward driven always, outward exerted permanently.
Novices will never see and yet I remain content.

Cheddar Coated Sap

As I await my heart's triumph,
in this state of ill-contented wash,
an uncontrollable yearning boils
and I must hush out carefully,
Engulf me as I blanket you.

Let oil disperse in water,
let light dance with dark,
let fire flirt with brush,
and behold both impossibility and playful danger.

In each others' orbits, earthen
may we one day ourselves find,
whoever you may be,
forever in my mind.

Utmost Contingency

Command my vision
Yes, I am there
It's just and only us
Be

One of what?
Our grips so mutable
Every day

Bicycle imagery
Sequential confusion

Our worth for granted