The Idiocy of Age, and Growing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG9LgibCiow&feature=channel_video_title

This is something I'd kind of been thinking about for myself. If I compare myself when I started at my school to how I am now, I'm fairly certain that these 4 years have not made me more intelligent. They have, however, helped me become a better adjusted and well rounded person. I read things I wrote then and think that they're so much more true than the things I write now. Yeah, my grammar is better, and yeah I know more math rules, and I actually know some Latin, but I've lost my insight. I can no longer feel confident in my grasp of things and ideas which had at that earlier time been my forte, mostly weightily, fun. I used to be able to have fun both by myself and groups of people, or if I was by myself and not having fun, I was content with that. I had an understanding that this was an acceptable and often necessary situation. Now, when I'm by myself, I'm unbearably bored, and when it goes on long enough, I often feel depressed.

I think the biggest thing is that I've lost a sense of perspective I used to have. I wouldn't call this quite "depression" but I'm feeling a more poignant break from the overall fitness of the World and the fitness of myself. As long as the World was by and large okay, it was fine if I was sad. I think I've lost that.

Or maybe I've just lost the belief that World is by-and-large alright.

I know this isn't a poem, though I might turn it into one, but for now, it's just sort of some thinking that's been weighing on my mind for quite some time now. So I decided to stop letting it weigh, and let it be known. Thank you to those who read this, it actually means a lot to me.

Where I am From

I am from a land of trees.

Though I was born in the city,

and lived and have lived there for years,

that is not where I am from.

My home, more accurately, my house,

is in a town in a city at a train.

My home, the one I'm proud of,

is in a forest, that's where I'm from.

I'm not from Patrick Lydon, or from Florida,

I am from Province Road, despite it being so remote.

It's a camp I've gone to since I was nine,

it's where I'm at home, that's where I'm from

When I'm in my apartment, I feel homesick.

And for this fact i do feel sick

It's like insulting my parents' work

but I can't feel too guilty; it's where I feel I'm from.

Waiting at the RMV

Sitting on a wooden bench,

I watch prime-time TV,

except that this degraded wretch

does not try to please.

There is no humorous slop

to pass my time away

all I watch is advert crap

and pray to God for days away.

This waiting in this waiting-room

is not what I'd call fun

the plain white walls and wooden trim

would weary anyone.

I wait for what? You clearly ask,

for that is what I say you do;

I wait so that my friends can bask

in glory of the car I drew

and draw, like horses pull a covered wagon

except instead of cloth-draped pine

I've a metal coated engine

which doth sputter, cough and whine

Last Will in Testament

This world in which we live is cold and dead,

thus leaving nothing for me to embrace.

And all to which I've held has likewise fled

away from me and, too, the human race.

I feel a pull away instead of toward

removing me from that in which I've care

and so there's some I've lost of my accord

and no thing that I saw served better fate.

The Word, the world and all upon it serve

and aid in generating a clean void

where some feel all life equally deserves

but I feel that all is equally devoid.

Just as we throw away a dead mouse corpse

the same should fare a human one's of course.

School

What is the point of a

hospital for people

where the people are less sick

than the guards?

There isn't one, you see,

but it's a strain on the people

to see those who seem different

out of bars.

So the sick and the twisted

get their jobs doling shots

to the people who are stressed

by their breaths,

and I'd like to give the people,

who are doling out the shots,

something stronger just to bring them

to their deaths.

If you didn't gather

this poem's about teachers

and the trials that they put their

children through.

Because of all this stress

the kids resent their teachers

and the death count you just counted

I saw grew.

The Gracchi Brothers

This is the story of two roman brothers:

Gaius and Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus.

They were a people opposed to wrong doing

but were killed by the people as the maenads of Bacchus.

Tiberius, the older one was,

was a Tribune of Plebs a speaker for thus:

he wanted the land from Marian Proscriptions

to be reallotted and give all equal sections.

“This would not do” thought the Senate at once

“but he's a Tribune and election's in months!”

so, since such waiting would have not been prudent

the Senate did something, most know that they shouldn't.

The Senate spread lies, some slick, sly deceits,

and had him put down, killed with their seats.

This angry mob was led by his cousin,

of the cognomen Nasica, a Scipio in a dozen.

Now only stood Gracchus, 'twas just Gaius now,

and eleven years thence, it's a more Gracchi show.

For here, once again, was a Gracchi a commie,

opposed by senatorial Drusus, Marcus Livy.

After an incident, a death on the Capitol

Opimius and Drusus marched and he fell.

But those men did not kill him, that Gracchus of scorn

for he fled to the Janiculum and fell on his sword

5/4/11

O what is wrong upon this day,

why do you make me mean today?

I'm thinking things I should not say,

and I know that, but do anyway.

Just as a young, small child acts

or as said youth affects the facts

I, with my words, break my friends' backs

then help them up as my anger cracks.

I isolate me, feeling mad;

in isolation I feel sad.

I make my neighbors all feel bad

in false hope that they'll make me glad.

This hope, abandoned, I've redirected.

In writing this, hope's hope-corrected.

The Dove and the Wolf

What life I see for youths, these two,

A boy, a wolf, finds ancient truths

That Ovid Naso did, see, find

And in finding removed rind.

But dove, the girl, that beautied one

Did escape the one with gun

But only such with help of wolf

Who found and wrapped the dove in wool.

This avoidance, this escape was

Not eternal; she met her fate.

As this beauty lived, nay, I say flourished,

With this girls death, I say, died courage

And nevermore shall hope employ

Her sovereign over me, this boy.

This boy has lived, his time, though short,

Was long enough for him to court

That one true lover, that life that lives,

And his one true dream that life, it gives,

And without that life he’s split

And so from his he does ragequit

Sonnet: Freedom

Are you free when you escape the cages,

do you stay enslaved to corporate wages?

These questions are ones that I want opined

but even as I'm asking such, it's sin.

I know those who say, "yes and no." I rue

both, no and yes, as well and so I do

not know what I can say to be the truth.

All sides I see do share the same un-proof.

But what do I think when I ask these words?

We're certain not as free as be the birds;

are we though enslaved to corporations?

The answer: have we free imaginations?

If anyone can think that which he wants,

then suits and money do not have him bought.

Sonnets: Declaration

Who rules the media, the news and such,

and tells us what they see... what they see clutch?

These people all are one in one the same

they guide our lives like pawns in a chess game.

Th'Illuminati are the ones I tell

you of and they will guide our lives to Hell.

But that Hell... this Hell on Earth is thus...

is thus that its creation is a must.

Without a loss of such prognosticates

we'd never learn to save our own fates

and we stay thus evermore awaiting

that son of God who had us created.

I want thee all to see and thus be sure,

that all those that can stand can sit no more.

A Birthday Wish

What is a birthday? Just a day

for you to see what the cards do say.

Since nothing on them just right seems

to show your hopes for the year, your dreams,

the disappointment of inertial strain

does carry on and strain your brain;

and this strain you feel, this stress,

does grow and thrive once you have dressed.

Because the day has passed sans change,

and naught you see is rearranged,

you may feel you'll 'ever be

trapped in anonymity,

but this is just a passing phase

and joy you'll see in the coming days.

How can you know what I say is true?

I have been there, for "I" is you.