No One Is Lonely

No one is lonely, No one is only
No one is alone, No one is one nor none
For the one to be the one, everyone has to become none to make the one everyone and none know one

To know one, to be none is to be no one with no reference to everyone
My perception may give me the me, the idea of me
For there is no me without another me

Each me is another me, all of me is no other than me
I let not the me divide me, separate me, enslave me
For when I am enslaved by my thought
I am another slave that is caught in the taught

Dictated by my thoughts
Directed by my not’s
Let not me dedicated to my knots
For then my knots become my clots, my plots
My plot for another spot, another slot, another fraught

A mind that is not here has no one near and yet everyone is dear
Fear not the mind that is here, hear not the grind of the mind that is dear
steer not to the bind of this blind find
For it is a kind of the mind and not the mind of the mind

The known mind is old, yet it is still my mold
for my habit is a known hold
So I be free of this fold, of that which is told, of that which is polled

A mind that is free, will neither wander nor plunder
And may ponder, may wonder, may be a splendor to its own wonder of the wonder
For I am neither One nor None or Everyone

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Me & the World

Born to the ocean of the world
Learning the ways of the world as my mold to hold
Looking at the world through my past hold
Fooled to the idea of the old, I lost my bold

Unable to swim alone, disabled to think alone, blink alone
I look for the ship of relationships to sail me through my loneliness
A loneliness that stems from the ship of the friendships, the kinships, the courtships, the flagships and every other ship of relationships

Afraid of loneliness, I fear of being alone
As a runaway from aloneness and as a walkway of my life, I make my habit my life
Life as a habit, I have become a slave to my habitual grave

In the comfort of habit, in the comfort of the security of my habit
I create my hull with the repition of tradition, I recreate my skull with the mission of ambition for another tradition

In this repetitive tradition, I became a competition to my own premonition

Caught in these waves of my premonitions, I set sail with my ships full of frail
Riding the waves, abiding by the fav’s, becoming the waves
I rise and fall in the ocean of the world
I crash and trash within the potion of my mold

I create the chaos, so I can make the waves
the hate wave, the love wave, each is just a wave
the dark wave, the light wave, each is another wave to rave, to be a slave to the wave
so I can dance the dance of the wave
For the world is just another dance of the wave

When the dance is done, when the stance is done and done
I get the glance of the nature of the wave
I get the glance of the trance of the wave

Here and near when the fear and the smear and the rest that hear is no longer dear
I come to rest, I come back to the nest
Into the depths of the ocean, in the very motion with no motion
Within the abyss of this bliss, I have no eye for the I, nor an I for an I to miss

Trance

Sail

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Survival as My Revival

For a few loaves of bread and a few grains of grub
In-between the joys of pleasure and in the sorrows of pain
I find my life I call life, I define this as my life

Enslaved to my desires
Engulfed by the objects of my desire
I make my desire my attire
And I roam the streets of slavery in the savory of my for hire

Unable to create a life on my own
I recreate and procreate on the knife of pleasure and pain

Lost in the images of imagination, I build walls of hallucination
And I deck my walls with accusations of the other

Comfort as my fuel
Comfort of Security as my duel
I burn in the flames of my own habit

Unable to open up to the unknown
I stone the unknown for the known, to the known, through the known

I trade freedom for security to find freedom through security
For I know of no freedom without security

I wonder if I am dreaming, if I am asleep
Only to realize that the dreamer and that which is being dreamed are me, one and the same
I wonder of that which I wake up to, I wonder if that is another dream within my dream of the dream

Unknown of my own known, I weave a web of a prison, a prism
Where I am the thief ad I am the police

Tired of the games and afraid of the memes and the names of the memes
Walloped by my own imagination, I no longer can gallop through my memory of life
For my life has become a few grains of grub and few loafs of bread

Survive

Survival

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