Dearest City,
Liberal acceptance left ventricle heart
inspired reluctant forecast of a hope murmur sent down my memory ache
melancholy spine as I seek humble gratitude pie via prose for the place that
everyone should live, but no one should visit, Berlin! Pardon my poetically
endowed word spurning from the depths of this tiny artism diagnosed writer's
reverse block poet, whom recently visited, the abode I desire to call 'home!'
Please don't take this 'all the hope in my
heart' admiration post about desiring to live in such a magnificent awe
inspiring city as Berlin, Germany! This is no April 1st Fool's Parade Joke, I
may be an awkward moustached Canadian poet, but I shan't ever kid about the
city I desire, more than most things that can be purchased with monetary
monies, to entitle 'home.' Hanging the tattooed heart off my sleeve up at the
front door coat hanger that hides my emo noose amongst the various quasi
trendy, yet not so hipster, jackets it holds. It is more than just a place on
the map, for it captivates my essence in what it captures in daily life, the
will to create a better future. One educated, aware if you will, of it's past
and thriving on the opposite on behalf of generations not yet given names.
So you see, whilst I was in Berlin, the eyes
viewing my experience had a very different experience from the average tourist
seeking historical sights, amazing food (W.T.F.F,check it!) and souvenirs for
the sake of their own memory bank, to be preserved via picture, video capture
and recollection of thoughts. My inner broken image eye sought to take in the
city for the sake of what it could give others, via the words I might right.
I saw middle aged couples kissing in an
underground station, saw a guitarist walk onto the subway car and begin
rambling off some social poetic commentary. But I also saw the burlesque eyes
of sadness formulate despair at the brim upon destitute faces. I wrote a poem,
or three and a blog post, about a young homeless lad whose instrument of hope
was broken asunder by hooligans, doppelgänger of carpe diem. His guitar was
broken by deviant morally defunct teenage passer-bies, I witnessed the
aftermath as it happened and was moved to tears and a sick stomach, for I not
knowing German and being nearly perfectly broke, could offer very little to the
young man. Still I feel the swell of rage at the sorrow of his loss, though it
is not my own.
When I looked up at marvellous sights, like
the Golden Angelic Queen or the convoluted, once thought evil, cold war spire,
I took the experience in as exposure; embracing the past of the place for the
truth that it told and could tell others via my 'whatever you call my
"style" of poetry,' for it for the citizenry of this apathetic, yet
beautifully unequal world that I write, to inspire; hope, equality,
acceptance...
Maybe you're skin folds like mine, before the power
held in the mirror and the wolf confidence apparatus sheds, leaving you black
cursed wool sheep fodder for the shepherdless peer no support debt admiration
flocks of conscious sedation comfort consciousness lock apathy moral affliction
trench down the rabbit's tumour white diseased reign of emotion terror barely survivable,
yet inescapable, mirror glimpse of
a holocaust anorexic skeletal gaunt skeletal husk cage victim of flame infused sand
broadcast telling the tumour white inner eye blind witness all acceptance is
husk bound via the vacant translucent strangely worthless dim light of jaded
opinion: guided inner voice statement 'there is no equality, my puppeteer
complex guarantees this ongoing structure of the Empress of Greed, Avarice whose debt enthrals our li(v)es.
I am very serial, I mean serious, about what
inspires the art that comes out of me. This is why the news is the first thing
in my brain upon my hollow desperate in rising blood ground faith to
shreds of pressure foaming at the swollen barrel of my verbal harbinger of hope
mouth, acceptance wholly and humbly defeated speech giving memory scar branding
via a forked skeletal cocoon empty tongue, vouching for an endless high not yet
colonized high up in the karma endowed reincarnation sky; so eagerly against
the swelling tides of Sandcastle Earth's History on Repetitive gestures of
genocide type-A intolerances!
This is how I expel harm and dispense hope,
from the never ending poetic written spoken word story that hives itself from the surrounding social walls of this hive, where the only one mind we should willingly walk blind within is that of total unadulterated acceptance, there is divine self riddle solving therapy found on the journey to this green over black screen edited text mechanism of this hallowed sandcastle earth, which Berlin drives... Even just in for and within the child like unnamed ghost in the mirror I entitled "I."
In earnest anticipation of,
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