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The Possibility Through Abstraction

The point where the incoherent, incredibly
Offers up trinkets that exonerate a semblance
Of coherency

The moment before the moment
The download prior to purge
The abdication of rusted principles
Left forever hollowly and alone
In the chamber of the chalice
Encrusted by the lost dreams of the ill-begotten
And bled for dead

Soiree’s with the untapped triage
Tryst’s aligned in wrongful pursuit
Admonishing grace for a moment of

Sadistic forceps pry into,
The lusting sable draping you

Floodgates relegated to economic states
Blistering the tonsils as its quench atolls the
Lingered tempest’s torrid screams

The point of the matter is the muck and the clatter
Arranged into meaningful garbage, tossed and strewn
About the rigid peaks and smooth-carved dales, drenched
In wisdoms as life’s jib’s set sail, out upon, unto, the darkening
Horizons of the edaciously spawned

Each participle breeds its own reaction
Every temple alleviates thrombotic clang with braids of prayer
Where, even to the atheist, the pausing stirs reformation’s dead, pronouncing doubt to their doubting liens, ever constructed to bludgeon the magnanimous endeavors that are housed securely within the prisms of a different time

The point in working with abstraction, is to acknowledge the pegs that don’t quite fit, yet offer a glimpse into the tenets to which their language betrays, forcing the mind to rationalize in a subtlety stirred in abrasive ways

All in all, it is, after all, a battle to displace contempt, with a song of illustrious descent, bristling the coma clean, of the unsettling dust storms, only ever jettisoning its castrating debris

Where one word, as simple part of speech, unspoken yet believed, to force direction’s swim, over the rocks beneath, the disturbances alive under a peacefully raging tract of sea

Where a turn of phrase can gospel dimensions unknown, breeding sentiments from an unfeeling grasp, holding hostage the oppressors of creation’s mind

An abstraction, if one chooses to offer such a primitive understanding, is the point where attention is muted by the unattained; where the mosaics collage is abashed by the harassment of epiphany; where the sounds of clamor remove all triviality, where each note, each chord, become fully absorbed by the meaningful foundations hosting such concertos for the validating portions of the intrinsic bee, that pollinates as many bouquets it can, turning the decrepit and the denied, into a rendition of a much more sweeter time; where the monsters made are pretty in their very own boudoirs of ironic dissemination; where…life tightly clasps upon a rationale, without the need fore departing the other possibilities it has also known, shown, without the relinquishing of all the pastures he’s come to know.

Farter down plummet’s cage
The shackles break, the pins
Gravitate, away from the flesh
And scurry in the subtractions made

Abstractions are steeped in the furthest expanse of furtive growth. They hold the keys to every chalice ever known, imparting knowledge to all who place his lips upon, savoring the succulence that only faith can offer the thirsting man.

And a key to remember is that nothing can sever your bond with your belief, if you refuse to allow it access to your center of conviction.

It is the point before redaction, where the incoherent is comprehensively enlightened; opening up one’s eyes to the several layers of each hinge

of knowledge it musters to make….of foundations it chooses to break…an underlying insemination of wonder…an awestruck mind, rapt asunder, drifting into outcast fields of relegated dismissals…yet fully operational despite these deficiencies they speak of behind your back…

give fully of your self, your time, your wisdom…and wisdom with time will give fully back unto the self…

remain ignorant of deception’s glance…slide closer to the embrace of the puzzled skin…waiting for your corners to rest comfortably within the opened edges it has been blessed to hold for you

It shall be difficult. In fact many mornings will inspire great doubts and disbeliefs…you will be tested in the most discouraging fashions, removed from the inner circles you thought you’d climbed so hard to reach…all this and more…you must be willing to melt over thinly formed sheaths of ice…and watch as your everything sinks beneath the icy cold…left only with the scars you’ve chosen to carry, the blood still curdling beneath unkempt nails and lashes…the varicose uprisings over a variety of anatomy…and bearing constant reminder, of those moments you thought yourself as happy, reflecting as they will consistently question your resolve, are you tough enough, can you endure the pain that love beckons for, will you persist through the darkest hours yet to fall shade…

And there…in that muck and mire, a new vision is thus inspired…an opportunity to gleam life’s mysteries from the vantage point of alternative plots of real estate…where all things are seen in one, simultaneously twisting calmly upon the tongue in ways only a coherency itself, can deem known and in as such, a portion of the battle is not seen as lost, but as an opportunity to learn from the weaknesses avowed within the setting of what most repress beneath a discouraging path that had been spun…

Abstractions offer a different way…. a new possibility. What is seen may not be truth in and of itself…but without it’s voice, the most you’ll see is what’s served rancid, eliminating the potential laden in what can only be determined by those concepts aligned by choice

The residuals have no limitations
If you
In diligent fashion
Yet knowing
Awaits you
At the end of your chosen path
Journey’s end


About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

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