Panic Bells

Did it breed among the living

Or was there ever a time

From before evil and crime?

A time from beyond the advent of sinning.

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A time perhaps

When the world’s heart would bleed

Before it was turned into cold concrete.

A time when the ocean did not greed

Ravenously to feed on land and meat

A time when air was one with the living

An extension than a poison; noxious and fouling

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Over generations, into calloused warriors we have grown

But within, we remain children fearful and alone

Larvae in a world ruled by demons

Cocooned in lies and carnal fixations.

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Though for-evermore innocent;

For the evils done- minor or abhorrent

Were conceived and then grew

In wombs of untold virtue.

And if fingers of blame

Were to decidedly aim

Whom, save for the devil, should they condemn

They would fixedly point back at their father, Adam.

This is the blind leading the lame.

I’m taking bends, I’m taking turns

I walk wherever my feet take me.

And you?

You follow in my sanctimonious steps.

It was you who praised my prints of mud

‘Cause you saw me turn to God.

But my vision is weak

So pray hear me when I say,

Don’t hold me in esteem!

I’m taking bends, I’m taking turns

I walk wherever my feet take me.

Your path does not stray into nor does it cross

The one that I lead.

I’ve walked the earth for a little over two decades and I still don’t know who I am. I don’t have a personality. For all I’ve ever known, I’ve floated through life like cursed milkweed.

Did God rush when He fashioned me from clay? Maybe He had more important people to tend to… Maybe He missed me.

Or maybe, this is who He intended me to be. Milkweed. They say it takes all sorts to make the world turn; our situation in life is our Earthly trial.

Like the blood gurgling from a severed vein,

Helpless,

I can feel myself losing,

Losing what was probably never mine to possess.

But that’s destiny for you,

That’s just the turn of events.

It’s not your fault and neither is it mine.

This will become an inconsequential part of a past.

Scary,

That we don’t know where

Our destiny is winding

We can only hope it opens into fields of gold.

But for now,

I sit in my recluse,

While I helplessly watch

As I lose what was never mine to possess.

Damnnit! It’s right there!

Right there in front of your face!

Why can’t you see it?

Okay… I might’ve retracted it a few times

But it’s still very plain to see.

At least I think so…

Right now my world

Is strewn pieces of a puzzle.

Will it ever come together

And form a proper picture?

I took a popular personality test designed by Myers Briggs- a well known Psychologist.

It got me spot on…

I’m an INTP type and this is what it says about me-

INTPs lack follow-through and this can isolate their ideas from practical examination. Their notions become over-intellectualized and too abstract to be of practical benefit. With their sharp critical thinking and analytical abilities, INTPs tend to nit-pick, hair-split, and generally overdo simple issues. Their desire for accuracy and precision exacerbates any error they may perceive in themselves or in others — they are, in other words, highly self-critical. Wanting to be competent and know everything, their standards grow increasingly higher. When fear of failing becomes overly pronounced, INTPs are quick to feel unintelligent, slow, and powerless.

If stress continues, the INTP’s mind seems to freeze and block out the vital information it has worked so hard to accumulate. Their creative juices stop flowing and they suffer from stage fright, writers block, and a general inhibition of their ingenious thinking and fluent language skills. Preoccupied with performance failure, INTPs become self-consciously distracted in anticipation of their failure. If the stress becomes too overwhelming, the fear of blanking out prevents them from taking risks in areas they desire to succeed in. Attempting to avoid incompetence, they fail to gain the expertise and mastery they so desperately need.

It went on to list the types of occupations that suit me best…

strategic planning
writer
lawyer
architect
software designer
financial analyst
college professor
photographer
logician
artist
neurologist
physicist
psychologist
research/development…specialist
chemist
biologist
investigator

I’m already one of those… so I guess I’m on the right track.

Since I had more time on my hand I figured I’d try the brain test too. This one is designed to figure out if you’re left or right brained.

According to the test, both sides of my brain are equally dominant.

Why do I feel so worthless?

Why do I feel I’m not good enough?

That I’m trying to kick up a sandstorm

In shoes that are canoes on my feet.

What if we pealed away your sex appeal,

Washed the sediments of knowledge from your mind,

Leeched away your wit and scrubbed off your sarcasm?

Would you feel a little exposed?

What if we proceeded,

To chisel away your talents and strip you of your confidence?

Till all that is left of you is your heart and soul,

For all the world to see?

Would your soul be murky and your heart mephitic?

Or would your soul be pure and heart glisten like a finely cut diamond?

We shroud ourselves from the eyes of the world,

The pure for protection, the vile for concealment.

Armour or mask, I have no third eye,

I cannot distinguish one from the other.

So I do it the hard way, whether I end up burnt or come out whole,

I’ve embarked on the journey into your soul.

Waiting, watching, weakening,

As the world passes me by.

I watch the people turn to rodents

As they scurry in that never ending race.

Busy like bees. Flitting from one flower to another.

Busy like ants. Working all through summer.

I, the Grasshopper, recline on my soapbox.

Chewing at the end of a stalk of grass

I try to waft away the clouds in my mind.

Where am I going? what do I do?

Do I join the rat race?

Or do I sit here, and warn the rats of the manhole ahead,

Alert the bees to the wasp, and point out the kid with the magnifying glass to the ants?

I won’t survive winter. I wouldn’t have prepared for it.

But at least I’d die a happy grasshopper.

Poor and cold, but happy.