I wrote this as a means of kickstarting my writing recently. My friend suggested I write nonsense to clear the mind. This was the result:
A streak against the midnight sun.
A higher message lies in all you do
Without a path, there is no goal.
No goals equals no beginning.
No beginning, then what..?
are you, or rather
who are you?
A streak against the rising moon
A hidden message hides in all you say
The path is set, there’s your goal
Every goals begets a beginning
A beginning, then where..?
are you going, or rather
where do you want to
Mind the message for it is just a masquerade. Channel the child as you lift off the veil.
Are you in tune with him yet?
Does she yell for your breakthrough?
Listen…LISTEN, for the voice is faint, but clear.
The ghetto ruts of your ugly, adult mind; they’re rotting away the beauty. The road you have within is paved in every sight you see.
The rose still spawns from the concrete floor,
Wilting, Blooming, Dying, Living,
Forever until you finally pluck her and embrace her.
For this act of love is not Osho-approved. Love, in this case, is taking the flower in your hand using her, USING her, exposing every delicate petal, every sensual curce, pricking your finger on every thorn, and godDAMN does it hurt!
The pain is your cue.
You have all senses, to make sense of this nonsensical, sensational satire. So tire away and wear out those callouses on your fingertips, you crazy dreamer.
No one ever wished for approved O.T. on their deathbed.