Poetry & Writings
By Moschburg
My vision is getting blurry
My dreams are getting scary
My feet are getting weary
My thoughts are exemplary organized scattered imitations of an exaggerated lifestyle
These dreams spin counter to clockwise like prescription dials
Imbedded wild thoughts denying the denial
Lucid Sleep projected like the dealings of a foreign body infection attacking my digestion.
Stomach vial, ginger battles, rippled dreams, creating distant lifestyles
This dream weighs down on my knees; waves crashing, ocean themes:
Dripped pigment and dried streams that trickle me
Canvas night happens: plug in: eat lunch: drink spirits: chief love: big hugs: no son: canvas f*ck: un plug
These dreams hangs over my name: new face: new brain: health drain: name change
Paint stayed as a stain against the dreams that remain:
An assembled gauge of art that is destined to decay
Is painting worth the grave?
Dreams
2023
For you don’t see how beautifully you are
Then every painting I paint would be nothing but stains
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For you see if you were not as beautiful as you, I would have nothing to paint, nothing but stains
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It ponders my mind for I may never reach the beauty it takes to paint something as beautiful as you
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My paintings now dry for I now see, what it would takes to paint as beautiful as you
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Because how could there be anything more beautiful than you
Beautiful White Canvas Hippocampus
Sea Goddess
Beautiful, fairy, spiritual, sea goddess,
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The sun rises to your beauty and sets to your wisdom
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You will always be the future and forever the past
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The Forest weeps to your tears as Oceans clash to your anger
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You have more gifts then you’d ever accredit to one self and more magic than the earth
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For you are the earth and all that it provides
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The earth will die as your soul dies
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But that would never be.
Misery
"I wish life and all that life contains could find a way to exist and coexist without misery."
And then the universe collapsed, for there was no one way in the entire infinite of possibilities for this universe to exists and coexist without misery.
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All there was left was a single form of consciousness. This single form used its consciousness to recreate all that ever was by creating every follicle, molecule, growth, small and all that was large. Every tick, flea, dog, deer and bee. With its wisdom he even created man and all their wonders. Everything that was or wasn’t and could be. He proceeded to give his creations a mind and with this mind a consciousness of their own. Everything made verbatim to each freckle, hair and pore all laid exact to what laid there before. There the universe twirled for the second time around, everything there and nothing was gone. Every iris, neuron, and spore here to explore and nothing more. In the thought of the creator there was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. For the final thought this consciousness had was simple, “beautiful.” Then the consciousness was gone for the consciousness knew there was nothing more that it could do. The universe existed with both love and misery, both balanced and equal and evenly split, for the consciousness knew this was the only way for everything to fit.