Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Julian Delia Jan 2018
(campfire poetry) WE ARE FIRE, WE COULD BE WATER

Flickering, fluttering, licking all it touches
Through another log it goes;
Spreading warmth, consuming everything,
Atoms and particles
Splitting and shifting in throes.

Fascination, energy at its purest.
An open flame, made malleable
By the hands that feed it or quench it.
There is no greater exhibition
Of something as infallible
In its awe-inspiring might
It is an eternal fight
Between that which is to be consumed
And that which is to be construed
Into something new, and different.

And so, we are one with the element
That awes us and terrifies us at the same time.
Our life is built
On the graveyard of our ancestry;
Our homes are powered
Through the sacrificial burning of past lives.
The food we eat is life from our perspective,
Yet it is death itself for all else.
The trees we cut down, the animals we torture,
The lives we take, the populations we uproot;
Our way of life is an endless reenactment
Of an ant being crushed by a boot
No life is sacred, all can be loot.

We are fire, we could be water;
A more gentle element than most.
A soothing, balming agency
Like the overachiever who dares not boast.
Both are harmful in excess,
Both can be destructive,
Only one is restorative.

And so, we choose to be fire;
We torch, burn, consume,
Until all that is around us
Transitions to its post-human state.
A lifeless mass of black and grey,
An emotionless, bottomless decay.

Alas, as these ruminations grind to a halt,
I find myself desperately looking for the fault
That has created the chasm that brought us here.
Where exactly did we go wrong?
How did we go from being masters of our fate
To this dark, ominous presence
That shrouds all there is?

The Renaissance, the Enlightenment,
and all the revolutions that were and will be;
The great men and women who dedicated their lives
For a better future.
To you, we should apologise - although it wasn't all in vain,
There still is a thousand-mile journey
One that has not gone very far.

And so, we choose to be fire,
When we could be water...
A poem about fire, written next to one.
Julian Delia Oct 2018
When I die, I hope none of you pretend you cared.
When I do die,
When my own hands seal that goodbye,
Don’t act like you don’t know why.
Don’t you dare imply that it might have been a bad high,
Or that my dreams were impossible,
And that I was flying too high.
And don't you dare say 'I needed help';
No, I needed a way out of this hell,
A better life than this constant retreat into a shell.

I gave you visions for the future.
Grave expressions, co-authored by the truth;
I aimed for your soul like a range target from a booth.
You may not see it, but I do;
The gap between what is, and what could be,
Like comparing a gas lamp with a radiant star’s energy.

It eats up my happiness from inside,
Like a parasite stretching my intestines wide.
Many of you don’t ******* care, in actuality –
Some of you just want the fame, in reality,
To get your tasteless name ahead in a winner less game.

You wouldn’t understand revolution if it sat on your face,
Hell, you wouldn’t if you slept with it, reproduced,
And created a whole new pseudo-race.
We’re so far up our own *****,
We could basically regurgitate ourselves –
I’m just the guy giving you reality,
Getting the truth off those dusty shelves.

Don’t act like you knew me if you really didn’t;
You chose to turn away, when I wanted you to see right through me.
Don’t think of the good times we had;
Think of all the nights spent discussing the sad and the mad,
The broken and the beaten,
The stolen lives and the reasons we misbehave,
Like a heathen in the Garden of Eden.
That’s what I would want you to think about.
And before you cry and mourn,
Think about why, and learn.

Or, just move on, after I’m gone.
I won’t ******* care either way,
Just as long as I can stay away –
So this darkness can cease,
And my soul can see the light of day.
Just being real here...
Julian Delia Jun 2019
Questions swirl about in my mind’s pool;
The waters are sometimes hot, sometimes cool.
The answers always feel just out of reach,
Like life’s got plenty more lessons to teach.

Questions like: ‘Who in the hell am I?’
‘What happens after I die?’
‘Are we ever going to see world peace?
Or will we be lucky if we make it past July?’

No matter how hard I try to think,
It all feels like there’s no how or why,
Like it’s all a case of swim, or sink.
Random, chaotic determinations of fate;
What we make of it is where we can be great.
We have a say in whether our destiny meets us on time,
Or we decide to show up late.

There is no time to waste; I can hardly wait.
I have a curiosity which I can’t sate;
Unsettled and on edge is how I’d describe my mental state.
I don’t really know who I am, anymore;
I’m experiencing emotions I don’t want to explore.

I do know that I live and breathe;
I also know that I grieve and bleed,
That I have this inner drive to succeed.
I know that I care about human freedom;
I know that I’m plagued by more than a few demons.

Got skeletons in my closet,
A baggage trail that goes for miles;
Got no cash to make a deposit,
Yet I’ll never fail to make you smile,
To make you read my words like they were scripture,
Like sacred inheritance from ancient times.

I know I must be here for a reason;
My existence is just, no act of treason,
No malfeasance, no monsoon that’s out of season.
I am a node on the network, a rogue in a fugue state;
I shall oppose the nation state’s wetwork,
And I will make it disintegrate.
Either that, or I shall die trying;
For who am I,
If not a soul that’s done with crying?
Wrestling with complex emotions and existential questions. Sponsored by heaps of generational trauma, a desensitised existence and a need to understand this ****** up caricature of life we're going through.
Julian Delia Apr 2018
Why?
Why does the homeless man starve?
Why am I stuck, hungry and alone
In this niche I’m trying to carve?

Why?
Why does the world avoid acknowledging reason?
Why is the thinker ostracised,
Nay, persecuted, like a rebel hung for treason?

Why?
Why does the neurotic partner abuse the other?
Why do we lose our ****
And become violent like a wife-beating, drunken father?

Why?
Why do we poison ourselves?
Why do we smoke, snort, shoot up and drink?
Why do we abuse our temple,
Like a supernova’s collapse, on the brink
Of wiping out us
And everything around us.

If I had to answer
All of these burning questions
I could do so with one stroke,
No concessions;
We are purposeless and disconnected.
We are infected,
A sickness that eats one on the inside
Like an ingestion of bisulphide –
This sickness I speak of
Is a sickness of the mind and the heart;
It is the reason for dying art
The reason everything feels
Like we’re on our way to hell on an express cart.

This greed, this marauder of souls
Swallowing us all, we become
Sentient, wandering, black holes
Destined
To consume everything.
Trying to fill up the void
The one on the inside,
The one that has destroyed
Our sense of communal love.

This anxiety, this harbinger of malevolence
Even in benevolence
It finds a way to ruin things.
It can befall even the greatest of all,
No one is immune, not even kings.
Anxiety
Is the culmination of our fears
It is a beast that will leave you in tears
It is rooted
In our fear of the unknown
This terror
Of setting out, alone.

Alone, we are afraid.
Greed
Is easier to fulfil
It is far easier
To harbour ill will
To shoot and ****
To hunt down, to chase the thrill
Of feeling superior.

Together?
Together,
Our planet, our lives,
Everything can be better.
Well, am I wrong?
You
Julian Delia Apr 2018
You
You are
My heart’s invader
An enabler
Of its desire to open up to you
Drawn to you magnetically
A living soul
Filled with passion and love
Animated
A spirit that is elevated.
This iron heart rusts
A corroded tool
Left in disuse, its owner played like a fool
Yet, somehow
The world isn’t such a terrible place
When I hold you in my arms
And gently caress your face.

I don’t know
Whether this insatiable need for your touch
Is sustainable
Whether or not
It’s a future that’s attainable;
I don’t know
Whether we will always be good for each other
All I do know
Is that I never want
To let you go.


This feeling was once foreign
A concept whose origin
Was swallowed by the sands of time;
An Alexandrian library’s worth of loss
An ancient civilisation’s ransacked ruins
Covered in moss.
Yet, somehow
To destiny I must bow
As I attempt to comprehend
This newfound emotion
Of wishing the hours would never end
When you are here.
I am now handing you
The keys to my heart’s kingdom;
This “falling” in love
This attachment
This instinctive need
To drink from your fountain
To greedily gorge myself in those moments
To relish your soul flowing through mine -
A chill goes through my spine
As I consider this…
The night
Doesn’t feel the same
When I don’t see you.

I don’t know what else to say -
I have been afraid of this day
For I don’t know how you feel
This is surreal
I find myself in a daze
Trying to fathom
How you get through the walls of ice
How you have me coming back like a vice
It hasn’t even been that long
Yet after being with you, my heart breaks out into song.
I am fearful of this day
Yet
I will never regret
Being real with you
This is who I am
This is how I feel about us
It is undeniable
The chemistry is indescribable
A surge of current
Polarises my insides
Every time
These two wayward souls meet
So, no more shuffling of feet
I am playing all my cards
Summoning the power of the ancient bards
To bring you this poem’s clime,
With one, last, hopeful rhyme
And the following words:
*“I love you.”
What can I say - the heart wants what it wants.
Julian Delia Sep 2018
You couldn’t just shut the **** up, could you?
You just had to twist the knife a bit.
You just had to break my resolve, erode my grit.
My spirit, my soul, my blood;
Pushed to the limit, above and beyond its role,
Falling to the floor with a thud.

******* it, I only asked for one thing;
Why was it so difficult,
Like we’re going at it in a ring?
I am not even sure what to do anymore;
There is no comfort to procure, no mystic lore,
No wise knowledge to impart,
Only a furore to tear everything apart.

Do I forgive you, do I take blame?
Is there redemption, or have I a cursed name?
I am so ******* lost,
Heart motionless with frost.
Tears do not even fall,
Years or days do not matter at all.
Is this all there ******* is?
I feel like life is somewhere out there,
Out of reach like a dragon’s lair.

When you wear your mask of smiles,
Your hidden task of deceitful wiles,
Ridden with pain, concealed like classified files –
Do you wish people would just drop the act?
Or has your mask become as real as an established fact?
**** man.

— The End —