Homo Sapiens Cogitatio - Poetry Collection (01)

Homo Sapiens Cogitatio

Table of Contents

1. Truth
2. Of Roses and Thorns
3. Embrace of the Divine
4. A Murder of Regrets
5. Heartburn
6. Rising Storm
7. Collateral Damage
8. The In-Between
9. Hunting the Hydra
10. Homo Sapiens
11. Still Air
12. The Edge of Infinity
13. Minced Meat, Serves One
14. Compulsion
15. Voyage
16. Freiheit
17. Blossoming
18. Wrongthink
19. Soulmates
20. Tomorrow
21. Defy the Light

Truth

Truth is a fickle thing

Whether it be the ramblings of Gods and Monsters or the sayings of Leaders and Prophets

Whether it be the knowledge of Scientists and Experts or the musings of Philosophers and Artists

Truth is but a drop of water moving along the flow of the current, never stopping and ever changing

Truth is a lens from which we shape the world we see, Truth is a language that enables us to speak to those who think alike

In the end, Truth is but a tease,

Truth is the outcome of which we perceive.

--

Of Roses and Thorns

This is not a plea for love or another happy ending,

this is forlorn and not another empty lie

This is about lacking worth and hearts not mending,

this is about how roses have thorns and violets die

This is about how the air constricts forming flaming tears,

festering from within as a growth of unspeakable terrors

This is about feeling sick as if the end nears,

choked by our own sins and untold horrors

This is about how fire dances on the throat with a flood difficult to resist,

about feeling crippling nausea with a shower of dread

This is about how hope feels so remote as the eyes start to mist,

about feeling devoid of pleasure and being driven mad

This is about how it may look like I’m smiling,

but really inside I’m dying.

Embrace of the Divine

Struggling, staggered breaths and screaming machines,

relatives weeping and doctors praying

Sterile monochrome and smell of scents too perfect wafting from the sanitisers,

the presence of death smelt, heard and seen

Slowly the laboured gasps for air start to slow,

chest clenching as lines on screens sweep low

Eyes turning back leaving a milky white residue,

as fingers uncurl and limbs fail, the results of aged sinew

As the computers shriek and lines go flat,

elevated above the former vessel

Looking oh so meek with the life it now lacks,

travelling away to God or Devil

Crawling through a tunnel of empty void,

Pushing forward towards the light