《Anxiety and the Beginning》


 Anxiety and the Beginning

    Anxiety and the Beginning


    by Sam M. Phillips


    I am on fire,


    Cannot escape this prison of anxiety,


    Look at me,


    A screaming mess,


    Is this the man I want to be?


    Rise up and see God,


    He is always with me.


    There is meaning in this torture,


    You are being asked


    To rise to the challenge.


    Channel your energy and dispel it,


    You are capable,


    Why can you not see your own quality,


    Or have you reduced your own worth,


    The glory and creation,


    Down to a few temporary sense perceptions?


    Many planets around many suns,


    Many lives, lived and done,


    An endless journey,


    As far as time seas,


    A roiling, twisting mass,


    Balled up inside of me.


    I wish I could sleep,


    Or find peace,


    But I am selfish,


    And a user,


    And there is nothing


    For me but torment.


    Look how productive you can be,


    With little space,


    With little time,


    Think what you could do with eternity?


    Not much left, use it wisely.


    It is only through this process


    That I remain sane,


    Without it, I scream and fret,


    And who needs that?


    Is this meditation?


    I watch the pen move,


    The words form


    And it takes my mind off my worries,


    I just feel guilt and shame


    That my insanity


    Will paint you black and red, as well.


    Coffee, decaf,


    Who needs an increase in anxiety?


    I have friends,


    I am loved,


    I am supported.


    The spirits are with me,


    They don¡¯t want bad things for me,


    If my relationship fails,


    Then so be it,


    I will not torture myself


    Wondering what could


    And could not be.


    Coloured mat, yoga,


    Something inside must be stretched out,


    Rolled with a rolling pin.


    You can dispel this feeling,


    You are The One,


    Made many,


    Made one again.


    I thought that there was no paper left,


    Now, to find Two Whole Sheets,


    Back and front,


    White and clear,


    Ready for me.


    Yes, I have pain,


    Pain I never knew,


    But I am being asked to feel it clearly,


    With great courage and commitment,


    I go on,


    I am a warrior,


    So I fight,


    Who do I fight?


    My demons,


    What are my demons?


    My demons are my past, my future,


    What is now?


    Now is anxiety,


    Why anxiety?


    Because of the demons of my past and my future.


    I must not give in,


    I could write a whole book today,


    I could write one today, and one tomorrow.


    What is anxiety but bound up energy?


    I am the spring, coiled tight,


    Full of potential.


    Is spirit trying to communicate with you?


    I think it is,


    Look at the images,


    Inside and out,


    And tell me it is not so.


    Earth, tiger, spring,


    Coil, unleash, repel,


    Parasite.


    I am proud of you,


    You can make it,


    You are a vibrant being,


    An eternal soul,


    Bound up in a body,


    Bound up in so called problems,


    If your toe hurt,


    Would you be this grieved?


    So dispel this pain,


    A mere symptom of the body,


    Dispel.


    Pain and pleasure,


    Two sides of the same coin,


    I feel so much pain,


    Yet I transform it to the pleasure of writing, of creation,


    Will this free me?


    Maybe not,


    I¡¯m just flipping a coin,


    On which side will it land?


    I don¡¯t flip the coin,


    I stand it on its edge and spin.


    You are being challenged,


    Who else could rise to this particular challenge?


    Do you not see where you are being guided?


    Not towards death, not towards oblivion,


    But up, out and through,


    You are being asked, challenged,


    To live, totally and fully,


    In complete realisation,


    Of what is and what is not.


    Your eyes are so beautiful,


    But I worry,


    They won¡¯t look at me.


    Ground, sky,


    Wind, why?


    No, die,


    Live, cry.


    There¡¯s more to be had,


    An eternal spring,


    Think how proud you will be,


    If you just stick with it.


    How many?


    Many.


    How few?


    Few.


    Not much left,


    But feeling blessed,


    To have had the chance,


    To have any,


    Each moment,


    Each inch of page and ink,


    A blessing.


    My ancestors are with me,


    A lack of passion?


    More like,


    A lack of vision.


    Seven, eleven,


    You are my angel,


    Do you know this?


    I stand on the top of a cliff,


    I prepare to jump,


    All around me,


    Beautiful forest, birds,


    Many butterflies,


    Many white butterflies.


    Do not pause,


    Do not pause for breath.


    Let it out, let it all out,


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.Do not falter,


    Do not falter for a second,


    I am with you,


    Always with you.


    Is there nothing in you?


    Would you prefer to have nothing?


    Test, match,


    Up, words.


    A feather and a cup,


    A lamp shade and a passing car.


    Salt spilled on the table,


    Sugar in the bowl,


    A coaster and an empty bottle of beer,


    A screaming plane,


    Something is going over my head.


    This is all quality,


    And you know nothing else,


    Others would die for this inspiration,


    Well, maybe, they and I


    Would wish to trade bodies,


    I don¡¯t think you could suffer the intensity.


    What else is there for me,


    But the words on this page,


    To stop now would only invite insanity,


    He is not welcome,


    I would much rather create,


    I am a creator, a creative,


    He is a destroyer, destructive,


    Yet, don¡¯t these words come from Him?


    Silver platter,


    Silver screw,


    Silver matter,


    What are you?


    If not for this pain,


    This task could take eternity,


    My soul may have eternity,


    But I do not,


    So I must write,


    Here and now,


    Why am I struck?


    Do not squander paper,


    Do not squander ink!


    Do not squander pain,


    And all that makes you think!


    There is an order and a unity


    To all of this,


    Can you not take advice,


    The good advice of a friend?


    They are a messenger of God,


    Will you not deliver


    The gift you have been sent?


    Stop, stop, no,


    Do not take me away,


    This is too much,


    Yet not enough.


    Sometimes, I wish I could travel through time,


    And meet the many poets, many great minds,


    That have touched me,


    Luckily, I am here and now,


    As are their words,


    If you read this, long after I am dead,


    Look closer, lean in,


    And see me there, with you,


    In these very words,


    An echo call from the twenty first century,


    Ancient times, for you,


    The here and now, for me.


    Do not let your words become large,


    You have only so much space to write this tale.


    There is rust in the steel tray,


    The oxygen that makes me,


    Makes it decay.


    I am so glad,


    That I didn¡¯t run away,


    I thought I had to,


    When I could always stay.


    Ten coils, ten smokes,


    Ten poems, ten moats,


    Yellow vase, small tree,


    Big planet, big me.


    Is this the worst,


    Or best,


    Day of my life?


    If I cannot tell the difference,


    Then I must be mad,


    Or just human.


    An age of anxiety and fear,


    Placed here for my learning.


    I truly believed, for just a moment,


    That I was done, spent.


    But a moment spent in my own thoughts,


    And I am back,


    Here they are,


    Spent.


    An album cover, hangs on the wall,


    Lyrics of someone else¡¯s pain.


    Would you prefer to be boring?


    I bore into my mind,


    Not one would choose this, surely.


    Razor sharp,


    Ripping at the spirit,


    Look at the cut,


    Beautiful.


    Do not waste this beautiful opportunity,


    Look what can be made,


    From all this seemingly senseless pain.


    I open a window, and let you in,


    I love you so much,


    But really, I do this for me,


    And that is Right


    Rise and rise further,


    A festival of the Sun,


    Setting, a scene,


    Done.


    The music, the lifestyle, the fashion,


    Are you so vain?


    The art, the culture, the life,


    Made of pain.


    Walking through dreams to find substance,


    Screaming through life,


    Finding madness.


    Fate, and a deadly cross,


    A grave with no name,


    A clock, and a singing voice,


    Am I still alive?


    Now that I have turned this sensation into words,


    There is less need to feel it,


    Now it is dispelled,


    I wonder why I had to feel it in the first place.


    Will I take a shower?


    It seems a waste,


    To wash away pain,


    To wash away sensation,


    Even if I hurt,


    It is better to sit here


    With my words,


    My only real consolation the creation


    That comes from this.


    I stomp and shout,


    Let it out,


    Noise in the air,


    Or noise in my head.


    Hello pirate,


    Round my neck,


    On my desk,


    Two animals living,


    Two animals dead.


    Coast and glide through life,


    Free and easy,


    With nothing to show for it,


    Suffer and feel,


    And see life transformed to art.


    Any time you feel anxious or depressed,


    Come visit me here,


    And show me exactly how it feels,


    Maybe there truly is some service to others,


    In all this selfish pain.


    Two pigeons, sitting on a fence,


    One bobs its head into the hedge,


    Eats the seeds,


    The other bobs its head into the air,


    For no seeds,


    Same.


    Beautiful dark hair,


    Skulls on a shawl,


    Ice eyes and pout mouth,


    You drive me crazy.


    I am only learning,


    And growing all the time,


    Why do I torture myself,


    When I am only learning,


    And growing all the time?


    The plume of a peacock,


    Spread out, radiant,


    Attached, beautiful.


    The single feather,


    Plucked out, stomped into the ground,


    Still beautiful.


    Stranded, standing on crust of a beautiful planet,


    Turned to hell by my own perspective,


    Nothing else.


    When you think there is nothing left,


    Look around you,


    And find inspiration in any little thing,


    An angel, a spirit in disguise.


    And so the two pure white sheets of paper


    Are soiled and stained


    With my thoughts


    With my pains.


    Coil around me,


    Make me see


    That I can be bigger than all of this,


    Wrap me up,


    And in doing so,


    Give me a taste


    Of what it is like


    To truly be with you.


    Stand on top of the world,


    And look out on the great, long view,


    In hope, rather than despair.


    I will write anywhere, anytime,


    I will grab any sheet of paper,


    Tear at it, tear at my thoughts,


    And make my pain sublime.


    Truly, I thought I was done,


    That I had nothing left,


    But here it is,


    A poem of nothing,


    Made of nothing,


    Flowing into nothing,


    Now gone.


    I am hungry,


    I eat muesli,


    I am in pain,


    I write poetry.


    Soggy, dead, cramped, lost,


    Riled up, forged, made, tossed.


    You used to think that poems were hard work,


    But is it hard work for the tree to make its leaves,


    Knowing that only then can it catch the life giving sunlight?


    It just goes on and on,


    Pouring out of me,


    But is this surprising,


    When your thoughts never cease,


    Never give you a moments rest?


    Surely, this is a sacrament.


    There is no solution,


    Only a changing of the guard,


    A changing of the emotions,


    Which do you feel right now,


    The Sun¡¯s rays


    Or the bitter cold snowflakes?


    It is only sense perception,


    It is not you,


    It is not forever,


    It is only for right here and right now,


    Later, something different,


    Feel, and see correctly.


    Is there nothing else to do,


    No real world task?


    Surely, the baker is more necessary,


    The gardener, more necessary,


    Are you just a worthless poet,


    Selfishly in love and hate with yourself?


    Or just focused in on the very stuff of your profession?


    I have no desire to be a burden upon others,


    Nor can I live in total isolation,


    Am I a burden to all?


    Or am I like everyone,


    Hard for some, easy for others.


    White and black,


    Move against each other,


    Pain and pleasure,


    Move as one.

 Power

    Power


    by Sam M. Phillips


    Loose powder,


    Like pollen,


    A quick one,


    The land of milk and honey,


    A great smile crosses your face,


    Would I do any different?


    Right hand side,


    The higher plane,


    A medina,


    A halo,


    A palace,


    She handed me the pipe,


    Then I left.


    A ball,


    Compressed into shape,


    Green and brown,


    Sweetmeats and candies,


    Barren walls,


    Outside,


    Dust.


    A weird possessiveness,


    I am not yours,


    It took me a long time to discover,


    A vague aura,


    Everyone moving around,


    It just won¡¯t stop,


    Can I adjust?


    Feeling excluded,


    Expand the club,


    Realising more of a distance,


    Automatically,


    We all become cold,


    It is sudden.


    Crowded household,


    Depart early,


    Need to put some good stuff together,


    Or the dogs will have me.


    Cold shoulder,


    Ten years on,


    Brought out of an abyss,


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    Is all it takes, really,


    Are you a slow learner?


    Spinning out of control,


    A beautiful lover,


    Or an ugly seductress,


    Staying off,


    The hardest thing.


    This is the last time,


    And even that is a lie,


    It¡¯s a miracle,


    To be free for even a moment,


    Though, really,


    I have no intention of going back,


    I must remain strong.


    Fall into each other


    And find comfort,


    A great time, outrageous,


    Light heart, strong heart,


    Save me.


    Body language and a unique sound,


    First take, and much is already too far gone,


    Too weird,


    An easy climb,


    A hard drop,


    What do you really want to do?


    Describe the journey,


    Yet I don¡¯t believe you,


    Sing on, and I am entranced,


    You¡¯ve got it, you¡¯ve got it,


    So beautiful, so haunting,


    Never leave me.


    Pick up the instrument, the humans,


    And give them a fine tune,


    Chemicals are required,


    Or other drastic action,


    Why we never taught


    Where this leads?


    He wants to rock,


    Move his hands,


    Move his feet,


    Like his heroes,


    Like legends,


    It takes something special,


    But to get there


    There are many ways,


    Look beyond the obvious.


    Smooth gig,


    Normally it is murder,


    The audience,


    They are piranhas,


    We escape by the skin of our teeth.


    Staccato burst,


    Machine gun chords,


    Hysterics and a blown mind,


    Bubble and contort,


    Crowd in,


    And then fuck right off.


    Famous day, long day,


    Nearing its end,


    Wish I could say more,


    But I am unconscious,


    My friends grieve me,


    Not yet dead,


    But dying.


    A light and a pin prick of pain,


    Then floating,


    Then flying,


    Then nothing of which I¡¯ll ever speak.

 Sea Pigs

    Sea Pigs


    by Sam M. Phillips


    Swallowed,


    Too low in the water,


    Sea pigs in a bony shell,


    Beat the waves,


    A fright,


    Inclined on a tilting plane.


    Disappear beyond the horizon,


    Leave me here, deserted,


    A wooden island,


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.Temperature too low to register,


    A curious state,


    Isolated,


    All around me,


    The sea shines like glass.


    Float idly in mist,


    A shoal of molluscs taps against the hull,


    There is no other sound,


    And, for now,


    No other life,


    Just me and the molluscs in the mist.


    The ocean is deserted,


    The sun burns the fog to reveal nothing,


    An open plain,


    Wet and flat,


    I would jump in,


    But that is death.


    Thick and wrinkled,


    A fat, round blob,


    Yellow with a tint of red,


    The Sun at high noon,


    I will never see another.

 New Perspective

    New Perspective


    by Sam M. Phillips


    A very deep lake,


    A waterfall pouring out of the woods,


    Rainbow skinned fish,


    Smooth and slimy,


    A giant snapping turtle with algae growing all over,


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.It is a dinosaur from another time.


    Green birds with blue heads,


    Red under wings,


    Swoop and squawk,


    Insects glide on the water,


    Fly and land on my skin,


    Take a bite, then go.


    An ox can be heard,


    Lumbering through the woods,


    Knocking down trees,


    Munching at something,


    High overhead,


    An eagle provides a new perspective.

 Spider

    Spider


    by Sam M. Phillips


    A vision, a system,


    I am a spider at the centre of a web,


    Receiving vibrations from all parts of the universe,


    Lunar intuition, animal sense,


    Stretch the truth,


    Matter woven in a net,


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.Induce the feeling,


    Go to any length.


    Healthy and optimistic,


    Receptive and intense,


    Symbolic knowledge,


    The odd things allowed and considered,


    The edges even out,


    Narrowness stretches.


    Fundamental declaration,


    An explanation in simple form,


    The legendary one,


    Surprising studies,


    Reality divided,


    Categorised, and then


    Hurled back out,


    Along the strands,


    Back out into the ether.

 Desolate

    Desolate


    by Sam M. Phillips


    Listen unhappily to my thoughts,


    A desolate landscape,


    Navigation impossible,


    No stars, just shifting sands.


    Eerie sound,


    Keening cry,


    A pulse,


    Must try to take control,


    A hundred strides get me no-where,


    Sit and wait,


    Will I escape alive?


    Sporadic skirmishers,


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    A clink of steel,


    A grunt,


    Blood cakes the sand underfoot.


    A destiny,


    A picture,


    A pestilent horde,


    Moving too fast to outrun.


    Worshippers around the feet


    Of a titanic effigy,


    Low drone,


    Lascivious and mocking,


    Pulled levers and a long, slow whistle.


    Thrown offerings,


    Bodies crushed,


    Mutant beasts,


    And broken fortifications.


    Brooding black peaks,


    A long valley slices between,


    A plane in a storm,


    Thunder and lightning,


    The gods are laughing.


    Carrion birds


    And sun bleached skeletons,


    Deepening darkness


    And a superior force.


    I let my breath out slowly,


    An unspeakable pleasure,


    In the face of all this.