Aequitas: Insights

Piece of Sin

The best of the rest make fools
Of themselves, and abuse themselves
With remarks of "I'm confused."
And lost and used they wait upon their shelves
Like collectables, delectable
And ripe for the choosing.
But there's something undetectable
And it's something worth losing.
A mind could find it again
But the heart cannot,
For it's a little piece of sin
Lust, avarice, and sloth.


Pretending

Demanding, standing
On grandiose delusion
Illusion, your confusion
Eludes your attitude
Of rudeness and lewdness
Too cruel and foolish
To seem like you belong
You're wrong, but strong
In devotion to your lies
Hypnotized and compromised
Realizing you despise
This guise and rise
Above, below, or
Love and sorrow
Or borrow the time
Selling the line
That you can't
Or won't, but don't
Pretend like you intend
To defend your independence
When friendless you stand,
Grand, but alone, a stone
Against a rock
And talk while walking
Cocky, locked and go
Away or stay
Whatever you say
Just say it today.


Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

Aequitas: Nightingales

Dread not the coming dark of night

The whispering winds

And hidden frights.

A pallid light washes over all,

The leaves, once green, begin their fall.

A silvery moon, thin and wan

A nightingale sings it's waking song

The glimmer of stars

Though something's wrong.

Here it will be, ere long.

Then a blackened sky

Storm clouds brew from on high.

Churning with the wind,

And I rescind into my nest

And hope and pray for the best.

A flash of light

Illumes the night

Caught me unawares.

For to my left, and to my right

A twin pair of stares.

Hollow stares, cold as death,

And I need rest,

For I'll be tested yet again.

And as the nightingales grow silent

The storm unleashes violence,

The night that never ends.

.

.

Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

Aequitas: Generation

We are the generation
Of instant gratification
And with this molestation
We're doomed to extermination
But my determination
Is opposing all the nations
And in the decimation
We face annihilation

So spend all your money
Ignore all the warnings
Eat your milk and honey
Cuz there may be no morning
And there'll be no one mourning
When you are gone
Cuz they'll all be gone too.

We are the lost children
Led by thieves and villains
And only a few are willing
To see the truth, beyond the killing
The truth that we're all just shilling
Our souls away for top billing
On a playbill that has no feeling
And all the while you're wheeling and dealing

So spend all your money
Ignore all the warnings
Eat your milk and honey
Cuz there may be no morning
And there'll be no one mourning
Cuz you're just a greedy fuck.

Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

Aequitas: The Nargolost

Off the long and winding road

There lies a path, though little known.

And off that path, a grove to find,

The home of small, secluded kind.

The Nargolost, they call themselves

The grove their home, where they dwell.

Wise and kind, these small folk are,

And ever seen from afar.

But even then, the mind does trick

The seer into falling sick,

For the Nargolost are no mere folk,

But magical, weaving their yoke.

And should unwary traveller find

Himself amidst this little kind,

He will be welcomed into home,

And feast on meat, ripe from bone.

And should weary traveller stay,

He will wait, day by day

And day will pass, once again,

He will wait some more, but then

Years go by, ere traveller leaves

For that is the magic that they weave.

No memory, beyond their grove,

Will be left, in head, or trove.

So wary must yon traveller be,

If the Nargolost he sees.

Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

Aequitas: Fallen

Several things were revealed to me

But I turned a blind eye, refused to see

What was there, awaiting and alee.

Home was not where I thought it was,

Instead it was elsewhere, and all because

I turned my back on those in need,

Succumbing instead to lust, and greed.

And I think I know of all my flaws;

Sins, weakness, and disregard for law,

And so the pit opens and I fall into the maw.

I've fallen before, but never this far,

My dignity lost, and my presence barred

From where I want to spend my life,

And all I can do is whine and gripe.

And the failure I feel seems so unreal

Except for the loss of one so costly,

But mostly I feel that you weren't there,

Frigid, distant, without a bit of care,

And stealing from me was something unfair.

For you, I feel spite, but never despair,

Because you have hardened my heart.

Aequitas: City Sleeping

As I'm abed, the wind whip howls
Around the corners of my house,
In waning year.
The snow is packed and
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
Footsteps at my door.
I rise and call
'Who's there? Who's there?'
No one answers.
Outside, though
In whip howling wind
A man passes my door.
CRUNCH
The snow packs underfoot
Or was that something else?
The bare trees sway about
Haunting figures, but
Creaking, groaning,
Reaching out for something. What?
What what what do they want.
The warmth of summer air.
In waxing year perhaps there's hope
But not right now, in waning year.
CRUNCH CRUNCH
'What was that?' again I rise
To noise outside.
Perhaps the sound of deer?
It could not be, they don't tread here.
The city is where they dwell.
Or was that something else?
CRUNCH
It's there again.
I decide (against my better judgment)
To stay awake and have some tea.
CRUNCH
Outside they sleep
Dead, or no? It doesn't matter.
In waning year the living
Are as cold as the dead.
Or is it the other way 'round?
CRUNCH
Through the pane
Of frosty glass, I see
A figure walking, back and forth,
Though it doesn't see me.
See me? Be me. Don't try,
It hurts.
CRUNCH
Not snow this time, but something else.
-Oh no! Something else.
I wonder what it is.
I robe myself and step outside
Into whip howling wind,
To look around and have a see
At what it is disturbing me.
Over there, by the refuse bin,
A bear scrounging meal
I asked him
'Why are you about so late?
You should be asleep.'
He looked at me with tired eyes
CRUNCH
'And so should you, now go away'
So away I went,
Back abed, whilst the wind whip howls
'Round the corners of my house.

Aequitas: The Straight Man

FWG assures me his is a lighthearted blog, but what is humour without the stern straight man for reference?

I go by Aequitas. You may call me Sir. I lead a very mundane life as a short-order cook, and soon-to-be student. Clearly, I enjoy writing, and, you'll find, talking about myself at length.

My job affords me the opportunity to observe people in every state of being; over their morning coffee, lunch with business associates, or totally FUBAR'd on karaoke night. All this has taught me one thing; no matter your race, religion, gender, age, or financial status, everyone is capable of being remarkably fucked up. A lot of times it's humourous. Sometimes, it's sad. Usually I take something away from that...unless, of course, I'm getting my ass handed to me by the printer.

Every time I hear a dot matrix, I die a little inside...

This is to be my (occasional, but hopefully frequent) contribution to FWG's fine little junction of tubes.