Charles Freeman
Bio
Spreading the truth about our own realities to one another opens up a new page in our history. One filled with the mellifluous sounds of laughter, the warm feelings of love and the power of caring. So I, will spread my truth.
Stories (12)
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Split Faces of Love
To sacrifice one's life for love, to break the wintry shackles of time, to finally exist in between two moments, whole and broken, lost and found, in the skies or in the ground, reverberating nothing, or the most mellifluous sound, being the peasant or wearing the opulent crown, to which augury is one bound, bridled or emancipated, distrait or inculcated, silent during the march, or leading the opinionated, delirious and eroded or auspicious and elated, the words of the mendacious and weak are always faded, the parables of the strong and inured are truthfully stated, the time has come, for the verity to rise above the fallacious prevarications that rule our lives, for the adoration of others to surround our views and hearts, for we should've known this from the beginning, if only we all knew how to discern and listen, maybe the morning rays would hit our skins and glisten, maybe we'd all understand what felicity we've been missing, how far we've gone away from our only true mission, one where we converse with precision, where those who do wrong and are not in the leadership position, mocking those who try to stay afloat but are sinking, where we as one society finally stop injecting and drinking, and finally start speaking the veracity while actually thinking, where our personal views and minds stop shrinking, so we may finally hold hands and stop the killing, I know I'm ready and willing, are you?
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Hopeless Faith
Why do I feel so tired and numb, I have everything I want plus freedom, why is it that I don't feel at home within my own skin, that when I smile or grin, the lights that surround me get dim, I feel as though I'm drowning, I can't swim, I feel as though I'm losing, I can't win, I feel as though I'm filled with nothing, to the brim, I feel as though I'll never truly live, so grim, I look deeply into my reflection, but I just don't know him, what suffering remains to be felt, when I perish will I feel myself melt, when I awaken tomorrow will I feel the same way, or will I remain lost and wander astray, farther out into the land that is nameless, into the place where my ruminations have no directions, just aimless, where I never grow old, just ageless, where I have no body or soul, just faceless, where there is no color, just greyness, where there are no gods to laud and love, just faithless, where absolutely nothing makes sense, just strangeness, where things move up and down, left and right, just changes, where I feel no adoration, no hurt, no love, just painless, where I am seen, but never touched, weightless, where I stay, but always move, shapeless, never knowing if my eyes are opening or closing, wakeless, what shall I be, what shall I become, will I be able to outrun the burdens of old, will I bathe in the affluence of tumultuous amounts of gold, will I waiver, stumble, fall or fold, what will be the stories that are told, will they bring the warmth or cold, will I stay whole, or will I erode, behold the king of cogitation, the founder of truth and elation, the raiser of parables and foundations, absolving damnation, instilling creation, giver of sedation, the perfect aberration, the only vibration, the truth, the salvation, behold the clarity of time, the verity that tastes sublime, the rarity that nobody will ever find again, not with a pencil, not with a pen, all will praise, kneel and whisper amen, over and over again, so much veneration all the living and dead will send, over and over again, I pretended to repent, my mind was barmy and bent, I knew I'd never rise only descend, I harmed my soul, seeking out revenge, spiralling into mayhem, I never prayed for them, I was condemned, to fall deeper into my pain, deeper into the empty flame, feign and broken, was I here for a purpose, was I chosen, was this moment woven in a time long lost, what will it cause, peace or thunderous lightning, will it be loving or frightening, will it let you breathe, or will you feel the rope tightening, will you remain calm or start fighting, falling or rising, will it bring all together or will it be dividing, showing us the truth or lying, will we stop, or keep trying, crumble or continue surviving, living on forever and never dying, climbing the walls of the impossible, macerating every obstacle, the unfettered chronicles, unstoppable, philosophically phenomenal, laudable, optimal, dissolvable, horrible, what will be the fact, what will be the truth, you choose.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Do Something
A beautiful place my home was, a horrid dream my hearth became, fire falling from the sky like rain, blood pouring out of thousands, riddle with pain, so many lay there, shredded, broken, slain, no one would remember them, no one would fight for their names, who would care if a few more children burned in the flames, murdered by the bombs they dropped from the myriad of planes that came from where you sit, where you walk, funded by those people you vote for, people you trust, filled with greed and lust, killing unarmed humans is an absolute must, even though it may seem criminal and quite unjust, in the end, the cupidity of man, will turn us all into dust, where is the love that was propagated by those all over the world, fallacies told to keep everyone else blind, for if you truly looked deeper into time, there'd be many more bodies to find, there'd be many more lies you could hear, spreading hate and fear throughout the land, to make the weak weary and mad, confused and sad, it's much easier to control a population that thinks they have no soul, stuck in cages, told that they're worthless and given no food, shunned from freedom, we never care, we never see them, shunned from living a life filled with felicity and elation, they beg for peace and salvation, only to be shot and killed, for speaking the truth of their will, only to be imprisoned and circumscribed by the corrupt who were swindled and bribed to destroy what peace was left to feel, slowly this place is percolating into a blackhole only filled with nothing, soon we will all wonder and ask, why didn't we do something, why didn't we save more lives, why didn't we send more help, why couldn't we find serenity in a time of pure hatred and violence, why did we turn away, why did we stay silent while so many bled, while so many starved from not being fed, while so many slept on sand and rocks, never to feel the comfort of a bed, why couldn't we save all the lost and dead, that is what will be said, while we gorge ourselves fat and sleep in our comfy beds, while we break our bread, while the streets of others run red, why couldn't we do anything, that is what will be said.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Fugacious Thoughts
A word, a whisper, a scream, do you remember them all in your waking moments, or can you hear them in your dreams, does your past haunt you, can you feel it dripping through the seams of all your spurious lies, into the chambers of your darkest truths, can you see your fate, from beyond the forests and all the seas, where will you go, where will you be, walking free, amongst the trees, or burning up into smoke in the cool breeze, will you falter when your love and hate meet, will you miss the sounds of the peaceful vocals and soothing beats, have the memories of a life once lived escaped your heart and mind, is there anything left in you to find, a word , a whisper or scream, what is it that you see deep within the crumbling walls of your dreams, what is it you feel in the last remaining parts of your heart, do you miss the cold of death, or the heat of life, what is it that remains with you all those nights, when all is dark, when all is silent, when you hear the violence humming from miles away, when you realize that here is where you will disappear and never stay, what is it that remains with you, when you look in the mirror, do you see someone else, or is it really you, when you walk outside, why is it you see the sadness within others, the kind that resides inside, they've all smiled and laughed, but you know they've lied, you know that deep down they've cried, you know that deep down, nothing's exists, for they have forgotten how to live, so they have died, buried under the skin, is just the pain of a life never lived, a loved one whom they'll never forgive, a game they'll never win, a word, a whisper, a scream, they will never wake up from their dreams, not all is what it seems.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Sleepless
Walking through the copious and prosperous field of dreams, there are things here that I've never seen, there are places here that I have never been to, a home for the lost ones, a sanctuary for those in need of peace in their souls, for those who are obfuscated by their given names and roles, for those who have been told the greatest of all lies, for those who's tears you feel percolating from every corner of the earth, for they have no hearth, delivered to freedom at birth, they seem to think that their breaths and words have no worth, they seem convinced that the only way to live is through pain and endless cogitation, never ending supplication, begging to be let go from this prison, their beliefs in themselves have not yet risen, they have yet to discern or listen to the wise words of their hearts, instead they stand alone in the darkness and slowly drip away, here with us, they cannot stay, so they they lead themselves astray, just like I did, in the forests of disaster I hid, like a child, like a kid, I fled from myself, I hated my own reflection, I couldn't take the dolorous, injurious introspection, so I ran and ran, I did not take a second to breath and finally understand, that my heart and soul had always had a plan, to deliver me into the hands of freedom, to heal me from the wounds that were to come, to help me feel love and not be numb, to help me finally grow and become, all I had to do was follow my instincts, the crumbs that would lead me to living a better life, one without hatred, one without hurt and strife, but instead, I led myself to my own destruction, the deluge of the erroneous, the inundation of the odious, malevolently harmonious, sparse emotions, I became so emotionally parsimonious, thoughts so felonious, I was filled with loneliness, lying beneath the sand, the unknown genius, absorbed by his weakness, wandering through the night, sleepless.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Fractured Reality
If you can't do what i do for you, then i know this love isn't true, there's parts of me that i need to peruse and there's other parts of me that i need to lose, because clearly you and i don't share the same views, nor the same touch, and this pain i'm feeling is getting to be a bit much, for i am no longer you're true love or crush, i'm the cold winter breeze nobody wants, i'm the ghost that is left here just to haunt, i know now that there is nothing you want from me, not my smile in the morning, nor my kisses at night, someone else in the shadows between night and day has shown you the light, I am no longer able to see the things that made us whole, i am no longer able to grasp our freedom, afraid of what we were to become, hotter than the delicate sun, you gave up, and told me that i was never the one, i was merely just extra ammunition, another bullet in your gun, just a doll to play with, to have fun, for your life lacked excitement, it was dull, boredom seeped deep down into your skull, and you filled it with the fake love, the deleterious adoration, the injurious veneration, the fallacious salvation, instead, you led me on a path of darkness and hate, where i could not control my emotions or my fate, fractured, shattered, i broke into a million pieces, bleeding from the cuts you so gladly gave me, blood dripping into my eyes, i could not see, pain pouring out of my soul, i sank deeper and deeper into the profound hole, where souls never die, where all you hear are spurious lies, where all you can remember, is when she kissed your cheek softly, rubbed a tear away from your eye and said goodbye.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Take My Pain
Would you take my pain, if you could live forever, would you take my strife, to extend your life, would you become us all, just so you could never fall and feel the warmth and cold of the ground, would you listen to the sweet sound of death over and over again, would you fix all those that have been broken, or would you let the tears flow from your eyes, would you let go of your disguise, would you let go of your truth to accept what others see, or would you just turn your back to all those who want to be free, can you take the weight of a billion voices inside of your head, while you sleep they will just get louder and louder, so vociferous, so tumultuous, arduous work it will be living for an eternity, without people, just words, only you will never be heard, for you have to hear all the cries of all those down below, begging to be let go, to be let back in into this time and reality, to be given another change, promises rise, never to kill, never to purloin, never to sin, could your heart believe these words, what will happen deep down within your being, will it be lauding and praise, or detrimental and rage, it is up to you and only you to write a new parable, a brand new page, to become wise with the coming of age, to climb higher and higher and reach every stage, with the aid of others and oneself, one becomes better, one can be freed, unfettered, one can listen, in the silence, one can do no harm, no violence, certain moments and memories you will miss, but it's all worth it, it's all worth this, living between life and death, you will appreciate every breath, living through day and night, baneful and seraphic, monumental and tragic, unrelentingly automatic, indurated and fragile, you will run for miles, for years and years, you will shed endless tears, you will feel endless fears, from all the corners of your soul, from all the paths you choose to walk on, from all the places you thought you belonged to, from all the people you thought were real and true, from all the ways old and new, as all those demons drip out of you, you will know, when all the things become one you will know what it all meant, why you were put here, why you were sent, why you felt the bad and good, why you saw the evil and magnificent, why they all wanted the best from you, for they all knew you were genuine and true, the person you are in the mirror is truly you.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Weakness of Man
Why doesn't anyone listen, why doesn't anyone care, we all know we're equal, we all know what's fair, we understand that to persist, we need community, we need to love and share, jump out of the square, think outside the box, walk farther than you ever have, not just a few blocks, don't watch the time, ignore the clocks, feel the ground, appreciate the rocks, take in the tremors and shocks of the earth and our baneful behaviour, why do we look up like there hides our savior, our main man, who hates us all but understands, that money is the future, money is the plan, purloin anything you can, but get caught and he'll remove your hand, commit a sin and prepare to be banned, buried deep within the sand, deep within the fallacies, so far gone, you'll be in a different galaxy, perennial reality, where has all the sanity gone, what is going wrong, why must we cast out the young, poor and old, why can't we just all belong, together we stay strong, separated, we won't last too long, we won't survive the night, we won't wake up to see the light, since we will all be dead and gone, from the deleterious fight for peace, the idea that fell apart so quickly, piece by piece, a long awaited release from the cold grip of the darkness of man, this was never ours, this land, yet we spend everything yet nothing to live, how perplexing, I can't believe this is a thing, what more can an exorbitant amount of wealth bring, more kings and queens, cons and fiends, madness is their means, we are the squalid and dirty, they are the spotless and clean, feeding us the drugs from their poppy fields, what a weapon the evil wield, is this all real, this wound in humanity is deep, for all I weep, mankind never actually took the step, or made the leap, we just made ourselves sheep, then we fell asleep, how weak.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Nebulous Times
Metallic structures surround me as I walk between my reality and dreams, my fears and hopes seem to be dripping through the seams, as I maunder deeper into this halted moment, I realize that most of who I am is injured and broken, locked deep down inside is my truth, unable to be opened by any other but me, it is up to my own soul to set my gaze free, to supplant myself in the verity of time, to know the difference between the feign and sublime, to know what belongs to them and what's mine, to know that I have no fears and that I am not blind, that the lies I have told myself need not exist in these moments of pure revelation, that I need not suffer from the pain of the baneful indignation, that what I want and need is the truth and it's sweet salvation, not mendacious ruminations that are detrimental to my elation, that don't push me forward, that only provide dander and stagnation, a step in the right direction, proper and thoughtful introspection, not botheration or dereliction, a moment to look in the mirror and reflect on who I am, what will I say, where will I go, these are the verities one needs to know, the things that will galvanize me so, that which will make me water, more easily I'll flow, in a more tranquil and irenic state I'll grow, escaping the wretched feelings that pool concurrently down below, my thoughts will reveal themselves to me, through the pain and suffering I will see, that all of which I know belongs to me, that during moments of rage, one can percolate love and still feel the sweet tender touch of supinity, that peace comes from the ability to achieve temperance over one's self, without screaming or crying out to others for help, the lines are mine to cross, if I falter or waiver, I will take the loss, for the truth of it all, is that one must fall to stand, one must hear and listen to understand, so that one may do, so that one can rise through the stages of the deleterious and tragic, to the moments filled with adoration and magic, swim through the amorphous seas of static, fly through the nebulous times, remain who you are, and you will shine.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Tears
Water flows, filled with the tears of a thousand mothers, ridden with the burden of loving all they created, watching their beloved daughters and sons, incinerated by the thoughts of war and fire, believing all those arrogant liars, destroying their dreams and true desires, engulfed in the debris of the doleful thoughts that would encapsulate their reality, descending further into the cumbersome foibles that are fallacies, said to them time and time again, to heaven or hell you will be sent, broken, out of shape and bent was the truth, you will be tried and scarred before you step foot out of your beautiful youth, you will be stomped and bruised, infused with the paroxysm of abuse, a lit fuse, prepared to send those souls who have denied their god to hell, to speak to the children, as the blood runs down their faces, to put them under a spell of true fear, to whisper to them, we, the ghosts will never disappear, our lord put us here, to control, maim and burn, they do not realize, that when they dream and awaken, it will be their turn, peace within their hearts they will yearn for, to seep back into time, so they could've lived happily like before, to not light a spoon and plunge another needle, while crying on the floor, needing more ears to listen to their sorrows, or they'll just torture themselves more, locking themselves inside their minds, they leave their peace somewhere far away, drowning in the radiant pools of blood, beside loved ones they cannot stay, screaming out for forgiveness, they want to forget the motionless bodies of the young, the chained lovers who were shunned away from the promise of freedom, the redolent corpses burning in the sun, the cold wroth from the barrel off a gun, the bullets that flew by in the garden of Eden, the churches and homes that burned for no reason, the parts of the earth they stabbed that are still bleeding, the help that their conscious minds are still needing, soulful healing, warm hearts beating, irenic thoughts fleeting, the sounds of their torments are so defeating, will our people continue on repeating the rapacious, horrid nature of war, or will they live on and create something the dead could adore, a cool breeze, near the shores of existence, the slow pulse of love with no resistance, the growth of benevolence with delicate persistence, the splash of laughs on the sands of our homes, the touch of another hand, never feeling adrift or alone, the burning of a fire during a polar night, a beautiful, angelic, entrancing sight, to be surrounded by the virtuous light of magnanimity, a glimpse of brilliancy, peace will one day reign instantly, a perfect symphony, symmetry.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Losing Control
I've been inundated with emotion, losing control over the temperance I've had for so long, to the untrained eye I seem infirm, I do not belong in a place where the vitriolic words of another are seen as hilariously fun, how far are we going to go, when is enough enough, why must individuals get so rough, over a reality that doesn't exist, over materialism and stuff, over wealth and greed, how much money does one even need, how many malevolent persons must we breed, when will we choose to quiet our prevarications, when will we choose to ascribe truth to our names and present, wouldn't that be holistically pleasant, when will we reach the pinnacle of or existence, to fall in love with our subsistence, to listen closely to the words said by the fractured and forlorn, so that the lovely and irenic are born, so relationships that have lasted throughout time are never ripped away, cut or torn, so nobody feels alone, so your loved one picks up the phone, so you may grow with others or on your own, so you may find peace and zen and not wonder when, so you may finally have more than just a few imaginary friends, so you may ascend, so you may lend a hand to others that might be indigent and credulous, or frightened and venomous, we all need love more than we think, do not watch anyone drown, help them up, don't put them down, show them the way, don't let them jump to their death, make them stay, make them see that life is worth living for, that life is worth fighting for, open your arms for those who need adoration and wisdom, for in the end, we will all miss them.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Will You Remember Me
Will you remember me, will you remember all those instances of peace and glee, all those times we stepped out of the boundaries and became free, all those times we swam across the vastness of every sea, climbed the heights of every mountain, created fountains of sublimity, that would last for eternity, will you remember our foes and enemies, the prodigious amounts of fatalities, the feign and real realities, that made us whole, that made us odd, will you remember the days in which we fought side by side, to release the hunger for love that was locked deep down inside, to release the hunger for freedom that was torn from our hearts as children, as we scrambled to understand our own reflections, the masses stole our wills for introspection, just to keep us safe, for our own protection, so the sounds of the truth, would not deter us from enjoying our youth, so the sounds of lies, could make us nurtured and wise, the ultimate surprise, to be fettered in a cage of ignorance and insignificance until our forlorn demise, spurious hellos, baneful goodbyes, so many detrimental lows, not enough seraphic highs, pushing us down, so we remain the same size, grinding us down to nothing, so we could become the lost voices, stupid boys and girls who've made the wrong choices, incapable of discerning right from wrong, they're just here to be our slaves, they don't actually belong, round them up in heards and throngs, make them listen to the dumbest songs, just like children, they will maunder on, they will sing along, for they won't be here for long, will you remember, the fires that burned deep within, the thoughts that were filled with pernicious sin, to destroy the masters that tore us from our cradles, the liars who fed us evaporating fables, the killers who took food off of our tables, the bastards who fed us pills to make us lonely and unstable, the demons who entered our dreams, the government's that broke our jaws after we screamed for justice, the parables written by the mendacious, the wealth that was kept by the ostentatious, will you remember, or will it be a fleeting thought, fugacious.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
