poet

Galactic Rulers

We enslave the creator –

our own mothers who gave birth to the world,
to the universe,
all we see, and love, and know.

The mothers rule this earth, in spirit and in giving of life.

We are here to protect them, us men, not rule them…

We take entry into our bodies,
into our very existence,
say our thanks, and then go on to dominate the very existence
we were funneled into.

Look around,
-everything we know,
is because of women,
-everything we love,
is because of women.

Our hearts and souls, bound to our very mothers own.

Give the earth back,
for the rule of women has yet to be felt.
We are failing our planet earth,
our motherly planet earth.
By overcome with greed and power,
both of which were created by man.

I say it’s time to step down from our throne as king, a
nd serve and protect the rightful heir to the galactic rulers,
our mothers, our sisters, our daughters.

Let them lead with love, as only they possess the power to do so…

-Julien J OReilly

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Where Are We?

In this flesh of a man, a prism of complexity, spinning in wild existence
in dominance of every attribute,
constructing emotion
to devour the lives surrounding.
The raging battle,
in competitive survival
stacked and positioned
inventive of every new-age stage to marvel.
Even the purity of love,
used and sharpened,
as a spear tearing through all in its path.

The consequences of my being sets this rage internal,
pulling apart every layer of skin I’ve masked.
The walls of ego stripped bare, shredded,
until nothing remains,
not even a tongue for speaking,
or a sense of the self ever worth fighting for.

Where did my essence go?
Was it attached at the teet, at the yearning for life…
Has the reflections of the World sapped over my seed,
Infinitely generating a Modern Man of the time.
Where is credit due, or even deserved?
I am not the language I speak, or even the thoughts so deceivingly portrayed as my own.
I am the culmination of a millennia… no, of all of existence, of all of Time,
folded and struck from the chaos of the cosmos, in the brilliance of light and life.
My sense of self dissolving before me, into this fabric, pulsing with ancient wisdom.
All of life speaks through my mouth – every howl, every whisper,
every dogmatic twinkle of my ancestral molecules beating to the drum of my own heart.

I suppose the march will continue, long after the chuckle of my flame, gasses away.
Where will the emotion leave me, when the clock pounds out the cursed blessing of endless life.
I simply can only repeat –
In this flesh of a man, a prison of complexity, spinning wild in existence.

Julien J. OReilly

Unspoken

A poem falls victim today
on the battleground of a swallowed tongue.
The remains of a severed word struggles to usher it’s final truth
before rolling to a stop among the cliffs
of a desolate and unforgiving land.
As others had fought here before,
emerging from tragic storms on the horizon,
they now had seemed to spring off the banks in vein,
searching for a meaning amongst the lemmings of such other beasts.
Their crimes were suited with their fate,
washed away upon the shores of a closed mind
and a broken ear,
never to collide
with the passing of a sailing vessel.
But these words today
were given no such chance
but instead lay gasping for air,
before finally slipping back into the darkened depths
from which they came.
Perhaps tomorrow the tale will be different
of a victory to sweep
and to be awash under wine and celebration
but until that day,
these soldiers shall stay in their quarters,
to pass their time,
before their final calling is spoken.

-Julien O’Reilly

Give in

Something.
There it is.
I did what the canvas asked.

Give me More it demanded,
so I obliged.

Don’t Stop,
so I didn’t.

I just kept giving,
not even knowing what it was
that I gave, but sure enough,
little by little,
I gave exactly what it had asked for.

Even small amounts of something,
end up adding up
to the whole of everything,
at least what it was that I could offer.

If I held back,
then what was I even preserving it for?
If I save it all for myself,
I won’t be giving anything.

But then who would even know,
what that something
could have been,
or perhaps,
should have been.

I may dream up of this big something,
you know, all on my own,
but in the end, a dream cannot be shared.

I can still provide that glimpse of self,
even if it fulfills another’s wishes, ambitions,
and maybe,
just maybe,
that glimmer of the greater possibility,
of what should have could have been,
will be blinding in brilliance, to those
who lay witness to the greatness.

And relish brilliantly in that moment,
so our proud parents, and grandparents,
can see a glimmer of their own dreams,
and say that;
they gave it up for us,
so that we could one day,
give it all up again.

-Julien J. OReilly

Open Ears

Don’t you forget.
The Limit of our existence.
Overcome with the desire to fill,
every ounce,
every space,
of our walled timeline.
Containment in just this fraction of a blink
in life,
or without life.
How much can one possibly burn,
and ignite,
set ablaze to melt beyond your skin’s reach
consuming an entire Island for one’s Deceptive Pleasures.
See with your Eyes, set within your Heart,
this Creature of Humanity,
expansive – across your toes,
folding in on itself,
in perpetual
motion,
devouring and blooming
in perfect stride.
See not,
the capsule of your own Flower,
but the Fields of an Orchard.
Leave your mark like water,
flowing to Creation and wonder,
a stream of seeping goodness in to the soil of time.

Have we not yet had our fill

In a life where the space between action and reward,
narrows to that of a cricket’s chirping, crackling, wings,
we’ve grown a Hunger
Larger than the Chew of our Bite.
Sew shut the muzzle of your cannons,
breathe life into words,
into Origin,
each World a class of its own,
to teach
and to learn.
Forever the Student
Forever the Teacher
of your own Wisdom.
Within those walls,
within those Capsules,
a way of blossoming – Unique to its own curse.
Never forget the time you have to live your stride,
set apart from those chains of monotony.
Your Story is Worth Telling,
and
I’m all ears.

– Julien J OReilly

Synapse

A connection in space
only determined by rudimentary means of communication.
Through our words do we relate,
and as our minds mingle amongst the labyrinth of our language
deeper within meaning,
there is a separation that we strive to narrow
to make this connection real.
As two distinct beings, with no concrete means to portray our differences
we want to unite
and feel what others feel.
Each alone, struggling with a complexity of a life
reaching outwards
towards another
hoping for an answer to fill this void
as our hearts seek another
as it was once connected
in the womb
as continuously it searches.

-Julien O’Reilly

Ever More

And Now,
My curious seedling,
bred from the desire of perfection
enriched through the Earth’s ever-flowing matrix
of “lived and let love.”

A masterful garden
who’s roots have spread and veined,
interwoven within a soil of the richest history,

As You Stand At Full Mast,

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