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“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.guess i must have hit the vein, nay, a ******* artery, must have gobbled down an oyster, muscle and brains altogether, simultaneously!

i have one, only one pet peeve...
that casual mainstream media
expression...

    but it's the 21st century!

i get the bollocking frizzle of
***** hair, translated into Janissary ******
attire... excited...

what the **** are you talking
about?

   21st century, what?
we're in our infancy!
            and what came prior?
you seem to forget the first half
of the 20th century,
and bulk in cultural
              expropriation of other
nations...

   us Poles had 100 years if liberty,
thank you very much...
we're not about to do the German
hip Berliner St. Vitus dance
magic, just yet...

******* hippies...

       Solidarity movement
pamphleteers, migrants of Florida,
bias, you name them...
yeah... "heroes"...

                    ******* usurpers,
Judases...
             and from the city i was born into...
where's the ******* metallurgy?
export of cheap labor,
originating in Spain!
      how's the youth unemployment
working for the Spaniards?
good? good good...
goof ******* *****!
   no say cheese in Swiss German
and show us the 42 teeth of over-perfecting
that schmile!

        Swiss guard, up & ****!
*******...

       i hate the sophistry,
loath it, baron over it...
this but it's the 21st century...
what sort of excuse is it?!
   there's not excuse!

                 reverting back to covert
popularization of prostitution?
even the Bulgar prostitutes lie,
about being Romanian,
i never tell them,
even though the word, dobrze...
   o.k,
    хорошо...
   is not a romanian word...
    you lie, you fry...
         i'm actually fond of making
chicken hearts, and pork liver sauces...
i can work the stoves...
             **** it... give me any meat,
i'll fry it... make a garlic onion sauce
out of it...
    nee bother...
   strawberries?
perfect fruit for smoothies...
tried it, just today,
with nein (nine) passiot fruits,
and an arithmetic for the one hand
including strawberries...
         crème fraîche replacing
yoghurt...
                          milk,
milk milk milk milk...

but...

what's the ******* excuse,
for making excuses of the 21st century
as the ******* pinnacle?
will the 22nd century look
fondly on us?
  
i'm only looking fondly for the death
of Lizzy II with much
anticipation, because of,
what i assume will not be the case
of Chuckles III,
rather, Georgie VII...

the 20th century passed...
what sort of excuse, in liberal terms...
is there to posit,
for keeping the Greenwich Mean Time?
frankly?
  the ******* excuse i've ever, ever,
heard!
         it's the 21st century...
whoop-tee-doo-daa
                        (H)    (H) -
told you... without the (YW) -
a god that's a vowel catcher...
or pivot for laughter...
can't get more hebrew-philic than i.

i ******* loath the: but it's the 21st century
argument...
    lost the italic lettering and the colon
from the use of bold -
monarchy?
  well, suit up & boot up
for the transgressive pomp & circumstance,
that alternative
to pride & prejudice...

  ha ha!
            god... laughing at oneself
is probably the only cure there ever will be...

but come on!
the: but it's the 21st century!
  
what sort of, argument, is that?
  it's not like ontology begot
an x-men algebraic variation,
an exponential derivative,
    a Holmes' hound of a bag of
necessary excuses!
      some ******-evolutionary leap
of benevolence
to excuse a connection of peer-to-peer
connectivity,
somehow erasing the 20th
century, and ennobling a... "fresh start"
with 21 as the fore!

i might be a peasant,
and i might drink to excesses some
people would wish they could
muster a stamina for...

  but please, leave the fairy tales to
the Danes,
  hans christian andersen and their
Grimm bro. counterparts...

but it's the 21st century...
**** me...
    you mean the ****-up century?!
Creep Oct 2014
Once the nerd,
who sits in a corner
and reads her troubles
away.

Was the popular girl,
talked to, played with,
flirted with.

Past being the *****.
Teased at,
flirted with sexually,
hurt looks.

Now reverting,
turning myself inside out
and letting myself be true.

Searching for answers
and myself,
comforting tired tears,
contemplating what to do with excessive unsolved problems.
Quiet. Observant.
Notices everything, good and bad,
but does nothing.
basically
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
and what is the only variant of classical
music, heard on a radio?

    well... there's the fama radio night
sessions - with not adverts
   radiofama.com.pl -

it might be your take on what the french
tell the english, i.e.: euro-trash...

but no adverts...

                          and there is no reason
to concede to reviving punk,
hippy music didn't see a revival,
why should punk?

   a variant of classical music radio,
akin to bbc 2, or classic fm...

       that "oddity" of a morphed bbc 4
internet coverage, akin to lionel nation...
and what i mean by that,
is not h. d. thompson's gonzo...

          the allure of the, un-scripted...
and all of this is raw, flesh,
language at a smithfield
                   or a billingsgate...

talk-radio as the logical conlusion
of exposing your child to classical music...
it's genius -
   reverting back to classical music
once you're older, and don't play
an instrument?
                      what's the point?

dr steve turley bashing out a medieval
mash-up on the guitar...
            and that's "not" even
inspiration for a rock star status...
i like his smugness -
    it's... zesty, lime-like:
             certainty of the twinkling
of the eye that consists of:
    a remaining - intact, i.e., sane.

bbc radio 4?
      what, with zee archers nonsense?
this radio novella
that keeps propping itself up
like a bad take on eastenders without
the kray brothers?
          
                  talk-radio is all about
a non-existent "script":
       the flamboyance of spontaneity...
with the crux, being?
                
                                     ensō -

the only aspect of ζεν, a ταoιστ might
respect.

      p.s.
                  do i believe in u.f.o.  s?
(****, acronyms and the plural article
attached to them, mind boggling)
     no... but i've seen one, so the belief impetus
is, kind'ah missing in me...
             i've transcended speculation,
a question-worthiness on the matter...
since the question no longer manifests
      itself in the narration impetus?
the impetus for narrative, is narration per se;
and how lovely, it is to see
a noumenon...
      when the world of phenomenons
reads like this:

  the times newspaper, saturday, july 21,
2018,
               OVER 70,000 CHILDREN
PUT ON PILLS FOR DEPRESSION...

great headline...
     alas, a chemistry degree (3rd)
from edinburgh uni.,
     am i chemo-phobic?
                 i should ask myself that
same question, when i next
brush my teeth, apply shampoo to
my cranium,
   or wash my hands.

apart from genitals -
   i'm having this sensation of a tongue
contra mind "dysphoria"...
                 it's not exactly a limb...
it's not like an amputee with
a ghost limb...
                         more like:
                   a mind, a body,
   a soul... and then the wriggly worm,
raised up on high in novels...
and then groveling in areas
where rabbis didn't take to revision
with a pair of scissors...
   buttermouth from the oral ***.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
wasze ulice, nasze... kamienice...
    
boasting Jews of Poland...

Kraków "snow"
  (ashes from Auschwitz
falling on the old capital,
of human remains...
they called it:
     szaryśnieg -
                 grauschnee)...

the marching hybrid
song
         ich bin zu schuld...
   ich bin deutsche nicht
deutsche: ich bin
alles: europäisch...
  die letztemann!                

feminism according
to Leni Riefenstahl...
no women among
the Nazis?
my my... how sexist!
eine makellosfrau!
            eine schnellblond!

oh my! my!

mein mutter
still confuses

  joseph goebbels with
hermann göring -

did you know...
****** was a commoner,
but heinrich himmler
was of the noble sort?
yeah... why expect
a nobleman to exhort such
banality to re-compensate
                          the guillotine?

two decent Nazis though:
Rudolph Heß...
und...
       Erwin Rommel...

   die zwei!

  beside the two?
             curators of evil,
these h'amricans...
with their puritanical excuses...
always the army of excuses...
the Americans constitute
an army of excuses...
never an "ideology"...
but always the "excuse"...
purposive in being adamant
on the metaphor of good,
never the metaphor of evil...

      always the crux-built
fracture of foundation...

die dritte...

                  Karl Dönitz...

hamburger army...
sure... love you...
              Chinese Levi -
Bangladeshi shirts...
Kenyan hamburgers...
and you wonder why
there is an economic displacement?
my people were happier
under a Communist regime...
with an iron-works factory...
simply because...
McDonald's didn't provide
jobs for a hundred people,
but because the iron
factory provided work for
1000 people...

       war... there were always too forms
of war...
          oddly enough:
i'll find you the Nazis i admire...

       because, "oddly" enough,
there are some i admire...
   well... let's call them the trinity...

     you can't make the bargain of reverting
totalitarianism on all the ****...
the argument follows:
there were some,
who resisted...
            and i name, but three.

your turn to play the poker;

what did
amon goeth say about
the Polish king Casimir the great
welcoming Jews into Poland?
very little...
either gassed them,
or shot them doing
beside the menial tasks
of quasi-labor.

yes... the holocaust did happen...
6 million+ jews died...
as 6 million+ cows die in a
slaughterhause (schlachtenhauß)...
but who did really die
in the holocaust?
   beethoven died,
            wagner died,
         leibniz died...
            mozart... goethe...
nietzsche...
     they died...
der deutschegeist sterben!
                 and the german spirit
is not the hebrai spirit
                  what dies remains dead...
unless it's born from
a hebrews' stubborn pact of
agitating a god to continue his promise:
one divine intervention,
mythical at this point...
and then... yo-yo toying with
promises, with prophecy upon prophecy...
but never delivering, only teasing...
till the people believe themselves...
   and a load of other drunken *******...

lucky me to write this drunk,
the sober me gets to appreciate
the cricket world cup.
Dante Blades Jan 2011
The little voice inside of you
Directing decision
Trapped
Unable to envision

Success
In rapid succession
Reverting
In sudden regression

Sewing shut
Your mind's eye
Blame your loss of contact
Contact with me
The romantic deviant

Your love is beautiful
With all it's conditions
Scolding the masses
For their mental carbon emissions

Unpopular
Is an understatement
What do you expect
Pushing for a decision
When there is no answer
Allyssa Knight Oct 2015
As I closed my eyes,
I reverted back to a place of peace.
A place sheltered by a wall my mother gave to me.
I watched myself dream
lucidly
I ran through the fields of knee high grass, passed a kickback and jumped into the daises as soft as a kiss upon the lips.
I was happy with the sun.
Her beloved friend wrapped her arms around me and loved me more than I loved my tea..
I grew angry as the teacher tapped me for one last note.
Lonerisms handed off with the talent of Phil Simms
Getting cold sick sweats from a case of Pimm's

Trading off the solid snake state of mind
Reverting back to hoodlums Dre co-signed

System shock came before the rapture
Long before Elizabeth’s inevitable capture

Duplicity played off Blu
Talentless Roberts certainly due

Speckled grin the size of a banner
Reverting back to Belushi’s manor

Hey…“Here’s to you kid”
Said as Ingrid’s sold at the highest bid

Lopez licked off the Latino
George and Jen pillaged the casino

Liquid Snake drawn from the grass
Cowering, waiting for Big Boss to pass
S Layaan Jan 2017
Running away from her feelings
Don't want no hurt
Don't want inspiration
They only subvert
Her poor fragile heart
She gives her all
Gets smithereens in return
Don't want no broken dreams
Don't want empty hopes
Don't want those sleepless nights
It's a periscope
Couldn't see it before
Now she knows
She's a shell of the old her
No signs of reverting
Built walls around her heart so high,
The heavens are confronting
It's comforting
This deserting
Feeling of the heart
No one's gonna break me
She says asserting
No one's gonna hurt me
Her lips reverberating
Eyes full of misery
Her loneliness shines through
Captivating silver eyes
Moist with morning dew
Or are those tears?
Taking a hue
Of molten silver
Or the dark stormy nights
They've witnessed all along
When they all eschewed
When they all ran away
Well, adieu
They don't deserve her anyway
Don't deserve her beautiful soul
Don't deserve her unconditional love
Or the compassion she holds
Her blinding bright smile
Or the twinkle of her eyes
The softness of her lips
She exists to mesmerize
So, adieu
Because she's a fighter
An igniter
Of the passion he holds
Adieu
He says thankyou
Because she's a queen
And all his to love
Oh if you only knew.

~S.L.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
life is our poetic reality,
you are the best ever
metaphor,
the one poets
keep stealing from
each other,
at the intersection
of our eyes crossing

your disruptive crying poetry,
bring to me in NYC,
and I'll take you to
poetry slams,
tango parties, a real Chinatown,
blow smoke up your nose,
Waltz step on your toes,
drink with you
in Central Park at five am,
visit half a dozen museums,
take you to the ballet,
and then you can maybe,
cross a few to-do's
off of our mutual
intersections

care taken,
if you want hide deep,
but to late for thee and our world,
your name on the roster
of poets by night,
tinkers, soldiers,
and some who tailor
poems bespoke
for the ones who
dare not reveal their true (s)elves
in the words they write.

1431
poems in ye old inbox,
genteel knocking,
whispering thru stolid front door
love me a little lot,
little lot, love me?

these are the holy-of-the-holies
attention-me-crystal-cries,
prayers, wry observations, nature collations,
me and thee adorations,
heart rendering
screams of need,
these are the moments in your life
raw-roughened gifted
or threaded smooth cursed,
but tendered unto my caring

am old man.
my poetic voice is just
memories that are
repetitive lies and lines.

speak in simple sentences declarative.
this is nature's way.

darkness approaching is indeed my
au courant poem, mon actuellement.

I have seen betterdays

ain't young enough to be afraid no more
write what pleases me.

this day leases me
what pleases me
and this is as close as I can come
to being human
and writing my flawless poem.

Anything I can do to keep you,
happy and poetry-free
from midnight
till the **** crows
and slumber trumps
the restless words
that will wait
till mo(u)rning born,
and the kingdom of poetry,
awoken,
comes alive

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger,
by force majeure,
Declares, here,  poem aborning,
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied.

Al,  what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me

long have I searched for my
flawless poem,
knowing it my be
my next one,
each a doorway to the next

this one, and the
one before,
never good enough,
keep the essay going
in fourth gear

I taste skin,
like a good poem,
the cheek, the shoulder bare,
the in between spaces,
the minty hint of décolleté,
the ankle chain,
turning my breath heated,
tips of red noses,
I take and
I keep
and no,
no refunds, no returns

nowadays,
grandpa's tools
outdated, shelved,
in their final
resting place,
blades dulled,
the technology
of his verbiage,
rusted by old age

the reads diminishing,
his touch, antiquated,
his best days, resting on top of
the ocean internet waves
his summertime buddies,
sand sun grass and
sea air perfumes,
singing,
"awe, we got ya,
cosy and comforted,
awaiting you in your chair,
overlooking our truest
sheltered applause"

so I write for me,
write for her,
for with her,
in love's sight,
life is
easy like Sunday morning,
and
that's why I'm easy,
like Sunday morning

wake up unscrubbed,
sleep still in the eyes,
dream crusted,
probably unaware, child,
that you are a poem
sleeping

when a little girl,
reverting, designing
real from dreams,
processing, reforming,
the dreams lusting
to be poems
to go awandering

don't
let the sin memories
of ancient words,
black gold bubble up
with the first striking of the blade

Delve
(excavate your soul deep)
Not

I did not come this poem to write
I did not come to repeat
Solomon's poem,
nothing new under the sun

don't,
daunting
wish to delve into my delusions,
my original sin
the deceit
the conceit
I am unique
I am original

*Experience anew,
Each time,
Say:
This is my first time,
This is my first work

I do not need your validation.
I validate myself
and in doing so,
who else
comes along
for the ride
on our tide?

create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
only this:
everything that is done well
                           is good art

Be Fertile and Radiate
Excerpts from stuff written between late March and early April.
I write about poetry, writing and their intersection inside of me, probably too much.
I was
once potent, now soft
then twisted suddenly
like a baby thrown aloft
"Pull!"
and then shot
bad habits, tendencies
thinking about money
when I haven't got a lot
I used to think I was
pretty good looking
but
my self esteem took a knock
life is about finding your rock

I am
scarred, dangerous
and outright harmless
when I'm stressed out
my love turns me to calmness
overrated like chrome
a blade lacking in sharpness
turning away from peace
and reverting to the darkness
never liked change
always afraid of taking chances
thought I needed help
but I guess that I'm past it
looking for a home because
I was told it's where the heart is
JAMIL HUSSAIN Oct 2016
''A few words of my soul to my heart''

O' Jamil what you seek is a sea of love and not tiny streams
Waves of which will carry you to mystic craved *dreams


You will need the light of Shams⒈, a heart of Rumi⒉ the great
And eyes of Iqbal⒊ to explore the love of divine that await

O' Jamil be prepared to sink deep below in waters of love
There is no reverting back thereafter to the world above

You will fade away as small particles in this sacred sea
Only then you will be intoxicated with essence of thee


Notes:-

⒈ Shams, Shams-e-Tabrizi or Shams Al-Din Mohammad was a Iranian Sufi, mystic born in the city of Tabriz in Iranian Azerbaijan.

⒉ Jalal Ad-Din Muḥammad Balkhi also known as Jalal Ad-Din Muḥammad Rumi and popularly known as Mowlana but known to the English-speaking world simply as Rumi, he was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic.

⒊ Sir Muhammad Iqbal was a Persian and Urdu poet of Pakistan, philosopher and a politician who had great visions for humanity.

✒ ℐamil Hussain
Edna Sweetlove Mar 2015
All the world's a *******,
And all the lads and ladettes mere defecators,
Gratifying oozing exits and entrances;
And one man perforce enacts too many roles,
His acts being seven deaths. D'abord, the baby,
******* and ******* on his mummy's frock.
Then, the errant truant with his rucksack
And pock-marked ******'s face, creeping like death
Foul-trouser'dly to school. Next a teenager,
Panting like mad dog, with an oozing pustule
Dripping oe'r his girlfriend's pubics. Then a hoodie,
Full of strange oaths, and dressed up like a freak,
Lacking in honour, decency, and up for aggro,
Seeking the respect of loathsome peers
Even on the street corner. And then the adult
With bulging beer belly, and ample burgers stuff'd,
With eyes dulled by unfulfilled promises,
Mortgaged to the hilt, and indebted to Visa,
And so he wastes his life. The sixth age dawns
Before he knows it, bald futility,
With ****** in pocket, five quid a pill,
His youthful hopes well ****'d, the world too much
For his ignorance, and his vain butch rantings
Reverting soon to teenage curses, coughs
And tobacco'd wheezings. Last we see him,
Ending a pointless and useless existence,
Clutching to his ****-stained Zimmer frame,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans pension fund.
Yes! It's the melancholy Jaques' speech from "As You Like It" as re-imagined by me, the ****** Edna.
Cassandra Sykes Sep 2011
Its 1:36am and I haven’t slept in weeks
I still haven’t found the guts to tell you you broke my heart.
I can’t even think of sleeping when you’re weighing on my mind
I only spin the wheel of memories I can drown in.
I spin it over and over again, knowing full well the prize has gone.

And its funny how, even after weeks and the miles that have set in between us,
I still sometimes smile thinking about holding your hand.
And that’s the best thing I can think of doing.
I just want to hold your hand.
I don’t need the kisses, I don’t need you to caress me.
The simple joy of your hand in mine is all I ever really wanted.

We’d spend cool spring days driving in your car,
The awkwardness of being together finally starting to melt away (along with the snow.)
You cooked me dinner while you watched Oprah and your sister spied on us.
I forget what it felt like to be in your house.
But I remember just wanting to pour through your shelves of books,
Boil us a *** of tea (mint green tea, like the one you left in my kitchen that I packed away with my life those weeks ago.)
Crack open a book, rest my head on your shoulder and listen to you read.

I can’t say I’ve become too much a fan of the person I am now.
I sit and I wait for you,
I wish and I dream that there’s something I have that she doesn’t.
I almost feel as though I could have known better.

I packed away my life 3 weeks ago.
I tried so hard to leave you in that bedroom we once existed in.
But as it seems the pattern of my life has become being angry I let her take you
And wishing that I could have changed it, and reverting back to the beginning.
I run a slideshow of us every night before I “sleep”
Sleep has turned into this chore that I just can’t seem to complete.
My spelling and sentence structure has begun to wither in the weeks since your departure.
And it would be far too cliché to say that my hope has begun to wither along with them.

I remember when we first began you were working nights
And I stayed up until five am sending you text messages, desperately fighting to stay up for you.
And until the very end I did the same.
I would fall asleep with my phone in my hand, waking only to reluctantly warn you of my impending slumber.
I miss the way you giggled when I told you about the funny things that happened at work.
I miss the way that you would listen to my rants, and offer anger on my behalf.

There was that last night.
You held me through the first movie, and kissed me through the second.
You held my hand as we walked to Tim Horton’s for tea.
You waited outside with my dog, (who always adored you.)
And you kissed me on the deck outside of my house.
You rubbed my back while I was sick,
And you would not accept my apologies for ruining our night.

I woke up that next morning hours before you.
My queen sized bed had somehow become too large for us, and we shared my half.
You held me tight and I listened to your light as air laughter,
And smiled when every time I moved a muscle you’d pull me closer.
I laid on my bedroom floor and ate honeydew and listened to you snore.
I read my book, and basked in the glory of waking up beside my favourite person.
And you slept a bit too late, but I forgave you and kissed you as you slipped off to the gym.

If someone had told me that would be the last time I’d hold you through the night,
I never would have believed it.
And then she stole you away.
I lost the game I didn’t know I was playing.

The person I have become is heavily dependant on caffeine.
She can’t watch movies where people are in love without crying.
She can’t form rational sentences when it’s 1:59 am and she knows all she needs to do is fall into a dream.
She can’t visit those places she ties to you because her heart is tied to her eyes, and sometimes tears flow.

I am okay with the fact that this hurts.
I am okay with the fact that I am changed because of you.
I am not okay knowing I have to hold all of this inside, or spill it across several word documents.
I’m not okay with the fact that you left without a goodbye.
I’m not okay knowing the last time we spoke was so irrelevant to everything.
I am so completely  distraught that spelling and punctuation have fallen away.
I am lost inside of everything I wanted us to be.
Of everything she’s taken away from me.

And there was once a time when my pillow cases were stained from your bronzer.
Where I would sleep on your pillow all the nights we were apart
Because your scent was so sweet it was impossible to sleep without it.
But now you’ve been washed away after so many spin cycles
It makes my head spin.
And the only stains that remain on my pillow case are the darkening memories of sweet kisses that tasted like me and tequila.
And my own makeup, as the wetness from my eyes makes it seep down my face.
And for the minute amount of hours my body lets me sleep, I sleep next to your ghost.

Your hair is darker now.
And there is more ink in my skin than there was before.
Time has passed, and leaves have started to change.
Soon the snow will fall as it always does.
And I will feign interest in the things I detest the most.
I will simulate feelings for another, of that I am sure.

The place we had shared so much laughter,
And so many awkward first kisses,
And so many more confident ones as the months wore on, is no longer my home.
The way you tasted has a way of enduring the time that’s stretched between our bodies.
And  I remember how you used to laugh first thing in the morning.
And I miss being the source of that laughter.

I remember hearing once on a foolish TV show how long it should take me to get over you.
I have this nagging feeling that you will run past the limit I will try to put on you;
Just as you stayed in my heart long past our expiration date.

I used to use awkward words like “indefinitely” because they had always made so much more sense to me.
I don’t want to think that these feelings will stretch on indefinitely.
I want to believe that I can eventually move past my grief.
And hours past the time I should have fallen asleep I find myself jotting down words about you while my dog snores too loudly beside me.

It’s going to be exceptionally hard for me to let this go,
Because I remember how hard it was to believe all of it in the first place.
And now that out short-lived reality has ended I find myself living in some twisted fairy-tale
All I was waiting for (naively) was our ride into the sunset.
All I got was a crushing blow from some Stephen King novel
Where things so out of the ordinary happen you wonder how you didn’t consider them in the first place.

I remember falling asleep outside that bar and you coming back for me,
Pulling me out of the snow and into your arms where I spent the night.
That bar is closed now, as so many things around our creation period have begun to shut down.
That night had been the most real thing that had happened to me in longer than I remember.
I remember the way you lingered in my mind for months after our first encounter
And how I was never really happy until our paths crossed in a (seemingly) more concrete way.

And now as the nights fall (earlier, and earlier) I find myself needing a sweater.
The pattern of my life had changed drastically
And you have made an empty echo in my heart,
One that I’m sure you’re too deaf to hear in your new city.

Its 2:36 am and I still haven’t stopped typing.
I want to sleep, and I want you to sleep next to me so for once I can fall into a deep slumber.
One that will allow me to awaken without the ghosts that have been chasing me since your departure.
I want you to fix the ruins that I’ve been living in,
Because I know that you are the only one who can mend the wounds you (and possibly I) have inflicted upon my not-so-strong self.

I listen to too much country music for someone who lives and breathes rock and roll.
And my poor guitar has seen more tears than she ever has.
My computer is full of playlists that are not doing their job.
No matter how many songs I find to fit the way I feel,
You linger.
And tonight was the first night I can remember really believing its fall,
And now I’m sipping apple cider, and reading all the books I wanted to curl up beside you with.
I think you missed the point where I decided you were the one.
This is the messiest poem I've ever written. Incidentally, its also the most honest.
Mercury Chap May 2015
To dream a dream
That is hard to forget
In the mist of clouds
It disappears like a sunset
Ebbing away with clarity
Reverting in my desperate mind
Like it's a mere charity.

Oh the beautiful dreams aren't true
Knowing them is better than having no clue
The subconscience is an inconspicuous beauty
Like the roots of the tree
Entangled and buried beneath
Its beauty is hidden
Its thoughts forgotten.

To dream a dream
Is finding your love
Then losing it soon
It's the inward eye's beauty
So beautiful, so resplendent,
When you wake up, you soon swoon.
Dreams are beauty of our minds which we forget too soon.
i’m sitting with my friend
we talk about our relationships
the ones that could’ve been
i’m tired of the what if’s
knowing that we did them
she tells me she tried
but it always circled
back around to the same ol’ sound

the sound of the hearts’ pound
thinking that this is what it’s about
loving someone so much
it makes you sad
to see another happy
it makes you sad that you can’t
you can’t open that door
to another

instead you’d rather keep trying
with that one who left you whining
whining that he forgot your birthday
and whining that he won’t kiss you
because you wouldn’t give him head

we sit and talk about all these times
reverting back to the trials
the trials that we went through
so many times
but every time we fell…
we fell right back to the floor
the one they always put us on.

they were the ones who picked us back up
they’re the ones who never left
they’re the ones who always tried for us
but they never found us

so we sit here on these chairs
acting like we talk about hair
but in reality all we can think
- did we really try?
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
LIVING IN A WILDERNESS


October 2, 2009 – Damascus, Syria

Ayad Gharbawi


I see my eyes
Reverting
Bulging inwards
Yet, speaking outside
Of shrill fears

Feeling hues and nuances indefinable
Lovely contrasts
Jagged emotions,
Acres of mutilated humans
Serrated teeth
Severing carotid veins
Jugular explosions
Blood frothing inside
Mine mind
That throws itself
Weeping far too low
On this strangled ground
Near my skin

Far too many times
I’ve felt, seen, experienced blazing humiliations
Searing slicing fear
That I can never ever
Describe to you
And so
I’m writing for no one
I know

Listen to these skeletal notes
Being played out
Manic piano loving my drunk guitar
Producing acoustic screams
Hurling within
My hatreds
That need to prop my reason of d‘etre

Isn’t that language
Being expressed
Spouted out
Created forth frothing from these experiences
That are harrowing?
Amanda Stoddard Feb 2014
there's something about sadness,
that's just so comforting.
and something about madness,
that's just so safe.
and i'm not sure why
but my mind has been poisoned
by negativity and resentment.

The flood of emotion
that drowns me in my sorrows
is a crutch and a curse
and every instance
is a reason to feel hatred
and sadness and rebellion.

it's hard to stay sane
when everything
and everyone
changes almost instantly
and consistency is foreign.

my lack of faith
comes from my overwhelming
fear of being left alone and cold
so i find safety in solitude
and i find comfort
in feeling nothing at all.

maybe this is why
everything i write sounds the same
and everything i conjure up
all ends up reverting back
to what once was
and why lines reused
is just my way of clinging
to the only amount of
consistency i can control.

i have never been one
to tell how i feel
or speak of my past
that is buried beneath
the wings i haven't yet
used to fly away from here
because i fear,
happiness
just like sadness
and every other emotion
for that matter
is just a crazy,
illusion
that leaves the bruises
in my mind
and the scars
on my wrist

because finding an outlet,
that gives you what you need
is almost as rare as
someone understanding you.

and the blood spilling from your veins
is temporary,
the love leaving your lips
is temporary
which is why
in life you will always
somehow, someway
be secondary.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Electron herders,
that's us. It began
earnestly late 20th century.
The first organic computers
using polymerase and ADP
came later. Weaponry
via numbers, words
magically appearing,
telepathy. Measurements
in which the last significant digit
is the Other. However
immediately depleted
our resources were,
antibiotics were always at the ready.
Forgetting what we knew,
reverting to austerity
because in times of prosperity
we forgot to be austere.
It's the uncertainty principle
taken to the nth degree
where the bad god resides,
Zeus, passionate, confused, obtuse.
Yes, we are electron herders
matter gatherers and shapers
of our time. Cancerous
cysts, irrational exuberance,
collective experience, experiments
gone well or wrong,
we were trying all along
to last forever. Flood and fire
saw to that.
Prospero was our answer
who threw his book
into the sea and wanted to be
mortal, meditative.
Find himself. We found
the world without the self
cornus to oxalis
orbitals and calculus
waves and particles
equally likely to be
within us as without us.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
A Machele Aug 2012
the flag of my country is rippling in perfect rythym with the sounds of this place i love to call my home <3 the sky is covered in clouds; the sun's nothing but a faded glow (24 dec 09)
fading in & out of rational thought; awareness is strong but wavering. theres so much weighted on my brain, a light but steady pressure.. (31 oct 10)
dimensions of colored fragments reflectiong off of every shard of light in every molecule of every single thing.. (8 nov 10)
disillusionment has become reality, while mere reality has become illusion.. break the mold, fight for your freedom to love! (8 nov 10)
the seed of evil is planted in every living creature; whether or not it is watered is a choice (21 nov 10)
once independent, now codependent on you.. when you're not around i dont know what to do (8 dec 10)
losing fruition; fading to gray.. nothing to grasp but a dull reality. don't even recognize myself anymore. emotionless (1 dec 10)
the times i'd most like to take an eraser to my brain, i find there are already marks engraved too deep (31 dec 10)
reverting back from end to beginning.. lets see how this one pans out (20 feb 11)
synchronized breathing; drifting into unconciousness, enveloped by thoughts.. dreams become reality while reality fades to grey (11 mar 11)
as time goes on, familiar faces blend into this sea of blank stares and empty hearts (8 apr 11)
like the glass which holds the world beyond the mirror, the veil of my world is about to shatter and be exposed (27 dec 11)
twitter.com/aimsicle
bulletcookie Oct 2017
a smooth stone skipped once, twice
would there be a third kiss more
how that sun beam followed
each ripple's glittering diamond eye
inverting, reverting that perfect flight
to plunge into this day's memories, hallowed
watched by flying fish and twisting mermaids
holding out fin and fingers to touch a miracle
now sunk to rest in depth's lobster dream
following one, two, more, in bottom lines
marching to an unknown destiny of instinct's embrace

-cec
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2014
For Sia

wake up unscrubbed,
sleep still in the eyes,
dream crusted,
probably unaware, child,
that you are a poem
sleeping

when a little girl,
reverting, designing
real from dreams,
processing, reforming,
the dreams lusting
to be poems
to go awandering

no wonder you have
more first names
than the rest of the world
combined

who you gonna be
this day?
undecided?
a new name adopted?
why not...

did you think I didn't notice?

the degree of yours ungranted,
I favor most is the one
you
never take
unless given
but always only
offer all:
friend

escapade thy 'they' thru
their assorted flavors,
nose rings, tongue piercings,
take 'em all, on the train ride to

see Sia run
see Sia play
see Sia read

see Sia lead
her troupe known only to me as the
Sherwood Forest Baker Street Irregulars
on adventures all over the U.K.

someday you will get a degree
from Peter Pan in
all grown-up-ness,
settling down,
but I surely hope not,
for I will then be sadder,
way sadder than I am
even now,
a different generation man,
when
forgone, missing,
the little dream crusted girl
Kim E Williams Jul 2014
She is Moonshine...

Harvest moon, radiant blast across the horizon
diminishing anything near the sound of her light
taunting us with the threat of reverting to a simple, normal
part of our world if we look too late or move too close.

She is Moonshine

Full moon, raising werewolves and iconic myths
making day of the darkness and drawing
florescent strokes across every able bodied pond
waving boldly coming too in due cycle

She is Moonshine...

Shiva moon, a promise and goodbye
deadly waxing and waning of war and peace
the confidently ignored reminder of our mortality
veiled carelessly by translucent clouds

She is Moonshine...

Day time moon, pale and out of place
whimsically demanding to be seen
unafraid of the brightest sun or the bluest mood
a broad daylight

She is Moonshine...

To drink, clear, forbidden and dangerous
Intoxicating, even in small portions
Promising to burn you from throat to belly
And warm your bowels through the coldest doubts

She is Moonshine.
sometimes people make an impact.
Morgan Dec 2016
Reverting back to my teenaged years
I pressed a razor into my thigh

I liked the way the blood
Mixed with the raspberry & vanilla
Suds in the bathtub
To make this ombré
Of maroon fading
To peach

My brain's been itchy
For weeks

I am overwhelmed
And imaginaing
The bathtub
With no bottom

Drowning
In a ceramic hole
That leads nowhere

My body
Wrapped
In
Raspberry
And Vanilla
Soap suds,
And my hair
Wet
And long
Between my
Shoulder blades

I wanna be
As pretty
As the ocean,

A perfect shade
Of baby blue,
With navy
And purple
Accents
In the deepest
Spaces

And I wanna be
Just as infinite
As the ocean,
Incomprehensible
To the modern
Human mind,

Everlasting
& Impossible

Went to take a bath

In a room with no windows

Disappeared
Without a trace

And no one will ever know
The bottom is an illusion

There is so much more
Beneath,
To dive in
Or die in

my mind
UNRAVELS
and lands here
At the brink
Of reality
And delusion

And I stay here
Because it's easy

And it's kinda silly

And no one is angry,

Not even me

But eventually

The water
Runs cold
And I start to feel
My
Heart beat
In my finger tips

And as I take the trip
Back to my body
I dread the dizziness
I know is waiting
On the other side

Cause I cut too deep
And now I have to
Explain myself
In the back of
An ambulance

And,
And,
And,
"Morgan,
Aren't you too
******* old for this?"

Oh,
How I'm homesick
Homesick
Inside of myself
Mariam Paracha Jul 2012
It is a bright new morning
You settle your feet on the cold marble
Freshly refurbished,
A mirror to the light
An inverted world reflecting in your eyes.

The chill from the polished floor
Infusing through your bones
Reverting you back to yesterday
Remembering it,
As a carpeted foundation
That tickles your skin,
With flocculent strokes
At an instant,
You pull back your feet
And latch onto the memory
Of yesterday

This moment,
Now,
Is a clean gleaming slate
An unmarked palette for today
For you,
To scratch the surface and stride across
Carve new tales,
To make another,
yesterday
topaz oreilly Dec 2012
Ersatz coffee, chicory and dandelion,
a dream of self sufficiency
the town has regained its prominence
reverting to old style timber
chevaux de bois,
a smithy as new
as time unfolding,
the spaces between buildings
allowing the sun to divine down
sentimentality decked on back- stools,
speckled sepia blossoming
a petite fleur coronation crown
becomes renewed strangers.
Two taken three with one left behind.
But behind was were learning and understanding abide.
Lost in the fur and silky escape.
I lied like a beast and frowned upon hate.

But deep in my heart it exists like a thistle.
Ready to stab and **** with a whistle.
He hastened to three and then four five and six.
He's a crafty one, I love him like thiiiiiiiiiiis much :3

Attune, attune the piano had played.
His first crush, his first love resounding of farewell bade.
How could he do it, lie like a ******.
At first he pretended it was just a typo.

Lust became love
became understanding
became cunning.
From that cunning I was born, knight in white shining.

This process demoralized and impaled him on a spike.
The sociopath was here, and boy was he excited.
More love, more ***, more destruction and death.
Noone will be spared from the pain I'll inflict.

I'm a cure to your idiocy
No way are you this stupid!
I can't cure you even with cupid
So farewell and find another person whos stupid
Live stupidly ever after.
Calling my name.
I'm the greatest you'll remember.
I'm a hateful scoundrel that plays in ****** mud.

A calm. A feeling unlike others. A goddess in white. Slit wrists, slit arms, slit thighs. But can you read me?
"Yes."
The impact and embarressment Oh my! I never thought I'd meet me here!
But can you clamber in me with my shell?
"Yes."
That's when I when I became flustered.
I lie, I cheat, I steal, I hurt. I break into hearts and rip out the girth.
Why are you here.
Why am I here.
The two are connected, lets find out how.

Two became two then two became one.
Death at his doorstep and me in the cage.
Solemn and waiting and believing as a sage.
Waiting. Waiting. Doubting. Hating. I revert, I go back on reverting.
I revert over and over and back again. Just what am I?

I'm nothing.
I'm nothing without another. So 8 months pass.. and so comes another. Another liar
Another fighter
Another lover
Another.

I fake. I hurt. I steal. I ****.
And with that, My life summed up.
So recent.. It happened. A new reason to live. I only wish I could tear out my memories. I only wish those two dead people would be happy. I wish I had never been conceived out of pain. I am a tool to deal with this, a broken dismembered tool. They shouldn't be like me, I'm a one hit wonder. A lovestruck sociopath.
I am in confusion.
Connor Reid Dec 2014
I find myself far gone, drifting alongside the beach
of some nubian kingdom
A sharp inhale of starlight and cutting holes
of awe,
she's there for me.

but,
Not in presence,
Red clouds limping through my comfort,
keeping me safe
far far off, in its tempered perfection.

Writing my fiction, one word at time,
biting into my rotten ear,
cracked surfaces of
sugar lined castle spires
pointing downwards,
In the paradox named perception.

Release!
Stretched out in our isolation.
yet I'm alone, becoming longer,
wandering,
raiding into an artificial night
Where no time appears to pass.

Encroaching on the expectation.
for food,
be it wanted or difficult,
for lips, ink nor illness.
The coast brings in
an ease that I drink from,
when dilly-dallying,
along the mad irreverence
of a random bed that you dream of
each time you wake,
each time you sleep,
There is no content in your bed sheets.

Spiralling in and out of information infection,
Oh how? Oh how can I sleep,
when I stand with my back to space?
Splaying limbs as they exert
the last beams of recklessness
- reverting to old habits,
obsession with erratics,
no form and no care.
Riddled with a chaotic mop head of stringed stupid.

How cute.
Juiced from his tender prospects,
intent on separation
entering use
****, bored and loose
Frothy white moaning flow,
tenderly crushing
Contingency.

I avoid moving inland,
for fear of peace of mind
Combing the canal with the brisk
jaunt of my limping legs,
unsure of themselves
in amidst,
the warmest blanket on the coldest day.

An old kingdom,
founded on consumption,
tradition and extraction.
We keep our distance,
I keep my distance.
Cold water minces around my feet.

Pith/Medulla.
Falling to earth,
beneath the sedge.
Kacie Lynn Sep 2015
Reverting to old behaviors.
I showed you my soul, you showed me yours.
Revealing my truths was not a simple task,
And what I'm afraid of is that it won't last.
Nothing is simple these days
And I can't quite get a grip to come out of this haze.
Before now it was just a phase.
I was just in a daze.
The rain is starting to fall now
The clouds grow dark
You definitely had made your mark;

For now when the dark clouds grow,
I should think you know my sentiments

as the Lightning flashes in my eyes

The thunder rolls in

And the tears become similar to those droplets falling from the skies.

My soul breaths in deep for the first time as I again become one

With the storm

It's what I am

A mess, no longer in the eye of the storm.

Fall storms it's what I'll become accustomed to.

It's something totally new.

As you and I find once again the distance in the sky.

I can't help wonder why.

The storm continues to roll on-

Will I ever once again be in the eye?
Copyright
vamsi sai mohan Sep 2014
The waves never gave up even if the shore is reverting them back....
The rain never gave up even if it's sewed into the gutter,
The clouds never gave up even after knowing that the bond of their cluster is going to be detached after few moments,
The land never gave up even if it's ,stomped,ploughed,drilled,bombarded and excavated by billions...
The air never gave up even if it is ****** with negative intentions,
The sun never gave up,even if it's burning in itself every moment,
The earth never gave up even if it's revolving continuously even without a momentarily detention...
When these profound lives never gave up,
Why should I give up something for someone who doesn't care about me...
I care for someone deeply because I have not only developed emotional bond with them but the deeper spiritual bond,
The bond of the spirit is much more stronger than the bond of blood..
This is the bond that makes me to care for them even if they don't exist right before me,
even if they don't care for me.....
I am indifferent to the life which doesn't care for me...
I give up my life for someone who cares about me....
and I care for everyone just not only the one who cares about me...
But a fruitful relationship evolves with someone who cares about me....
Adriana Jul 2015
As I watched the colors dance across my bedroom floor and slowly begin to change from light to dark while reverting back to dark to light. I couldn't help but reminisce about the days that pasted, they still seemed so vivid and alive as though playing on a projection screen across my walls of the love we once shared. So full of promise that filled with deep intellectual talks about life. As I search my mind for faults of how it all ended, I find myself in a daze. So dumbfounded by these events? Somewhere along the line I feel as if I've misread all signals or was I too much? Or not enough?
As I watched the colors dance across my bedroom floor and slowly begin to change from light to dark. I feel so alone with these crazed thoughts, how they've engulfed me and begun to strangle me. It's now that I'm second guessing every moment of every memory of the love we shared. How foolish and weak you've made me?
As I watched the colors dance across my bedroom floor and slowly begin to change from dark to darker. I start to play back messages and it's then there's one that sticks out clear in my mind that you once said and its that I'd never be yours! With this realization, it begins to click, how silly of me to think otherwise, that I could change one's mind. When they've made it so clear in the first place and they've made up theirs. It's me who has it twisted with all these emotions. Thinking I could have, what's not mine and thinking too much.
As I watched the colors dance across my bedroom floor slowly begin to change from darker to darkness. I've come to the conclusion all those shares moments of talk and lust, which in fact, were moments and never more. I was never going to be yours and you were never going to be mine. No matter what I felt or believed to be right. You were already gone before you could actually fall in love or feel something. Or was it suppose to be me that falls?
Terrin Leigh May 2015
crawling centipedes
spiders scurry silently
basement bug barrage

silverfish slithering so,
reverting fearfully back

awful arthropods
disgusting diplopoda
infamous insects

holes in the ground, walls and floor
inhumane habitation

pesky perspective
look at things my way, big sir
seek shadowed shelters

horrifying is my name
scaring people is my game

big shoes, enemy!
fear me? unreasonable
boneless body crushed

ironic scare, you not me
exoskeleton demise

now you see me, now you don't
until next time my good friend
a renga, by Terrin, Kenzie and James
A Nony Mouse Dec 2013
Like someone hit a baseball into your throat,
as it travels slow like molasses down the esophagus.
Then it just lurks in there for a while,
until it reaches your stomach
And once it's there, it remains.
It grows long spikes,
and longer those grow,
then they churn in the basket of your tummy.
Ripping apart each entity while it resides.

Eventually it vacates,
only to lurch back into your system,
reverting back to old ways.

It poisons your thoughts;
it fills your head,
and it expands until you blow up on someone.
That's about how it feels.
Wanderer Nov 2016
The creaking song of autumn trees
Softly singing in midnight breeze
By cool glowing light of silver moon
Close memories are tied to hearts that wound
Into strong arms I once lay, easing into sleep
Now I whisper by shadows, my secrets they keep
I can still hear your voice reading Vonnegut in bed
Where you read now is all in my head
Year after year the hours do toll
My once diamond heart now reverting to coal
Fragile and dusty to embers with flame
I wish I could quit you and bring you back the same
Another year is sliding by without you. The ache burns still.
Sam Aug 2012
They say their goodbyes
as I sit back and watch,
silently wishing
I was doing the same.

They will begin new lives,
happy and scared.
Meeting new people,
making life-long friends.

They are building
their future.
Educationally and
emotionally.

I pretend to be happy,
for them, again and again.
But envy engulfs me,
as I clench my fists.

I am stuck here alone,
with the old and forgotten.
Not to experience new things,
new people, new life.

I will remain the same,
neither growing nor changing.
More so, reverting
Back to the horrors I've grown to love.

I am jealous and sad,
lonely and depressed.
I pretend to be happy,
But for what good?

I will sit here alone.
Silent smart remarks
reverting back to the familiar.
Things are sometimes more
difficult than they should be.
People don't know what
they're talking about.
They also don't know what
I am talking about.
Sometimes I don't want
to sleep, but I don't
want to leave either.
I'm afraid of the nightmares,
but I'm scared of thoughts too.

— The End —