arbitrary - Hello Poetry

Something Anything Anything but Nothing

0

Jun 16, 2021

Jun 16, 2021 at 4:53 PM UTC

Further extrapolations of previous doctrines masquerading as novel insight Solomon was said to say that there was nothing new under the sun What has been said before is surely to be said again But in a thousand different ways Colors All eluding to the same thought: This isn't real. This isn't real. Platonic forms and what not. A glimmering shade of the real behind the veil. So much so steeped into our reality, that this non-reality, that it expresses itself through our very own devices Mediums of consumption. Screens holding windows into fictional realms of passed by moments and segments long gone to reality. Furthermore, fictionalizations of the false reality - what was referred to as hyper real Rather Subreal, to the point of where surreality becomes the perceived reality Only perceived as real by the perciever but unable to apprehended or - objectively known. False moments become crystalized versions of themselves - the reflection of a mask masking another mask. The face is never known - The first and final thought - What is real? Further down the hallway of mirrors we traverse Growing dimmer and more shadowed until we blur into darkness and any remnant of the originating light has been stretched to thin And we have arrived to the point of no return Beyond the event horizon of perception Unable to ever return Ignorant that there ever might have been something to return to A black hole sun A lie universally and eternally taken as truth No need for further discourse T This is "real". This is "real".

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Jun 6, 2021

Jun 6, 2021 at 12:11 AM UTC

Hall of Mirrors (Mirrors)

Further extrapolations of previous doctrines masquerading as novel insight Solomon was said to say that there was nothing new under the sun What has been said before is surely to be said again But in a thousand different ways Colors All eluding to the same thought: This isn't real. This isn't real. Platonic forms and what not. A glimmering shade of the real behind the veil. So much so steeped into our reality, that this non-reality, that it expresses itself through our very own devices Mediums of consumption. Screens holding windows into fictional realms of passed by moments and segments long gone to reality. Furthermore, fictionalizations of the false reality - what was referred to as hyper real Rather Subreal, to the point of where surreality becomes the perceived reality Only perceived as real by the perciever but unable to apprehended or - objectively known. False moments become crystalized versions of themselves - the reflection of a mask masking another mask. The face is never known - The first and final thought - What is real? Further down the hallway of mirrors we traverse Growing dimmer and more shadowed until we blur into darkness and any remnant of the originating light has been stretched to thin And we have arrived to the point of no return Beyond the event horizon of perception Unable to ever return Ignorant that there ever might have been something to return to A black hole sun A lie universally and eternally taken as truth No need for further discourse T This is "real". This is "real".

32

Bare the weight of it all? Or join the simplicity? Is it all dire? Do I conflagrate into the night? Or ride the wave to sunset?

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Jun 5, 2021

Jun 5, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC

Fire or Air?

Bare the weight of it all? Or join the simplicity? Is it all dire? Do I conflagrate into the night? Or ride the wave to sunset?

5

Dictating the pressure and pleasure of a thousand suns. The sounds of you mouth, lungs, tongue rung for a thousand more Whispered of a dwell of a thousand lunge Hips lunge and such enough to **** And succor, what fur is enough, not ever But weathered by a thousand doves And shoves of what not and so forth Withered flowers but like ripe grape and onion Layer upon lair Indulging in the cake of your whatnot and so forth Going so forth and what not till a thousand suns what not and so forth Over and over, rolling hills and billows of beaming sun break into onions showering what not from the mouth, lung and tongue with enough so forth to erupt, quake and brake a thousand lungs And do More and more what not and so forth until withered flowers retire Spires and the places they what is What is this to say, not ever grasped but sough and wrought after with a thousand lunge tiring to a day or night or whenever when a new dawn is A thousand kings wither at it away until the so forth and what not is delivered from its own what not and somethings akin to belonging is shone

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Nov 23, 2020

Nov 23, 2020 at 4:55 AM UTC

untitled (III)

Dictating the pressure and pleasure of a thousand suns. The sounds of you mouth, lungs, tongue rung for a thousand more Whispered of a dwell of a thousand lunge Hips lunge and such enough to **** And succor, what fur is enough, not ever But weathered by a thousand doves And shoves of what not and so forth Withered flowers but like ripe grape and onion Layer upon lair Indulging in the cake of your whatnot and so forth Going so forth and what not till a thousand suns what not and so forth Over and over, rolling hills and billows of beaming sun break into onions showering what not from the mouth, lung and tongue with enough so forth to erupt, quake and brake a thousand lungs And do More and more what not and so forth until withered flowers retire Spires and the places they what is What is this to say, not ever grasped but sough and wrought after with a thousand lunge tiring to a day or night or whenever when a new dawn is A thousand kings wither at it away until the so forth and what not is delivered from its own what not and somethings akin to belonging is shone

17

we wear the faces of those we love, like glove of lovers mask, we bask in their aura and are left unfamiliar with our old faces, but trace a new etch by way of nuance and gest impressed by their forms and the love they express.

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Nov 15, 2020

Nov 15, 2020 at 11:23 PM UTC

untitled (II)

we wear the faces of those we love, like glove of lovers mask, we bask in their aura and are left unfamiliar with our old faces, but trace a new etch by way of nuance and gest impressed by their forms and the love they express.

4

font of life glowing white with water clear atop the tower of life; a strength held dear down the water flows into the lands green near draining color drear to give life to grays fear not for they are one and the same

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Oct 14, 2020

Oct 14, 2020 at 1:11 AM UTC

untitled (I)

font of life glowing white with water clear atop the tower of life; a strength held dear down the water flows into the lands green near draining color drear to give life to grays fear not for they are one and the same

5

I have always wanted to be something coveted. I have always wanted to be something lauded over. I have always wanted to be something praised. I have always wanted to be something that instilled awe. Wonder. Even Worship. I want you to crave me. To yearn for me. To love me and to hate me and to be simply unable to live without me. And when it's done, to never be able to fill the hole I've left.

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Oct 13, 2020

Oct 13, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC

Taker

I have always wanted to be something coveted. I have always wanted to be something lauded over. I have always wanted to be something praised. I have always wanted to be something that instilled awe. Wonder. Even Worship. I want you to crave me. To yearn for me. To love me and to hate me and to be simply unable to live without me. And when it's done, to never be able to fill the hole I've left.

11

Man of twine and brimstone Heart and Eyes search for home Found! Found! A cave Alone Cool and damp and Safe from heat Filled with Berries; wine to ease Ivy grown thick, grown to please From both vines a lady breathes "Give me you, I'll give home" Man alone never knows By his throat a thorn-ed rose Drink to fill, she overflows Cool and Vines and Far and She Away! Away! City teems Loud and Hot and Dry and Bleed Oh so far away from he Cave of Dreams; sleeps alone Vined cave begins to moan Song of Songs; Song of Home Deeper come, Deeper glows It sings to him, from the Deep He can't, He won't try to see The Cave - it's depths, can't glow sweet The Song, The Vines, Cold - it sweeps Further Deep, down alone Cities Light, far it shone Cities Rage, welcomed tone Not Eyes, Nor Ears Yet Bone Remembers alone the streets Remembers alone the heat The Laughter, the Bleed, the Screams, Dreams of Brothers, Mothers, Flowers, Turrets and hubbub, cobblestone and smiles, snarls and color, teeth and smirks, scent of sweat, sweat of Earth - to move, Bone alone remembers. Embers die and flame grows Man is cut, two roads shown Song of Cave, Dead alone Song of Heat, Colored Stone There he sits and waits for breeze To push him where, "Where?!" he pleads No breeze comes, he sits at ease Waiting, waiting, the vines reach Waiting, the vines vine grows And covers the man slow Pulls and Pulls him deep, low Where the lie of the glow Where the cold and vine is free Thick, Gnarled, Thorned and Twisting Green but blind, damp - the frost seethes Kneecap snaps upon stone slants Screams turn song - echoes ode And the eyes bleed to hope Teeth Gnash indifferent-bone Cave's Belly filled once more And the city teems, it's more... It's so much more...

0

Oct 13, 2020

Oct 13, 2020 at 7:56 PM UTC

Song of Cave and Home

Man of twine and brimstone Heart and Eyes search for home Found! Found! A cave Alone Cool and damp and Safe from heat Filled with Berries; wine to ease Ivy grown thick, grown to please From both vines a lady breathes "Give me you, I'll give home" Man alone never knows By his throat a thorn-ed rose Drink to fill, she overflows Cool and Vines and Far and She Away! Away! City teems Loud and Hot and Dry and Bleed Oh so far away from he Cave of Dreams; sleeps alone Vined cave begins to moan Song of Songs; Song of Home Deeper come, Deeper glows It sings to him, from the Deep He can't, He won't try to see The Cave - it's depths, can't glow sweet The Song, The Vines, Cold - it sweeps Further Deep, down alone Cities Light, far it shone Cities Rage, welcomed tone Not Eyes, Nor Ears Yet Bone Remembers alone the streets Remembers alone the heat The Laughter, the Bleed, the Screams, Dreams of Brothers, Mothers, Flowers, Turrets and hubbub, cobblestone and smiles, snarls and color, teeth and smirks, scent of sweat, sweat of Earth - to move, Bone alone remembers. Embers die and flame grows Man is cut, two roads shown Song of Cave, Dead alone Song of Heat, Colored Stone There he sits and waits for breeze To push him where, "Where?!" he pleads No breeze comes, he sits at ease Waiting, waiting, the vines reach Waiting, the vines vine grows And covers the man slow Pulls and Pulls him deep, low Where the lie of the glow Where the cold and vine is free Thick, Gnarled, Thorned and Twisting Green but blind, damp - the frost seethes Kneecap snaps upon stone slants Screams turn song - echoes ode And the eyes bleed to hope Teeth Gnash indifferent-bone Cave's Belly filled once more And the city teems, it's more... It's so much more...

52

Be still and lend ear; the sound of shimmering, the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn alone in the slums of my own mind, no face What am i? Where do i come from? What's worth life, Death and the sacrifice of blood and sweat, yes. Upon my knees and rainfall upon tin roofs. The mirror reflects not a thing when i gaze And the memory of the sun's zenith fades. What is my purpose? Why am i here? My choice. In the cascading brilliance of the all Not a thing beckons except my own heartbeat. The streets hum and whir with the pace of business And i alone stand amidst the traffic, lost. What is worthwhile, where do i place my focus? A million strands of hair impair my vision; Upon their break i see only horizon Sweeping into the just beyond -- i can't see. There is only now, and here alone is grey. What do i fight for? What do i want to be? The phone rings but there is no answer, i pace. Maddeningly, back and forth, nowhere to go. Nowhere to be, the vision is haze, i weep. Like a tear I fall, not knowing from where, why? I dry out and turn to air, lost on the wind. There is no end, there is no now, there is this; the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn alone on the drum of my own heart, i beat.

0

Mar 15, 2020

Mar 15, 2020 at 10:19 PM UTC

The Sound of Glass Breaking

Be still and lend ear; the sound of shimmering, the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn alone in the slums of my own mind, no face What am i? Where do i come from? What's worth life, Death and the sacrifice of blood and sweat, yes. Upon my knees and rainfall upon tin roofs. The mirror reflects not a thing when i gaze And the memory of the sun's zenith fades. What is my purpose? Why am i here? My choice. In the cascading brilliance of the all Not a thing beckons except my own heartbeat. The streets hum and whir with the pace of business And i alone stand amidst the traffic, lost. What is worthwhile, where do i place my focus? A million strands of hair impair my vision; Upon their break i see only horizon Sweeping into the just beyond -- i can't see. There is only now, and here alone is grey. What do i fight for? What do i want to be? The phone rings but there is no answer, i pace. Maddeningly, back and forth, nowhere to go. Nowhere to be, the vision is haze, i weep. Like a tear I fall, not knowing from where, why? I dry out and turn to air, lost on the wind. There is no end, there is no now, there is this; the sound of glass breaking, the sound of water rain upon tin roofs and laughter just past dawn alone on the drum of my own heart, i beat.

29

I used to love coffee Darkly rich Emptily bold Now upon each sip no stories are told My lips and tongue curl and fold Sickly and yellow my bowels hold A bath of espresso i take to wake myself cold There is not start to the song and my skin wrinkles old What is a soul but something to wither-scold Another cup yes and not a word shown My cup is empty and my cover is blown There is nothing here but stained tombstone

0

Mar 9, 2020

Mar 9, 2020 at 3:41 PM UTC

Emptying Rationales

I used to love coffee Darkly rich Emptily bold Now upon each sip no stories are told My lips and tongue curl and fold Sickly and yellow my bowels hold A bath of espresso i take to wake myself cold There is not start to the song and my skin wrinkles old What is a soul but something to wither-scold Another cup yes and not a word shown My cup is empty and my cover is blown There is nothing here but stained tombstone

12