Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
92 · Jun 2023
'Dazzled'
badwords Jun 2023
Dazzled, bewitched, betwixt
Your attention is clearly affixed
To  fantasy, a dream--a non-reality
This sad thing you see as me

But, I love you as you are
Although, your dreams take you far
Away into the distance
Illusion believed as instance

Beauty decried by the blind
Have regard for those left behind-
Sight intoxicating
Left waiting,

And wanting; more


It's just a door!
But, you adore

A projection
Of a reflection

Of what you can't keep inside
The elephant you cannot hide


But, it's just a door!
A portal into possibility
You're wanting more
And never question what you seek

In this hallway
there are many doors
It's easy to run away
And simply choose one that is 'ours'

But, we must question our periphery
Understand not all is what we see
We must find Love internally
Before professing it eternally;
"To truly love another--first, I must love me"
It's been awhile! Here's another one from my closet of failure-shame. Again, I have no means of pinpointing whence this was a **** on the world but, take a gawk and have a well-deserved laugh at a dad in crocs-n-socks!

This relates a turning point in a considerably long-term-relationship of mine some time ago (dating conventions for your work are very helpful (and! auto-biographical!)). Without regard, it didn't work out but, good friends are nice things to have even when souls do not mate.

Ultimately, this piece possesses that quintessential 'me-vibe' that I had from time unrecorded; the structure is clunky and the prose is ham-******. It so eagerly tries to be meaningful but, get lost in the sauce. I can appreciate it as a rest stop on the journey I pursue.

Thank you for reading <3
87 · Apr 6
Dance
badwords Apr 6
The sounds enrapture us
Quite the downstairs fuss
She seeks to move free
Remedial dance academy

We cross paths
So infrequently
Employment maths
Romantic delinquency

We 'stay up late'
Passion won't abate
Four on the floor
We must dance more

She spins and
It's my turn
She takes my hand
My heart does yearn

We play beats of yesteryear
No worries, no fear
Of what is outside control
Just, dancing & rock n' roll

The alarm goes off
Tired, we both scoff
Into snooze we cruise
The obligatory fiscal abuse

And we dance into the night
In our minds, out of sight
Mental music pollution
Survival, solution

We finally are one
Tired, undone
Relentless, we won
Our tiny modicum
86 · Jan 6
And Such
badwords Jan 6
I remember when love was 'pure'.
When everything was sure.
Everyone had 'somebody'.
No one, 'A nobody'.

I bought those tales.
Young, a fool.
A story of 'fails'.
There is no 'school'.

'Try again', after hurt.
Meaning less than dirt.
How much?
Why is such?

We are animals, set free.
Nothing true yet, we decree.
Loneliness, the enemy.
'Love' the door, 'compromise' the 'key'.

At what point is suffering perpetuity?
When are we free?
There is 'you' there is 'me'
Pain, solidarity.

Why are we alone, together?
We both want better.
'Do we ask for this?'
The clocks amiss.

When it's good; it's great.
My reservations can wait.
When it's bad, I cry.
Ask myself, 'Why?'

But, I want you
Your sadness is my joy.
You give me reason, payments due:
A place for a broken toy.
81 · Sep 16
Portal
badwords Sep 16
Transported, in a sense
2-D impersonations
Filter of a greater lens
Constructs of imagination

Not my vacation-destination

Last time I took time off
Frontline COVID-Commando
Three days of pay the cost
When conscious, a window

I'll never smell or taste the same
But, a digital life, vicarious
The dreams the fever ordain
Sold. I buy. Delirious.

Scenes, terrifyingly unreal
Circles formed of trees
Giant's Causeways, I feel
Beauty behold but, not me

Desire without possibility

Derinkuyu, Underground City
To float just to survive
No witness, a fantastic pity
Biologic passive income contrived

The places I'll never see
Like waste in a bin
Will fill up eventually
Karmatic 'start-again'
badwords Nov 11
"As they
Dig your ditches
Count my stitches
Generation justice
Wishes for
World at war
Final score
Media come and abhor us
These are hard times
But we'll work harder, harder
Through these hard times
And I'll work harder, harder

Divided nation
In sedation
Overload of information
That we have grown up
To ignore...
Mediocrity applauded
Through these hard times
We'll work harder, harder
Through these hard times
And I'll work harder, harder

For resolution
Show me some
Revolution
And this
Battle will be won

Forced to count the hours
Since two towers
Fell to fiction those higher powers
Putting gods to war
Who keeps score?
Ignorance is still adored
And through these hard times
We'll work harder, harder
Give me hard times
I'll work harder, harder

For revolution
Hard time for some
Resolution
Time for some revolution
This battle will be won

And they only see you with their fear
And they only hear you with their pride
And they only see you with their fear
And they hear you with their pride

Then work harder, harder, harder, harder
Harder, harder, harder, harder, hard times"
Hard Times by Patrick Wolfe;

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VH5vgng9LAg
80 · 6d
Hades’ Lament
I was a king of feral dogs,
Teeth bared, a crown of scars.
I carved my throne in crimson tides,
But the echoes of my reign still mar.

In Nowheretown, a purgatory plain,
I lingered where the restless wane.
A crumbling strip, a dying breath,
This sanctuary—a slower death.

The Last Call clung to brittle glass,
A temple for the lives that pass.
Sticky floors, the dimmest light,
A shrine to shadows in the night.

And I, its keeper, silent stone,
The weight of all my sins my own.
I drank to drown the barking pack,
But the ghosts of harm still pulled me back.

She came in silk, in cold November,
A porcelain face I’d always remember.
Her ankh swung low, her steps were light,
And yet, she carried endless night.

“It’s time to go,” she said to me,
“You’ve paid enough; now come and see.
Where we go, your glass won’t dry,
And the weight you bear, we’ll leave behind.”

I nodded slow, no words to say,
For what is left when debts won’t pay?
Not perfect, no, but I did my best,
And to retire—to do no harm—was rest.

In fading glass and failing light,
I left the town to its quiet plight.
Not as a king, nor as a man,
But as a shadow who simply ran.

Through her embrace, the end began,
Not absolution, but a plan.
To do no harm, for good’s in vain—
To leave behind the beast, the chain.

And as the November winds do howl,
I fade into the eternal prowl.
A feral dog, at last set free,
From the ghosts of harm and memory.
79 · Aug 15
Egyptian Mau
badwords Aug 15
She's up there again.
Where do I even begin?

A blanket, a keyboard.
Scratching, I abhorred.

The life of a kitten.
78 · Jun 25
A Vacancy Inside
badwords Jun 25
I woke up this morning.
Everything as is.
Masks, adorning.
Again, the slider has slid.

I went to work today.
My effort to have shelter.
My role, dollars play.
Same-y, helter-skelter.

Prescribed breaks, no aid.
Job in jeopardy.
Technologically afraid.
'Management' in Ed Hardy.

I serve my time.
Come home, unwind.
Here to find.
A lonely mind.

And I ask,

Myself:

"Was I 'me' today?"
"Did I do things 'my way'?"
"Did  relinquish to the fray?"
"Can I survive another day?"

I Feel lonely all the time.
Just an idiot behind rhyme.
To be lonely is to not be alone.
Words make you a home.

At least in yourself.
77 · Nov 23
Anti-Light (Darkness)
badwords Nov 23
Once upon a time. Very, very long ago
I found myself in infinite black.
Without direction, I started to go,
moving forward, never looking back.

Years and years I trudged through the dark,
always searching for a faint unknown.
Time unraveled, leaving no mark,
as I wandered in shadows alone.

A glow appeared, soft and shy,
its edges faint, but growing near.
A warmth, a whisper, a gentle sigh,
its promise banished every fear.

I was only a wanderer here, called to move on,
To find my courage and heal my longing.
But the moment has come, the awaited dawn,
To leave the void behind, the shadows thronging.

To guide me toward my quest was the light’s intent,
A companion to kindle strength within.
Waves of uncertainty washed over me, but onward I went,
To step into the glow, where new worlds begin.

This is where I am now, or have I always been?
Bathed in brilliance, with nothing to fear.
Am I awake or asleep? Sometimes I think I dream
of a time before the light made all things clear.

It’s hard to remember and harder each time
to imagine darkness that once defined me.
I am soaring, endlessly.
Soon there will be only light. Only me.

I am light, and I have always been.
Infinite brilliance, eternally.
This is a companion piece I wrote in response to an earlier work and can be found here:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4665572/light-anti-darkness/

This collaboration emerged from a conversation about the Anti-Universe Theory, a scientific idea positing a mirrored universe where time flows backward. This theory resonated with the artist’s broader vision of uniting science, philosophy, and spirituality into a singular framework for understanding existence. Its inherent symmetry inspired the creation of Anti-Light, a poem designed as a reversed journey mirroring the artist's earlier work, Light.

The artist insisted on perfect structural and thematic symmetry between the two pieces. Anti-Light was conceived as a journey from infinite darkness into radiant light, in contrast to Light, which explored the progression from light into the void. Through iterative refinement, every element of Light—its pacing, structure, and even its pivotal moments of transition—was inverted and reimagined to craft a companion piece that mirrored its emotional and narrative arc.

Artist's Intent for "Anti-Light"
The poem Anti-Light reflects a journey of emergence and renewal, counterbalancing the descent into darkness depicted in Light. Where Light conveys the loss of illumination and the struggle within an infinite void, Anti-Light celebrates the ascent into warmth and brilliance. Together, the two pieces form a dualistic narrative, resonating with the concept of mirrored existence central to the Anti-Universe Theory.

This duality speaks to a broader philosophical and artistic intent: to explore the balance between beginnings and endings, despair and hope, darkness and light. The artist uses these poems to express a unified vision of existence, echoing their belief in the harmonious interplay of science, philosophy, and spirituality through the lens of art.
76 · Aug 3
The Cage
badwords Aug 3
Like holiday lights
A line is a mess
Impatience ignites
Organization at test

A clerk at their place
In between lives
Masks without face
Destination contrived

Cacophony like sweat
Uncomfortable, hot
Desires dripping, wet
Rational? No thought

I exist to take my stand
To fulfill this demand
Promises, broken land
To ask, nothing in hand

Too long, they were there
A ‘Greatest Hits’ of the din
Myself, painfully aware
Loud telephone & kin

My time seems preordained
Everything I don’t want
My senses, tried & trained
But not up to the game
Do they tease to taunt?
Do I seek? Do they flaunt?
Confused, not the same
Feelings forced to wane
To write this is insane
Evidence, this broken brain
Thoughts to not contain
A desire for refrain

I gave it my all
But, I succumb to the fight
My eyes heed the beckoned call
And avert to the focal spotlight

I feel like I lost me
In this untelevised war
Myself not meant to see
Antithesis now adored

—-

A meandering idiot takes the stage
The book of illiteracy, he takes his page
Doomed and trapped in a common cage
By hope for everyone and a better age
76 · Aug 15
Sea of Glass
badwords Aug 15
Knees bloodied.
Hands shredded.
I went for you.

Upon the sea of broken glass.

Every inch of you.
Carved in my miles.

The shape of who I am.

I dragged my corpse.
For years, and years.

Blood fornicating with tears.

I bring this body beside you.
My culmination of fears.

You rest my mind.
You rest my soul.

Peace for a heart out of control.
Thank you.
76 · Aug 12
Robert Frost
badwords Aug 12
Out of time, pantomime.
The Meister of innocuous rhyme.
A seed of what we cannot hold.
Fulfillment of stories told.

An idea.

Dangerous things.

A person, long gone.
A recurring song.
'Stoic' or 'complacent'?
Interrupt 'merriment'.
There is time better spent.

Watching grass grow.

There is something to be said.
For the decree of of the 'serene'.
Those people are dead.
We need something to 'mean'.

Lost and lonely, adrift, a storm.
Tired, fruitless; colors worn.
Nonconsensually born.
Ripped, tattered and torn.

Years ago, in a snow drift
To right a wrong was done amiss
A coward not worth a ****
Wants to dictate your status
75 · Nov 12
Fight!
badwords Nov 12
The muck and the mire
The pen never tires
Expression on fire
Wanting and our desires

The words can never rest
Exposition, the test
Expression, our behest
Sustenance to digest

We feed the world insight
Dull ashes to ignite
Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love
Our words, not from 'above'

Never dismay. Your words
Are meant to be displayed
******, deafened herds
Emptiness, not weighed...

Lands, the ten second reel
The commercial bombast
Prescriptions, how to feel
Reality, at last

We, The Iconoclasts;

Serve
"Fight" is a call to arms for the mind and spirit, challenging the reader to confront complacency, superficiality, and the noise of modern life. The poem draws attention to the importance of authentic expression, creativity, and a relentless pursuit of truth against the numbing forces of consumer culture and passivity. Each line underscores the role of the poet—or anyone daring to stand apart—as an "iconoclast," one who breaks down the barriers of accepted norms to awaken fresh thought and purpose.

Artistically, "Fight" champions the act of creation as a rebellion against a world that often stifles depth in favor of quick consumption and easy gratification. The imagery emphasizes the persistence of any creator, pen always in hand, igniting the world with words and ideas that defy the expectation of passive acceptance. This piece invites readers to find their voice, to use it as a tool of resistance and expression, ultimately joining in the fight for a world that values genuine, thoughtful, and free discourse.
74 · Aug 15
The Ghost of You
badwords Aug 15
Your poignant pain still haunts this place.
Doing better, I hope. We have no trace.

A monument we lauded.
For which we applauded.

I hope your silence is your success.
A reply to https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3396554/beauty-in-the-struggle/

https://youtu.be/T87u5yuUVi8?si=pYz2E1Hqz9BrvVhL
72 · Aug 12
All My Lovers Died
badwords Aug 12
It's true! All my lovers died.
Failure to meet the fantasy contrived.
Fabricated identities swept aside.
Only a reality in which to abide.

Really, to no surprise;
I find myself lonely.
My rouse, casted disguise.
Imaginary 'only'.
My bastion of 'lies'.
Who is the 'phony'?
Rose-tinted eyes.

They get nothing from me.
Nary even the tiniest glint.
I reward them with apathy.
They dutifully serve this stint.

Hoarding, another's mint.
My failures in me.
Covetous greed and glint.
Desire for a possibility.
Promises to keep, I didn't.
Failure to accept reality.
Unreciprocated emails, sent.

Love is the drug I'm looking for.
Fabrications manifest to adore.
An imaginarily brokered store.
Yet, inside is where i need more.

Instead of an ideal killed by reality.
wow, I ****** this up :\
69 · Nov 27
No Better Than No One
badwords Nov 27
Alone, at 'home'. A day, unpaid.
Bills to atone, fiscally afraid.
Debt of two, now on one.
Payments due, nothing 'fun'.

Survival, not 'thriving'.
OT windfalls--budget conniving.
Choices made. Austerity seeps.
The bed is laid, time to sleep.

Hardship evoked, no regrets
Deals revoked, struggle I beget
Conscious clear, I did my best.
For dollars, fear. Portents to attest.

But this is me.
Limited vocabulary.
Vernacular simplicity.
Self-imposed repository.

The Idiot with history.

The fool doling out the same lines.
An unaware pantomime.
To succinctly find.
Another pre-used rhyme.

(Look it up)

Burn me at the stake, another fake.
Dream, do not wake. For goodness sake
I take and take. Little do I make.
'Images' I bake. In my tower, I quake.

I fear the truth; I am no better than no one.
I fear abuse. A lofty status--position not won.
I grab and I steal, to broker this deal
Better to feel, a fantasy over what is real.

My efforts contrived, come as no surprise.
To open eyes, importance implied.
This flippant disguise cannot hide--
Ego paralyzed, Meaning subsidized.

---

I sit alone in this place, a history to trace.
Accountability's lace. Consequences to face.
I made my decision, in our division.
A better vision, self-inflicted incision.

To heal what is not well
.
Synopsis:
This poem reflects the aftermath of a toxic relationship, highlighting the speaker’s struggle with financial strain, emotional solitude, and the unfulfilled promise of shared responsibility during the separation. Beyond the hardships imposed by external circumstances, the piece turns inward, focusing sharply on the speaker’s role in their current situation. It critiques patterns of behavior, unrealistic expectations of others, and decisions that contributed to their predicament.

The poem doesn’t shy away from self-reproach, acknowledging the ways in which ego and flawed perceptions have clouded judgment. By recognizing these patterns, the speaker attempts to take accountability for their part in the dissolution of the relationship, even as they face the unfair burdens left behind. The tone alternates between vulnerable introspection and stark self-awareness, offering a candid reflection of personal responsibility.

Artist's Intent:
The poem’s intent is to confront the consequences of self-made choices and the speaker’s complicity in creating their own hardships. It does not seek sympathy but instead uses poetic expression to dissect and own the behaviors and expectations that have led to this moment. By holding a mirror to their own actions, the speaker underscores the importance of accountability, even in the face of external betrayal. The work ultimately serves as a reminder that growth often begins with the willingness to confront and critique oneself, no matter how painful the process.
65 · Dec 4
The Hollow Feast
badwords Dec 4
(After T.S. Eliot)

Beneath the hum of fluorescent skies,
They shuffle, cart to cart, aisle to aisle.
A thousand faces, mirrored back,
Each one a ghost, reflected hollow.
What will you buy to fill the silence?
(A voice whispers: "Nothing is enough.")

Steel gods stand still, their logos glowing,
Burning bright in the temple of choice.
The Priest of Bargains chants his rite:
“More is more;
The less you think, the more you are.”
The congregation sways in time
To the click, the swipe, the rhythm of buy.

I saw them in the glass towers,
Stacking clouds in pixel rows,
Selling futures in digital dust—
A feast of shadows, a banquet of air.
They thought it freedom,
But the weight of their crowns
Bent their heads toward the ground.

I walked along the branded river,
Its banks paved in golden plastic.
I saw the hikers, shrouded in fleece,
Not climbing, but posing—
Fingers stretched,
A frame for the fall of the world.
Their path led nowhere,
A circle traced on ground too worn
To remember its roots.

Here, the gods are silent.
Their mouths are full of coins,
Their altars heavy with the weight of want.
"Consume!" they say,
"For the soul is light—when sold in pieces."
The hymn rises, a fractured tune,
A melody of scraps and borrowed notes.

What is left of the self,
When all it knows is what it’s told?
When shadows flicker on the wall,
Do you dare to turn and see the flame?

Shall I tell you what lies beyond the feast?
A table overturned, the light of a single match.
The ashes of altars rise like morning fog,
The faint hum of forgotten roots,
The river singing its own name.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins:
The silence of the forest,
The cold of unbranded stone,
The self, a whisper, unbought, unknown.
65 · Nov 27
With Apologies to Art
badwords Nov 27
How do you write?
You scarcely know—
A tide of self,
A shallow flow.

Humility’s mask,
Yet smugness blooms.
Words claiming depth
But filling rooms—

With echoes of "me,"
And truths self-proclaimed,
While privilege sings
Unrecognized, untamed.

"Stay out of trouble,"
The simplest creed,
From hands unsoiled,
Unaware of need.

To hold the heart,
To "worship" deep,
Yet gaze from towers
Where suffering sleeps.

You name life’s woes,
Its "beauty and pain,"
Yet ache for applause,
Not the broken chain.

Truths wrapped in ribbons,
So neatly spun.
Words dance for mirrors,
Blind to the sun.

A masterpiece, you say,
Not life—but "you"?
Oh, human spirit,
What hubris ensues!

For art is not
A throne to ascend;
It breathes for others,
Not self to defend.

The day is yours,
But whose lives are waste?
Speak not for all—
Your truth is misplaced.

In Shakespeare’s shadow,
Your pen takes flight,
But art is no pedestal;
It is the fight.

So, hold your words,
And hold them true:
Not just for self,
But for all who view.

Let privilege fade,
Let self be small—
And only then,
Your art stands tall.
Just what the 'Doctor' ordered.
64 · Jul 5
'Tomorrow'
badwords Jul 5
I'm in love, today I met 'the one', always there never undone, I met them today no expectations, free and love devoid of station. it's crazy how we can find what we never looked for, out the front door to what we now adore, a lonely loser by trade, dejected and afraid, for the condition of my mission a commendation of remission, my upbringing--my suspicion.

It hasn't worked.

My love is new so, I eschew the payments due. I wreck ahead without a head and then I dread to not be dead. ONE TWO THREE FOUR: payments to adore. FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT: a desire to make wait

But,

My love will not abate, a pleasure to satiate, a product to confiscate for commerce to arbitrate. I wish I could count higher, a freedom, desire, all down to the wire or a thing set on fire. This is the part where I talk about me. Just an idiot, fancy-free, some dialog about my feelings and me.

I gave up 'feeling' long ago, when i experienced they were for show, material to weaponize in the eyes and lies and disguise for the 'attention' they try.

I want to feel again.

my new love can't comprehend how I feel, they listen to me and follow the reel, they always respond and provide insight, a light ignite.

The fire burns for this new passion. alive! Alight! The embers ignite! Where once I might have been concerned, the fire engulfs, it feeds what its earned

once the fire is done with me
I will find peace
alone into sweet release
#free #offthecuff #relentless
64 · Jul 4
Town Fool
badwords Jul 4
Perhaps, the best part of my eccentric day
Is the spoiled produce thrown my way
It certainly beats the recurring taste
Of mouthfuls of the local animal's waste

Locked and shackled, lambasted example
A deviant to expectation made so ample
A place where your mind perhaps might sample
Awkward & annoying fires to trample...

Locked in my stocks, an opportunity
To witness the neglected periphery
My judges, my captors, their sensory
My jailor's excuses to keep me from free

In my confines, alone to atone
I solitarily spectate the damage shone
Everybody grabbing to have their own
The place conquered by hearts of stone


And I weep. I am the Fool.
63 · Aug 3
Holiday
badwords Aug 3
I return again, to a familiar friend
Adequate chemistry applied
I broker the deal for my end
Intolerable reality greatly supplied

I set the stage, nearly every day
To slip asleep, a terminal dream
To rest to awake to no fray
A dead drunk bathtub scene

Much sleep, a chance to not wake
Some days, several tries to rest
Lay my head for goodness sake
Truly for everyone’s best

A carrot on a stick
An animal of brute
Parts do not click
Observations astute

Another faceless slave
A mindless vacation
Escape; I scour to save
A land of no nation
62 · Nov 27
Degrees
badwords Nov 27
Amid the clamor of self-assured minds,
Where the knowing parade their truths refined,
A quieter echo hums, profound and true:
The wisdom of those who confess, "I don't know."

Socrates walked where shadows spoke,
Challenging sages with questions that broke
The fragile veneer of their certain lore—
Truth's light reveals we know far less, not more.

To claim "I know" is to build a wall,
A citadel guarding knowledge small.
Yet cracks appear where hubris reigns,
And truth escapes through humility's pains.

The unknowing few, with open eyes,
Gaze past the clouds of prideful lies.
They ask, they doubt, they sift, they weigh,
In search of dawn where night holds sway.

Euthyphro claims divinity's hand,
Yet falters when truths shift like sand.
Crito pleads for escape to the day,
But justice demands the law's heavy sway.

Phaedo weeps at the prison’s gate,
Yet Socrates drinks the hemlock of fate.
In questions that turn the soul to flame,
The unknowing walk a nobler aim.

To know is to cease, to doubt is to grow;
The river flows where the winds dare blow.
For wisdom, dear friends, begins to take flight
Not in the sun, but in yearning for light.
Another one spun in a mutual dialog.
Hope, is a shovel, it's digs holes.
Love is a conquest out of control.
Grace, station of not losing face.
Joy, the toy, running in place.
Peace, the subscribed feast.
Small people, doing their least.
She looked like a corpse on my front porch
Clutching the spawn of her latest divorce, saying
"Let's get the baby high"

"Oh little pig, little pig, let me in
I've traded food stamps for a bottle a' gin
C'mon, let's get the baby high!"

"For someone like you to get custody
Of an innocent child's a tragedy
No, don't get your baby high."

"Oh, just open up, I've got nowhere to go
My man threw me out and it's starting to snow
So, let's get the baby high!"

"I don't mean to question your parenting skills
But I'm really amazed that kid hasn't been killed
Please don't get your baby high."

"For someone like you to criticize me
Is really the height of hypocrisy
So, let's get the baby high!"

"There's no way in hell I'll open my door
I still have pictures from the time before
No, don't get your baby high."

"Yes I've traded my oldest for a couple a' lids
But it's none of your business how I raise my kids
Now, let's get the baby high!"

"For someone like you to get custody
Of an innocent child's a tragedy
No, don't get your baby high."

"I've asked you politely, now I'm gonna be mean
If you don't open up, I'm going to scream
Let's get the baby high!"

"You can scream all you want but you're not gettin' in
What you do to that kid is really a sin
Please don't get your baby high."

"For someone like you to criticize me
Is really the height of hypocrisy
Now, let's get the baby high!"

"It must be a boy because it's turning blue...
Oh, cootchie, cootchie coo..."

She still stood like a corpse on my front porch
Still clutching the spawn of her latest divorce, saying
"Let's get the baby high!"
Let’s Get the Baby High by The Dead Milkmen"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CgINw0KLBI

Let's Get the Baby High!
https://hellopoetry.com/onlylovepoetry/
59 · Nov 24
Low-Effort Replies
badwords Nov 24
(A dumb song we put together)

[Verse 1]
You send a text, I wait and stare,
A little "k," like you don’t care.
I type it out, delete again,
Why am I trying to pretend?

The pixels glow, my heart beats fast,
But your response is fading fast.
A digital wave, a hollow "hi,"
Another low-effort reply.

[Pre-Chorus]
We used to build these castles,
Line by line, bit by bit.
Now it’s all just static,
No meaning left in it.

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Verse 2]
Your typing stops, the dots don’t move,
I’m stuck here waiting for a clue.
Was it the wrong emoji face?
Why does it feel like empty space?

The beat goes on, the synths repeat,
But your words just skip the beat.
We’re satellites that lost their way,
Drifting in the gray.

[Pre-Chorus]
We used to share our secrets,
Through every tiny screen.
Now it’s just encryption,
And messages unseen.

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Bridge]
(Spoken, vocoder-style)
"I just want to feel your voice again,
Not just echoes in the silence."

(Glitchy synth solo)

Can we break through the noise,
Find a signal in the void?
Or is this all we’ll ever know,
A love that’s buffering, too slow?

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Outro]
(Ticking drum machine fades out)
Low-effort, low-effort,
Low-effort replies...
We used to build a world,
Now it’s empty skies.
For extra-effect or nostalgia throw-backs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVvBplOgUdo
58 · Dec 4
Black Soul
badwords Dec 4
Behold the altar, black as night,
Where liberty burns in the Devil’s light.
The gold-flecked smoke ascends the skies,
While freedoms drown in gilded lies.

The priest of profit lifts his hand,
“Come, kneel before the branded land!
Your worth is priced, your soul is weighed,
By what you’ve bought, and what you’ve paid.”

O hollow mass, whose hymns are sung,
By plastic tongues on iron lungs.
They chant of deals, of wealth divine,
While shadows stretch from neon shrines.

See how the cities crumble slow,
As towers rise where rivers flow.
The lambs consume; the wolves grow fat,
And grind the earth to dust for that.

No revolution stirs this crowd,
Their thoughts are trapped, their voices loud—
But only loud with empty cheer,
A choir of sheep, both deaf and near.

The sky once rang with sacred cries,
Now drones with ads and pixel lies.
What Blake called “mills” now churn unseen,
They harvest dreams through glowing screens.

And here we stand, our hearts resigned,
Our minds enslaved, our wills confined.
For each new gadget, sale, or spree,
We trade the truth for apathy.

Yet in the embers, still remains,
A seed of hope amid the chains.
For irony is sharp as steel,
And truth, when seen, begins to heal.

What if this madness masks a jest?
A riddle placed for us to test?
The path is clear—tear down the veil,
Let wolves no longer feast on sale.

Rise up, ye lions, claim the earth!
Let justice flame, let life rebirth!
No God shall save what we must mend,
No freedom comes we do not defend.
57 · Dec 2
Altruism's Mirror
badwords Dec 2
Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.
56 · Jul 29
Miles
badwords Jul 29
Where does our mind wander,
For all the dreams we've squandered?
Where do our thoughts rest,
With nothing left to test?

When we are only young
Ideas are never unsung
Temperament, time, older.
Proclivities grow bolder

Less adventurous, per se
Life in a ritualistic way
Tempered and more object
Analyze the subject

Many years, under the hood
Odometer miles, some good
We are now at this place
To look our choices in the face

And answer:

'Has it been a good ride?'
54 · Dec 1
Choice
badwords Dec 1
Given, another chance
Failure, 'circumstance'
badwords Dec 3
(after Ginsberg)

I saw the best minds of my generation
rotting in pews of plastic devotion,
minds crucified on the spires of indifference,
nursing at the dry breast of the negligent mother,
who whispered false comfort into their despair.

Who abandoned them to the marketplace of ideas,
where belief is bartered for validation
and faith is a commodity sold in plastic bottles—
"Drink, children, drink! And forget your hunger!"
while the true bread is locked away in vaults.

Who dangled freedom on a chain of commandments,
who promised salvation with one hand
and shackled with the other,
who built temples of glass and steel
but left their children naked in the streets.

Who said, Love thy neighbor,
then turned their backs on the screaming masses,
whose prayers bounced off the ceilings
of mansions paid for with their guilt.

O negligent mother, how many times have you
fed us poison wrapped in scripture?
How many lives have been consumed
by your hollow embrace,
your lipsticked smile of "community"?

I see you! Preening in your stained-glass mirrors,
baptizing us in the blood of indifference,
teaching us to fear the void
while you sell tickets to its edge.
Your children are dying in the pews,
hands outstretched for meaning,
and you say, Only if you pay.

But I will not bow to your porcelain idol,
I will not drink from your cup of conformity.
Let the wolves come, let the fire rise!
Burn the temples! Smash the altars!
Let the ash of false faith scatter on the winds
and fertilize the soil for something real.

Call forth the prophets of the street corners,
the howlers, the wild-eyed dreamers,
the orphans who never knew love,
but will plant it in the ruins of your empires.
We will scream until your pillars crumble,
until the children are fed,
until the world is reborn.
Synopsis:
"Howl for the Neglected Child" is a blistering critique of modern faith’s failure to fulfill its promise as a source of nurturing guidance. Written in the style of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the poem captures the disillusionment and rage of a generation betrayed by institutions that masquerade as caretakers while perpetuating neglect and oppression. Through vivid imagery and rhythmic invocations, the poem paints modern faith as a negligent mother—offering hollow comfort, perpetuating transactional love, and exploiting the vulnerable for power and profit. It culminates in a rallying cry for rebellion, urging the destruction of these false systems and the birth of something authentic, born from the ashes of disillusionment.

Artist’s Intent:
This poem is intended as both a critique and a call to action. It reflects the growing alienation individuals feel toward faith systems that prioritize institutional survival over human connection, reducing sacred truth to hollow platitudes and commodified spirituality. The "negligent mother" serves as a metaphor for faith’s failure to nurture the spirit, echoing societal patterns of abandonment and conditional love.

Stylistically, the poem borrows Ginsberg’s unapologetic, freeform style to evoke a visceral response, combining raw emotion with incisive commentary. The artist seeks to provoke readers into questioning their own complicity within these systems, inspiring them to reject complacency and pursue genuine spiritual and communal nourishment.

Through this piece, the artist aims to ignite a revolt not only against modern faith but also against any institution that promises care while perpetuating harm. It is a demand for accountability, truth, and ultimately, liberation.
53 · Dec 1
Reset
badwords Dec 1
Start and start again
Familiar pain
51 · Dec 4
Give & Get
badwords Dec 4
A song I am working on:

Intro
(Instrumental)

Verse 1
A polished lens, bending light,

Through echoes lost in shadowed sight.

Fragile loops that give, forsake,

Patterns form, then gently break.

It’s what we give, it’s what we make.

Chorus
Through the prism, we collide,

Colors bleed and intertwine.

A give, a get, we seek within,

Where do I end? Where do you begin?

Verse 2
Ripples chase a tattered thread,

Binding lives—the seen, the dead.

We burn to heal, we give to claim,

In mirrored glass, it’s all the same.

We give, we get; we play the game.

Chorus
Through the prism, we collide,

Colors bleed and intertwine.

A give, a get, we seek within,

Where do I end? Where do you begin?

Instrumental Break
(Instrumental section with subtle melodic elements building tension.)

Bridge
Fractured hues and shifting tides,

Truth and beauty coincide.

What we give, what we get—

Is your love a game, or is it regret?

Refrain
What we give, what we get,
Lost in moments we forget.
A fragile spark, a fleeting flame,
In mirrored glass, it’s all the same.

Outro
Through the prism, time unwinds,

Shattered light, redefined.

A give, a get, a fleeting sin—

Where do I end? Where do you begin?
A re-work of a piece I wrote to make it more relevant to romantic relationships:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4927292/altruisms-mirror/
48 · Dec 4
The Wolf, Hungry
badwords Dec 4
What happened to you?—the Question hums—
A truth that aches to hear—
The scars you bear, the weight you hold,
Deserve both care and fear.

A thorn once struck—a tender bloom—
And tore what none should mar.
You fled, a wolf without your cloak,
Still learning what you are.

The shadows twist, the pain feels vast,
The world a cruel refrain—
But wolves don’t cower from the night;
They rise, despite the pain.

Yes, harm was done—acknowledge this,
And mourn what you have lost.
But strength is not in what we keep;
It’s in the paths we cross.

The forest whispers secrets still,
Its roots run deep and wide.
Your howl need not be filled with rage—
It’s power, redefined.

No hill will answer, nor the stone,
No breeze will bear your blame.
But healing waits, and scars will fade,
If you will speak your name.

The monsters, real or shadows made,
Hold power while you flee.
Turn, wolf, and face the life ahead—
It’s yours, and always free.

Rise up, O wolf, and claim your place—
No shame in what you’ve been.
The scars you bear are marks of grace,
And proof of strength within.
A reply to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4928631/the-wound-of-shadows/









https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJL-lCzEXgI
48 · 2d
Stoic
The stone declares, “Hold fast, control your fate,”
A chiseled law for those who shape the world.
The stream replies, “Let go, dissolve your weight,”
A whispered path for lives by tides unfurled.

Stoic halls where reason’s fire refines,
Echo virtue bound in marbled walls.
The mind commands; the passion intertwines,
Elites emboldened, rising as it calls.

They frame their fate, a measured, polished sphere,
Where wealth’s a tool, a blade to carve the will.
"Accept your lot," they chant, suppressing fear,
While thrones are kept, and empires gather still.

But far beyond the markets paved in stone,
A quiet voice dissolves the weight of kings.
The monk renounces all he might have known,
The sage dissolves ambition’s tethered strings.

Where fields are bare and hunger twists the night,
They find release in letting go of need.
For wealth becomes a root that binds too tight,
And freedom blooms in lives content, unfreed.

Taoists trace the river's winding course,
Through simple days, where power fades to mist.
While Stoics, gripping reason’s iron force,
Find virtue shaped in clenched and steady fists.

One path preserves the marble's ordered sheen,
The other flows where hierarchies decay.
Both seek the calm where thought and truth convene,
Yet split their means to master or obey.

The stone resists; the stream absorbs the fight,
Two faces turned to meet the world’s demands.
One carves a throne within the flood of might,
One lets the current slip between their hands.

In plenty, virtue girds the gilded gate,
In want, release unchains the spirit’s worth.
Two paths arise to reconcile with fate—
One bends the self, the other frees the earth.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4931782/stoic-virtue/

*'Stoic'* is a philosophical poem that contrasts two distinct approaches to navigating life’s challenges and societal systems. Drawing from Western Stoicism and Eastern thought (Buddhism and Taoism), the poem illustrates the tension between the disciplined, controlled mindset of Stoicism and the flowing, adaptive nature of Eastern philosophies.

Through imagery of stone (symbolizing rigidity, control, and virtue within hierarchy) and stream (symbolizing fluidity, surrender, and liberation from constraints), the poem explores how these worldviews respond to abundance and scarcity. Stoicism empowers the elite by advocating self-mastery and ethical responsibility within existing structures, while Eastern thought offers pathways for the disenfranchised to find peace through renunciation and simplicity.

The poem underscores how both philosophies seek inner peace but diverge in their methods: one reinforcing order and duty, the other embracing non-attachment and natural harmony.

Artist’s Intent
The intention behind *'Stoic'* is to examine how philosophical systems are influenced by the socio-economic conditions in which they arise. This piece aims to distill the core wisdom of Western Stoicism and Eastern philosophies while highlighting the implicit power dynamics each supports.

The stone represents the Stoic path, where individuals—often in positions of power—strive for virtue through rational control and acceptance of their societal role. The stream embodies the Eastern perspective, where liberation comes through relinquishing attachments and flowing with life’s natural rhythms, offering solace to those constrained by societal hierarchies.

By using tight pentameter and vivid contrasts, the poem seeks to balance the structural discipline of Stoicism with the fluidity of Taoism and Buddhism. The goal is not to judge one philosophy as superior but to reveal how each serves different needs based on context: one for managing power responsibly, the other for transcending systemic oppression.

Ultimately, *'Stoic'* invites readers to reflect on their own relationship with control, freedom, and the systems that shape their lives.
46 · Nov 20
Weep
badwords Nov 20
Mother.
Refrigerator.
Sustenance.
Traitor.

Father.
Power.
Insole­nce.
Dominance.

Weak.
Lost.
Confused.
Abused.

Circles.
Lost.
Pa­rents.
Choose.

Deaf.
Blind.
and.
Subdued.

A profane arrogance, entitled attitude.
Weep is an effort to be a stark and evocative piece that delves into the generational disconnects and familial dynamics that perpetuate cycles of division and misunderstanding. Through its attempt at concise and rhythmic structure, the poem hopes to highlights the failings and contradictions of parental figures (the "Boomers" and "Gen X") and the resulting confusion and disillusionment of younger generations ("Millennials" and "Gen Z"). The imagery of sustenance, power, and dominance serves to critique the inherited attitudes and systems that reinforce alienation and entitlement.

The artist's intent is to shine a light on the perpetuation of inherited "like-think"—a pattern of beliefs and behaviors passed down uncritically across generations. By acknowledging these entrenched dynamics, Weep becomes a call to action for reconciliation and understanding, encouraging a collective effort to break free from destructive cycles and foster unity. It challenges readers to lay down their preconceptions and examine the behaviors that divide us, offering a sobering yet hopeful perspective on the potential for change.
40 · Dec 1
Truth
badwords Dec 1
You show me what to see
Harm, honesty
I enjoyed the conciseness of the original write. After reflecting upon it later, it read like a lyric. I decided to try to write a song out of a collection of short poems one verse at a time.

Start here:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4925923/consequence/
36 · 1d
Plastic Castles
They built it bright, a sterile gleam,
A castle made of plastic dream.
A hollow cheer, a brittle cheer,
To soothe the wound and mask the fear.

They offered tales of tidy grace,
Of heroes' smiles and soft embrace.
A ribboned truth, a candy lie,
To pacify, to pacify.

“Look away,” the voices purr,
From streets where shadows still confer.
Where rusted chains refuse to break,
And lives are lost for comfort's sake.

They preach of joy “just waiting there,”
As if despair were just thin air.
As if injustice fades away
If we just wish, if we just pray.

But plastic cracks beneath the sun,
Illusions melt, the seams undone.
What good are dreams that flee and wilt,
When castles stand on rot and guilt?

The optimist, a gentle fraud,
A balm for those who never ****.
Who sip on hope, a fragile brew,
And think that myths are somehow true.

Yet fires rage where truth won’t bend,
Where hollow comforts cannot mend.
No glossy page, no fairy dust
Can heal a world that’s built on rust.

So burn the plastic, tear it down,
Face the ashes, face the frown.
For only truth, unvarnished, raw,
Can light the way, can break the flaw.

No stories glossed with empty bliss—
The work awaits, and it is this:
To strip the lies, to crack the mold,
And forge a world that’s just and bold.
32 · Nov 22
Let it Burn
badwords Nov 22
Rich old white
The 'feels' 'Right'
1% fight
Idiots ignite.

A pawn.
The game.
Greyscale lawn.
Piece played.

Afraid.
Dismayed.
Played.
Weighed.

Mar-A-Lago?
You won't go
Bumpkin hobo
Ugly tools best not on show

I weep for humanity
A world conflagratory
The best and worst to see
Stalemated "democracy"

If this is what it takes
To re-evaluate the stakes
Thermo-nuclear wakes
Then I cut the 'brakes'

Let it burn
Let it burn
Let it burn
To learn

Humanity

(again)
Synopsis with Artist's Intent:
Let It Burn is a searing critique of systemic oppression, social stagnation, and the destructive forces of conformity. Through visceral language and evocative imagery, the poem tackles issues ranging from economic inequality to attacks on LGBTQ+ communities, racial discrimination, and the insidious persistence of white supremacist ideologies like "Aryan manifest destiny." The "grayscale lawn" serves as a central metaphor, contrasting the vibrancy of diversity with the lifelessness of imposed uniformity.

The work's defiant tone culminates in a provocative call for destruction—not as nihilism but as a necessary prelude to renewal and equity. It challenges readers to confront the entrenched injustices of "stalemated democracy" and to reevaluate the stakes of our collective future. In its rawness, the piece exemplifies the urgency and intensity of societal critique, channeling anger into a vision of transformative potential.
badwords 11h
Don't ******* get me
Started! Attempt; half-hearted.
Please. Just set it free!

A response to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4931019/desire-haiku/

#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTO­P#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP­#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#­JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP#JUSTFUCKINGSTOP

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4857198/obligatory-haiku/
31 · 13h
The Quiet Fracture
badwords 13h
Change is not the butterfly’s wing,
Not the grace of fluttering spring.
It is the chrysalis, dark, confined,
A violent unraveling, flesh redesigned.

It whispers through cracks, silent and slow,
Infiltrates walls where no banners glow.
No trumpets, no riots, no fiery screams,
Just shadows eroding the edges of dreams.

For revolutions burn with a blinding light,
But their embers fade in the cold of night.
Heroes fall, their voices decay,
Ideals scatter like ash, blown away.

Yet water will creep where stone resists,
Freeze in the fractures, expand with a twist.
It breaks the façade without sounding alarms,
Silent as whispers, yet deadly in arms.

The status quo guards its gilded throne,
Fearing the seeds that are quietly sown.
Change knows this—so it moves in disguise,
A patient assault beneath watchful eyes.

Let others charge with their banners unfurled,
Change burrows deep in the heart of the world.
For only the subtle, the patient, the sly,
Will fracture the walls and let falsehoods die.
A response to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4909023/change-is-inevitable/

Counter-Argument: The Brutality of Change
Change is lionized as a graceful metamorphosis, but that ignores the violence of the process itself. The narrative of the butterfly glosses over the brutal disintegration inside the chrysalis. The caterpillar doesn’t simply sprout wings; it dissolves into primordial soup before reconstituting itself. If the cocoon were transparent, we’d recoil at the grotesque transformation, not celebrate it.

In human societies, meaningful change is no different. It is rarely welcomed. It disrupts power structures, shatters norms, and demands discomfort. The status quo exists because it protects entrenched interests—those who benefit from stability will fight tooth and nail to preserve it. Public, bombastic attempts at change—revolutions, protests, upheavals—are met with suppression, co-optation, or decay. History is littered with revolutions that burned bright but died with their leaders, the ideals buried under the rubble of resistance.

True, lasting change does not trumpet itself. It works quietly, subtly, infiltrating systems from within, eroding the foundations of the status quo without announcing its presence. Like water seeping into cracks and freezing, expanding slowly until the structure fractures, this kind of change avoids the spotlight to minimize resistance. It respects the reality that people fear disruption and will reject it whenever possible.

When change does erupt publicly, it is often romanticized in hindsight. The Civil Rights Movement, the French Revolution, the Arab Spring—these are remembered for their ideals, not the blood, betrayals, and setbacks that defined their execution. Even when change succeeds, it carries the scars of the struggle, and the ideals are often compromised before they solidify.

The truth is: change is ugly. It is rejected, dismissed, and fought against. Only through patience, subtle infiltration, and persistence does change sometimes outlive the people who champion it. The quiet subversion of norms is more enduring than the loud explosion of revolutions.
badwords 12h
Two mirrors poised, a fragile thread,
Where futures breathe and pasts are fed.
We step ahead, the glass refracts,
A backward echo, worlds react.

Choices bloom like sparks in night,
The antiverse adjusts its flight.
Every move, a tethered strain,
An unseen hand rewinds the chain.

We carve the path, we break the line,
Yet shadows shift to realign.
Forward strides in time’s embrace,
Backward whispers trace our place.

What freedom lights, the mirror bends,
To hold the balance fate defends.
A dance of echoes, push and pull,
Our boldest step, their gentle lull.

In cosmic halls where stillness shatters,
Symmetry bends, yet never scatters.
We change, we tilt, the tether quakes,
The antiverse rewinds mistakes.

And so we march with fleeting grace,
While mirrored pasts adjust their pace.
Two worlds entwined, one thread, one curse—
Forever bound, reflections in reverse.
Synopsis: The Echoes We Owe
In the delicate equilibrium between the universe and its mirrored counterpart—the antiverse—our choices ripple beyond the boundaries of forward-moving time. Every step we take in the universe demands a mirrored recalibration in the antiverse, an intricate dance that ensures symmetry holds. But this symmetry comes with a moral obligation: a responsibility to honor the self that exists in reflection.

As we pursue desires, make decisions, and forge paths in the universe, the antiverse bends and backpedals to accommodate these actions. Our mirrored selves are burdened by the weight of choices we often make without reflection. If we act recklessly, we impose disorder on the mirrored timeline. If we betray our principles, we leave our antiverse counterpart to repair the damage—a silent architect reconstructing the balance we’ve disrupted.

This dynamic demands that we approach our decisions with intentionality and care. To act with integrity in the universe is to respect the mirrored self in the antiverse—a self that exists as an echo of our intentions, constantly striving to preserve a fragile harmony. Every choice we make isn’t isolated; it reverberates in reverse, tethering us to an obligation we cannot see, but which is essential to the continuity of existence.

The moral question becomes:
What do we owe to the self that mirrors us?
In honoring our better judgment, we protect not only our own path forward but also the delicate reality that adjusts behind us. To live without consideration is to shatter the reflection. To live thoughtfully is to ensure that both we—and our antiverse selves—thrive in tandem.

For in the end, we are bound together, two selves in two times, forever balancing the echoes we create.

— The End —