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Evie Brill Paffard  Oct 2017
Hope
For Rob, bearer of absinthe

Could it have troubled Pandora’s mind,
On learning where Hope springs -
At the base of her box she chanced to find
The cruellest devil with angel’s wings?

To foresee it seep into our veins -
Leave us to trip, blunder and fall,
Cause mankind monumental pains,
And make a mockery of us all.

As the drowning atheist looks to the skies -
Before a wave knocks him to his demise
Into an absurd and uncaring ocean.

Somewhere a poet quietly smarts
The excess love from her swollen heart
And on a page whispers her devotion.
A poem inspired by the work of Charles Baudelaire that mostly came about because I told a guy I'd write him a sonnet when I was drunk and it still seemed like a fun idea sober.
Neo  Sep 2018
Bizarre
Neo Sep 2018
A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
To admire their deity,
with empty smiles
Lives on trial.
Lives in denial.

From people to clothes
movies and shows
Communication stripped vacant of what we all know.

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
Robbed of beauty.
Blind to earth.
but what is there to see,
when all you see is dirt?

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
eyes magnetized to their devices,
pulling their faces to their vices.
With glossy eyes
fueled by bitter lies
internalized to home.
But still to claim
no better relationship,
Than between man and phone.
Juan Jan 8
I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
Even wisemen dare to try
Reason’s gambrels to enchain

Though,
When this pulp falls on the leaves
And by liters floods the streets
We shall dance under these drops
While we sing grotesque swift songs

I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
We no longer can remain
Dry
Martin Dove  Oct 2018
Grizzly Tea
Martin Dove Oct 2018
I feel I am stuck
With a bear in my hut
The forest - surrounding
Our friendship - enticing
We sit and drink tea
Like there’s nothing to see
We chat about the weather
and how it could be
There is meaning in absurdity
With insightful profundity
From a grizzly stream
words enter the scene
They're washing right over
The things we don't see
Andrew  Jul 2017
Drift
Andrew Jul 2017
How can we attain the perspective of the introspective
When detectives aren't respected
By crowds drawn by clowns
Made vicious by the wishes
Of Hades with rabies

In order for humanity to progress
We must all consider our place in society
Emotional disclosure accelerates our human race
Until externalizations halt our momentum
We begin to drift
Discourse drifts toward absurdity
Absurdity drifts toward reality
Reality drifts toward ****
And accepting reality
Means accepting the bullet's laughter
while it drifts through the innocent
Then we must accept where our souls have drifted
So our minds drift into fantasy
We wrap our abandon ties around our neck
And go to work

We live in a society
Where not giving a **** about what others think
Is actually encouraged
Yes, exchanging ideas can hurt
That's whiplash as we stop drifting and jolt in each other's direction
But communication
Takes detours to dead ends
As honesty and compassion
Elude us
In a self-perpetuating cycle
When education's only purpose
Is learning ******* each other
Before we know too much
Our species drifts toward extinction
Lizzy  Feb 2015
Lacon?
Lizzy Feb 2015
I thought this was reality.
But a world bound by words can never be real.
We've created these words to explain the absurdity of our existence.
But no longer an explanation.
Now just a way of ignoring our fear of the pure real.
And ultimately, the absurdity of our mortality.
Iv found the world without words. I've found the horror we've been conditioned to hide from.
There are no words to tell you about this world.
If one was created, the real would lose its meaning,
And become only a word or a label to make sense of something you can't explain.

The entrance is marked by a path of fallen syllables,
that will serve no purpose in this world.
Leave your language on the road leading to the real.
Abandon your understanding of existence.
It will only crumble anyway.

This world of truth is mine.
Only I can experience it because I cannot communicate its existence.
I can't tell you how crippling the real feels.
It's a silent war of the mind and mouth.
The mind is dying for exodus of this experience.
But the mouth cannot divulge.
It has no frame work to put together.
It has no sounds that can build you my world.

Alone in this life.
Because no one can live it with me.
No one can feel what I feel, ever.
No one can live my exact life.
It makes me feel detached from every other human or object.
They can never truly enter my life or my world.
You cannot put yourself behind my eyes and see what I see.
Your perception is distorting my real.

Maybe your real is less terrifying. Maybe you don't have a real.
And I am envious.
Don't build your wordless world.
It only pushes me to see I will die alone.
I think I'm having an existential crisis
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