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Di Verce Sep 20
Why seek to rule over stars you can't grasp?
They know you well, but you can't see them.
Only your hubris would lead you to shun
That which you don't understand
While you cling to your delusions.
How is it you're so quick to challenge your superiors
But you can't see yourself?
Apparently you are beyond reprieve,
Perfect indeed,
Like every other psychopath
Who doesn't listen to critique.
Stephen James Sep 19
the light
of galaxies

I spread my wings


with angelic beings

as the gray clouds
are receding
the darkness

the blind are
now seeing
while the gods
are meeting

so too
are mortals

who choose
the path of

they declare
to those
that's lost
hidden meanings

of signs
in the depths
that were kept
from those
less meant to bless

they were
not worthy

they sold
their souls
in exchange
for mercy

yet still
they cursed me

and then fields
were burning

the god of
stretches his
hand in

in judgment
they succumbed
to mental starvation

they could not
in his presence

lest they
be struck

they removed
their shoes
in sight
of holy ground

they committed
to a pilgrimage
to replenish
what was lost

the prize
was not
what they

still could
not grasp
what they
were taught

has a high cost
yet they lost
the plot

to dwell within
of their
own design

lean not
on your

should you
be trapped
in the snare
of an ignorant mind
a poem
Chloe M Teng Aug 8
I wonder
What it's like to see nothing and yet
Walking so confidently like you did
The other day.

Perhaps you didn't notice me,
Which is good;
I was just behind
Staring at you counting
The number of dents
On the pavement
And feeling for the sharp corners, and
if you were actually blind.

How were you so good at it?

Sorry I doubted you.
I have a weariness
For people
With black tinted sunglasses.
Keiri Aug 6
Social introverts and a shy extroverts.
Dyslectics grading better in spelling.
Deaf children who know more words.
People with anxiety better at selling.

Kids with ADHD who are more calm.
Autistics who can relate better.
Paralysed people able to feel their palm.
A blind person ready to read every letter.

Who could guess their equality.
Could you imagine, you can't tell 'em appart?
Who could even think of such a society.
Just look at this, humanity's piece of art!

Who could imagine I'm one of ''them''.
One alike you and the rest of this place.
For we all are a different kind of gem.
All shining in our own simple grace.

If there's a ''them'' and there's an ''us''.
But none can tell one from another.
Is there a ''them'' at all, thus.
Then why a ''them'', it's only a bother.
What is disabled these days. After studying the brain and the basics of psychology, all I've ever learned is that we know nothing. Why make a different if we're all the same. And why, when we're all so different, group people who are alike, because no one is a copy of another, yet no one is different at all.
You were blinded by your own flaws
When you tried to see your own beauty
Unimpressed by your works of greatness
As you consider them acts of duty
Everyone could see your halo
A shining true unsung hero
But all this to you was dark
Value of your priceless heart
So on that fateful  day
You took your own life away
And you’ll never know the bliss
Of how you are truly missed
You were blinded from your youth
From this simple powerful truth
Could not see my now lost friend
That this should not be the end
I've seen a lot of depressing poems on this page and I hope they never end in suicide because everyone should know how priceless they are
Ylzm Apr 26
Weirdly wonderful caterpillars,
liquefy, transform, and reborn;
Wonderfully beautiful butterflies,
Who taught you how to do that?

Mother Nature, the mother of gaps;
Magical hand hides ignorance,
Misdirects from real question:
Why do we even ask at all?

Curiosity satiated we move on,
Forgetting blindness unremoved.
For if sighted, a new tongue to learn,
Mother Nature, the new alphabet.
Pray for an unjust world,
Since some preach
A suicide bomber is a
Fighter for justice
Chicken Apr 15
Stalking the importance
That you cannot see within
Creating indeterminate messages
Not sent by her or him

A figment of the ego
Terrifying and dangerous
More so to one’s own personal self
Than the object of one’s lust

O’ hear ye erotomaniac
Hear whence you are ready
The object of one’s fruitless lust
Be mere ego fantasy

Let these words be noted
May they be allowed to heal
O’ hear ye erotomaniac
Before all ends in tragedy.
Erotomania: a delusion in which a person (typically a woman) believes that another person (typically of higher social status) is in love with them.

It’s one of those things where realisation seems difficult to ignite, in order to bring about a resolution within the person. How could this condition begin to be alleviated for the person if realisation is difficult to reach?
S Bharat Apr 10
The Flowers

What happy and pretty
You look
I said to some flowers
And shook

Happiest moment in life
Said the flowers
When in search of nectar
The bee hovers

I said it's very interested
and swollen
Has selfish purpose and
Carries pollen

You pluck, hand over us
When you meet
***** down us on floor
We lie at feet

Our friends, our chums
Butterfly and bee
Bluntly said the flowers
And rejected me

S. Bharat
hidden galaxy Mar 17
people ask me if my brain has started rewriting itself
If my consciousness expanded to take up the space left behind in these two months of rapid decline
Maybe in the week my eye has refused to read street signs and text messages

I am asked If I start hearing people’s locations as my sight slips further out of my reach
as if this is a neotech drama about self awareness and I am Neo
I just need to wake up, take a pill and I will harness the Matrix

more aware of my lost ness of my smallness
Of how I am I insignificant and absorbed into the collective strangeness of a crowd

It is not a different kind of light or of seeing but a falling darkness and sensing things in the night, when bats are flying low and recklessly close. When I feel the current swell around me as the unknown let’s me escape in previously grandfathered ignorance.

Tonight I am not ignorant. I am looking at a blank and dismal map. It is not filled in in the slightest.
I am rust and berry pulsing within a thick cracked skin in a sea of unbeing, only aware of where I touch the raw, colorless, and endless universe
Intensely attenuated to my body curled in fetal position
against the thickest nothing I have ever encountered.

like a slumbering geode
Filled with colorful secrets
Poised to bloom
I wait
But rocks sleep forever
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