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Stanley Wilkin Apr 2016
1.
The darkness fled before me
While I stayed in the light
The black covering both land and sea
Destroying sight.
Basking in the heat, burning in the sun
We toasted the darkness, once it had gone.

God had said, wringing out his curls, ‘let there be light’,
Clearly, the dark came first.
But god floundered at night
And darkness he thunderingly accursed.
It was sent temporarily away
While god fashioned ‘Day’.

Yet, the dark was firstborn
The preferred planned child
And visually undernourished and presciently worn
Was the expected, the ideal, not the reviled;
Day was only a change of mind
God, the twister, making us see when we are blind.



2.
It was of an infinite hue, purple not black
Deepening towards the centre, consuming everything
A materialisation of Lacan’s Lack
Without substance, pleasure or pain.
It delved in and out in senseless monotony
Heightening sensation here, there performing a lobotomy.

At times, it reflected me and then it reflected you
Assembling features, and reassembling,
But never with every ****** nuance true
It shuffled several, naturally dissembling,
Unable to be fixed. It pretended to be human,
But like you and me, it shuffled like a golem.

Flying away it came back with equal velocity
Opening its imagined maw
Emitting as it approached tongues of electricity
Through time it tore.
Past and future congealed into a putty-like mass
Dying with the light, it disappeared up my ***
A mulish tread after another,
in a constant pace, ******, boring,
Indifferent to why, when or where,
Scorched by a violent hiss, prompting
another tread, another obsolete yard.
Oblivious to a world behind a glimpse,
were you not too blind to see
Louisa Coller Nov 2015
My insecurities are shifting in my dreams,
I can't help but be worried about the pain that I bring upon myself.
Everyone is telling me, “What's the matter, you are perfect.”
Everyone is telling me that I should stop worrying.
But I can't help but panic inside,
I try, I try, I try to hoard these feelings inside.
But I am creating a surreal life,
I feel myself painting myself blind.
In this world, it's clear what is right and wrong,
but in my consciousness I don't know any more.
I feel myself become closer to you everyday,
but you are slowly drifting away.
Fantasy lives are everywhere, trying my hardest to stay alive,
but I noticed that I am faker than the world has ever known.
I've become digitally attached to my sorrow through bleeding ink.
I feel myself wanting to snap a doll's head off,
I just want to stop my mind from spinning around.
I am forever stuck in a maladaptive daydream,
where everything is fake except me moving.
[Stay Silent For Two Minutes]
Compassion training ground,
telling so many stories.

A delicate blind child flutters like a young bird,
as I transcend into meditation across from him.

A handsome young prisoner is wheeled in,
orange jumpsuit identifying only part of him.

He sits in that wheelchair, head held high,
chains on his ankles and wrists.

Allowing judgments to pass him by,
he lives in his own interior world.

Some hybrid of grace and shock coexist,
when one we love faces medical uncertainty.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
When I consider how my days are spent,
with work that leads to work, with little time for meditation
except for a few moments, now and then
on trains, or planes, or in the car,
at times I feel our Western civilization,
may not have taken us so very far.

Not that I am ungrateful for electric light:
it eases one of our deepest fears -
of nights that cast a dazzling darkness on creation
until another sun returns it to our appreciation.

Yet I do wonder if our brilliant sight
derived from deftly harnessed natural powers
makes us indeed see more of that strange world of ours
than saw an old man's dimming vision under candlelight.
Inspired by John Milton's poem "On His Blindness" (1652) that deals with his dimming vision in old age.
See http://poemhunter.com/poem/on-his-blindness/
Aubrey B G Aug 2015
no matter how far you travel
the road always stretches
the stops increase
as do the miles between
if you ever make it close
the distance will seem to grow
the road home is an eternity of searching
for something you will never know
Angela G Jul 2015
Ivy
The ivy climbs high,
It reaches out-
Limitless.

Unashamedly,
Thriving off the life of its host,
Who is just as blind.

Lovers compare its growth,
To their emotions-
Limitless.

Irony.
What thrives so well,
Eventually kills its host,
Who is just as blind.
R L Doe Jun 2015
*******, ******, molly, lucy, shrooms
chosen over my kind caress
i wish to help
i am condemned, you are condemned

blame me for seeing it with my own eyes
blame me for loving you with my whole heart
what was i to do, when you asked me to be your boo?

turn away and deny you when i want you too
but i more, you lied; then denied proclaiming accusations
i can't be with you, but god, do i want to

children, ex wife, unemployment when we met
what the **** is wrong with you, and me
what is wrong with me? nothing
just faith

too much faith
maybe it's the ***
maybe it's the snot or the tears
or your tearing through the sheets
trying to get to me as i hide from your rage

too much faith for today,
spend it on yourself
but i dont do what you tell me to
i keep trying to win you

but you're not a special,
especially when you're mean or green with envy
one sided only

but still...
*******, ******, molly, lucy, shrooms....
**** if you went deep sea fishing

any of it over my love
my beautiful kind, understanding love that lingers
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
---@-@---

Not telling those you love
THE TRUTH
is like

STRIKING THEM BLIND



SoulSirvivor
(C) 6/3/2015
Think about it.

---@-@---
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