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Ira Desmond Oct 2019
Do not ever allow yourself
to reduce the incomprehensible miracle
of your very existence

to basic questions of self-worth.
Do not ever allow your boss to write you off
as nothing more than a worker

who is failing to meet
some arbitrary set of expectations.
Do not ever allow a bully to tell you
that you are nothing more than a child

lacking in physical strength.
Do not ever allow a politician
to boil your being

down to a cheap distillation
of inside jokes and snickering, racist
circumlocutions.

The fact that you are here,
today,
alive and present
and reading these words
is a stentorian, staggering miracle.

We are,
all of us,
perhaps guilty
of occasionally forgetting
this fundamental fact.

But we must remember,
you and I,
and every other being with us,
that we sprang forth from nothing—
absolute oblivion—
into awareness and consciousness
and individuality, and personality
in this gargantuan, freezing, largely empty universe.

Allow me to remind you
that that idea
is entirely incredible—
the purest void was somehow spun into
the totality of your being—
into the infinity of the present moment—
a Möbius-strip mindfuck
expanding outward in space and time
reaching toward all directions simultaneously.

The fact that you and I are here is miraculous.
And the fact that you exist is a miracle.

Do not ever let
our sickly civilization
try to tell you anything to the contrary.
Juhlhaus May 2019
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.

Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.

Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and mausoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of the little colossi.
Musing on the view from a morning commuter train.
Ivy Collins Jan 2019
suffering Clots in my gut
humanity gurgles In my throat
holes drilled into the Veins of the earth
as i taste a country drenched in colonIzed blood on my Lips
a melting arctIc leaks from my eyes
weStern destinies fester in my chest
as the fissures in its surface smoke my lungs out like burning gAsoline
i can Touch each pole with the pads of my fingers
and shake the glassy world
one day i will lay flat and press my tongue agaInst the world
and feel it dissOlve in my mouth
like the fizzy tablet of Nothing it is
EP Robles Oct 2018
How sweet is the affliction of humanity
to speak of it's ills renders me unsocial
to think of it's crimes too horrendous
How sweet it is to turn an eye away

And farewell, sweet world, my dearest
fiend.  That we remain calm and serene
while all things great and small burn
makes us one of a kind.  

That I have secluded my sanity from all
******* of my fellow creatures
and have remitted self to tangled
words and convoluted thoughts ...
makes all of my internal organs
breath easier.

How sweet is our affliction.

Humanity!

:: 10-07-2018 ::
Madness.  Complete and utter madness.
Amy Perry Apr 2018
The poets are too grim.
Too somber, too solemn.
Too serious for a world
That's bound to spit them out.
Programmed for defeat,
With their pessimistic vision
And their bouts with mental illness,
And the way they cut the gristle
From the bone of life.
Exposing the bare bones of it all.
They spend their whole lives sawing away,
Exposing the raw truth,
Digging down to the bone,
Living by the razor's edge,
And they take the little meat
They've collected
And they examine it -
For it is this kind of stuff
That entire empires are built upon,
Entire lives are shaped by.
It is this that the rest hungrily consume,
Piece by piece,
And they chuck away the bone.
Shashank Feb 2018
vines, so virile and verdant, grow in the golden light.

like pythons, they grip concrete pillars with all their might.

cracks and wounds appear, and dust pours out from within.

they grip harder still and wrap around the pillars now so thin.

tree trunks to pencils, the pillars now appear to be.

there was a forest here once, of sparkling cement trees.
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