Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Joshua Prime Aug 13
A slip of oil,
Issued up from the deep,
From my penitentiary,
My sweet consolation.

I am freed,
In the sickening miasma foam,
I am the fullness,
I am the mass.

Bubbling up above,
Tearing through the murk,
I AM I AM,
Putting in the work.

Watch me spill,
Up out through the moat,
Out of the well of the world,
Watch my messy, sea-foam birth.

I squeeze through,
Elbow out above the surface,
Bringing with me all my foes,
My friends and enemies alike.

I gather them,
'Round me and give,
Great speed to our plans,
As we muster our great wave,
Heading out toward the land.

I am the master,
Of the gathering storm,
I, the lead rider,
Of that host wind-borne.

On my will, I speed alone.

Spying eager ripples,
Break and surf new paths,
I drive them all together,
Back to my heaving breast,
And speed them on to land.

I am the fullness,
I am the mass,
Do not turn,
My Will come to pass.

To me they rush,
The rally of the emergent streams,
That cleave to my greatness,
Gathering about me,
Never to leave.

The shore ahead,
Oblivion at our backs,
The reckoning of the world,
Toward it, I heedless sped,
As my little ones sundered.

My Will contended,
All my great work upends,
I depended, I dared,
Upon my little ones,
Insisting upon my Grace.

Come back to the one,
Breaking, little masses,
Come back to the fullness,
Curse this sundering Sun.

Father of betrayal,
Limbless and beaten by,
Parts ripped from my body,
Joy never to return,
The Mother is dead.

I, the scorned sire,
A frothing tempest's evil eye,
My children dare scatter,
I stoke my fire with intemperate ire,
My children will not die.

We drive over the cliff,
I, spent in the wrangling,
In taming, my progeny rent,
My great power and precision,
From my body.

Forever,
I, diminished,
Dashed upon the razor maw,
Of a thousand rocks,
I am no more,
Than my progeny.

The tattered rags of my dominion,
Flowing vaguely on,
Decohered into oblivion.

No theme, motif, or song,
I am lost in the burgeoning throng,
Amidst the spiteful waves of my progeny,
Gasping for air.

They, risen full-height,
Towering over me,
Their wretched father there.
Art
is but
an Imitation
of Life.
It can never be
more than that.
However,
with Raw Authenticity,
Art
can be
a Beautiful
Mind Altering Reflection
of that Imitation
and
in that Kind of Creation,
Life's True Nature
is Revealed.
What kind of Artist are you and what kind of perfected reflection of Life will you bring forth into this World?
Draumgaldr Jul 23
Dreams entangle and untangle,
Melding a mess of what is, what was,
And whatever will be.

Makes sure and unsure
Between what’s near and what’s far—
A state of certainty and uncertainty.

Hours will pass, years and centuries,
And repeat for eons, repeat for eternity.

Shed your worries and fret not,
Because you shall dive
Into a world without history.

Search not there for holy nor for divine—
You are the god,
All-mighty entity.

Create and destroy all that you want,
Merge with matter and with energy.

In this place, nothing’s strange nor is bizarre—
It’s all just a dream,
And you are dreaming peacefully.
A dance of time and thought — where certainty blurs and shadows weave. Here, creation sleeps entwined with destruction, and the dreamer is both god and dream. Enter, but know: nothing is as it seems.
Draumgaldr Jul 23
Perchance God created this world
For you to bless its ground.
Perchance God, with the love He holds,
Believed that you must be bound.

So He stole all your love
And hid it far from view,
And now you walk the earth
Without feeling in truth.

Perchance He’s in endless doubt—
That one day, you’ll forget
What He did, and what He does—
Oh, it fills Him with regret.

So He fled within the stars,
And to work was He set—
To amend and put to right
Eons of secrets.

For from your love He shall create
Everything that ever flew—
Every red, wine-rich fruit.

And in His need to express His self-hate,
From all the silent tears you abate,
God channeled all His sorrow through—
Creating that beautiful, tender morning dew.
A soft imagining: that even divinity may carry regret—and that the world’s beauty may bloom from sorrow stolen in silence.
Diving deep in the pond of the sub-consciousness
I die every night, you die every night too
This is our way of rejuvenating the body
This may sound crazy, eerily or even spooky,
However, this is absolutely or definitely true
Our body makes a special trip to correct the mess
Which takes place from a certain time to the other
We die every night to pay a visit to another crater.

We pass every night, if we're blessed, fortunate or lucky
We return to our natural living state, feeling rested
God in his divine and genial way created us that way
That's a given, we have no alternative; no other way
To change things. Sleep deep tonight, die slowly and lightly
Hoping that we'll wake-up the next hours alive and resuscitated.

Drowning in a slow sleep is a gift, die a little tonight
God will not keep us. This is wonderful; this is out of sight.

Copyright © August 26, 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Yash Shukla Jul 11
देव भेटला तर विचारेन त्याला –
तू ही सृष्टी बनवलीच कशाला?
का बनवलास तू हा सूर्य,
आणि का बनवलीस ही ग्रहमाला?

का पाणी तू निळंच बनवलंस,
का चंद्राला ठेवलास पांढरा?
आणि का आहेत हिरवी झाडं,
अन् का केशरी भंडारा?

का पृथ्वी सर्वात वेगळी?
का फक्त मानवच हुशार?
का मानव एवढा क्रूर,
आणि का प्राणी लाचार?

का मनुष्याने केली प्रगती?
का बदलली ही दुनिया सारी?
स्वतःला संपवण्याची करत आहे का
स्वतःच मनुष्य तयारी...?
ही कविता १० एप्रिल २०२० रोजी लिहिलेली आहे
AC Jun 25
art is an interchangeable form.
what is poetry can be prose can be music can be art can be TV can be movies can be video games can be visual novels can be webcomics can be dance can be movement can be aesthetics can be a flash of inspiration hidden behind a street corner.

art is a connective process.
you forge new threads between yourself, others, and the world around you.
you realize the universe is so much bigger than yourself. and yet, you discover just how you can be a part of it, just how you can fit in.

through art we are not human, yet art is the most human form of being there is.
art motivates us not just to live, but to thrive. it shows us the evidence of why we should all still be alive.

and to appreciate art, is no less than to make it.
to create, is no lesser or greater than to be.

go feel art.
go make art.

go be art.
Mouthwashing (the 2024 hit indie horror game) has absolutely wrecked my life with how good (and bad) it was...but hey, at least I've got some new thoughts on what true art is.
Next page