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Ackerrman Oct 9
Woke up,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Held hope in my hands,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Tried to be better,
Held hope in my hands,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Tried to be better,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Watched the sun rise,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Tried to be better,
Held hope in my hands,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Had existential crisis,
Went home to bed.

Woke up,
Saw God tread on an Ant,
Succumbed to darkness,
Tried to be better,
Became a victim of my own humanity,
Held hope in my hands,
Had existential crisis,
Watched the sun rise,
Went home to bed.
This was a lot of fun to write
So I shall no longer defend
New kinds of love that you invent
Ever-changing list of demands
Keeps contradicting its own commands
After the sin quick to repent
With brief engagements in descent
Straighten all that you have bent
Amend what you're yet to amend
Letting those you left all depend
On your attention already spent
At each new encounter decadent
Your passion wasted on random men
Though fell, kept grace, that's evident
For what it's worth your growth is imminent
Freestyle written in 5 minutes.
John Glenn Sep 8
I wanted to write a poem
because I wanted to test
the integrity of life
when life tests
the integrity of me,
indulge in decadence,
and create a travesty
out of society;
fall in love, like a skylark
does with his sesame seeds...

and it was not until after
I have written
did I realize
I have not written at all.
Well, I think you could my red wine.
My sweet decadence.
Or maybe you could be my sunshine,
My moonlight.
You could be my celestial dream.
In my heard is such precedence,
Such a hope sublime.
I hope that you could be my red wine.
In time,
My sweet decadence.
You could be my red wine
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
Stern men line a path, to
Doors with plaques stating former occupants:
Chopin, Churchill, Napoleon III.

Overhead flags hang early evening shadows
From ornate golden arms
Across the first of nine or ten marble steps.

And up them walk folk with schmoozing faces
From cars with private drivers
And windows tinted black.

White limestone porticos are
Split by solid black adorned with gold,
And expensive gowns in violent colour.

And I notice the eyes
Fixed on my passing
As I slip into familiar grey.
St James' Place / King's Street, London, July 2018

As part of 'View from...', a collection of observational poetic experiments, whereby I allow myself five minutes to finish a poem regarding my surroundings at that time.
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
And so we go.
Travelers two
Upon a long slick road,
Salted for safety.
The moon in the lagoon laughs at us,
Laughs with us.
Such a sweet giggle.
A laugh not heard before,
Too innocent to ignore.
It’s victorious.
Because the sword has won,
And the monster is done.
The scenery fits,
Melting away revealing a new day,
Unveiling miles upon miles of decadence.
Yes.
This, my sweet, is how we know,
We are finally going home.
We are finally going home
Andrew Jan 2018
I can’t enjoy the present
I’m busy waiting on the future

Working hard to produce
so I can be a consumer

And my consuming habits
have made me decadent

Keeping up with the trends
in hopes of being relevant

Waiting for the next fad
to infatuate our mind

Mindlessly ******* up
our money and our time

Timelessly circling in
repetitive motion

Going through the motions
and coming to the notion

That life's too short
to let it pass you by

But now time has passed
and it's soon time to die

And oh my

Give me something
to distract my mind

I liked the way things looked
before when I was blind
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