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vaishax May 2015
Strolling in these crowded streets
Wandering through memories
The tune of love within
Subdues all those without

Angst filled void around
Unmindful pain – baffling and novel
See that familiar face around – no surprise
People are but objects reflecting the mind

Unbeknownst – love struck me
And now I am clearly unsure
What joy, what pain – what more?
They say its fatal – but its poetry obscure.

The emotional dissonance – is that right?
A void that is tediously strong
How do I speak my mind – confess the love
I fear end would win me over, before long.

Gap – the gap – this gap between…
Would cocoon worlds' entirety
The gap between the lips, longer still
If sealed, once sealed – chime unity

I could sing ballads of love
But I am a lifetime shy to be a poet
I speak my plight in vain hope
Of being one – with you, just for a moment

Virtues will be restored
And boons have been bestowed
If the night unfolds with you beside me,
- My man of gold
http://vaishax.blogspot.in/
Unknown Apr 2015
This is the hanging thread
A long string of
Unspoken words
The rope that at one end
Holds down hearts
And at another
Coils around your
Wrist

Perhaps you weren't awake
During the moonlight hours
Looming reflections of today
Glass to my feet

This is the part
Where I write all the emotions down
And outwardly spew blame
Towards the victim of my insecurities
Whom I see as their
Beginning

I
Me
My
We?

I came home today with
A basket of metaphorical flowers
Chrysanthemums and Roses
All the pretty colors of fake
Yet you saw only the thorns
Of our punctured reality

In bleeding hands is the trust
Heart, soul and mind
As well as
Blood-borne illness

All items are
Brittle, apt to break
Yet I bloodied these fingertips
You did not
Toil

You only whisper to me anymore
Still cannot conceal the scent
Of displeasure
Taste
Of bile

Here are the musings
I have failed to intone even softly
Under my breath
For you fail to listen
While you are
*Awake
MST Sep 2014
Dissonance is when you are met with a contradiction.
You go through life with no qualms,
eating everyday the preservatives you love,
forgetting the places where we just dropped bombs,
dropped upon children; as if gods from above.
Men and women are murdered every day,
but we have the power to keep that at bay,
with our expertise in the art of ******,
your country is our flock and we are the herder.
But every few days or so,
a report will come up on T.V.,
how the problem will grow,
but not to worry, it will never effect me.
So I live my life with my T.V. shows,
going to parties and drinking too much,
not thinking of the children who made my clothes,
and how my comfort is due to their touch.
Until one day a new report is up,
how the war has not worked and people are dying,
the reporter doesn't bat an eye during his close up,
when they show the children crying.
Dissonance appears in my heart,
my head, my body and my soul.

"How can I be so happy and free?
with someone living so below me.
I should help, I should fight,
show those heathens what is right.
Let the world know that this is wrong,
maybe I'll even write a song."

Then my brain recognizes its bounds,
settles down and grabs a coke,
I'll just do a few more rounds,
of sitting and telling a joke.
That makes it easier for me,
to laugh instead of aid,
for I know they are not free,
but soon their voices will fade,
and I can comfortably forget their plea.
Jon Shierling Sep 2014
Premises:
1. Identity (or virtue if one wants to be an old-fashioned stoic) takes primacy in questions of morality and judgment. Concept is highlighted by Boethius in The Consolation of Philosophy, ca 534. "She (Lady Philosophy) contends that happiness comes from within, and that one's virtue is all that one truly has, because it is not imperiled by the vicissitudes of fortune."

2. If this supposition is true, then it stands to reason that, as the struggle for identity has been one of the overriding conflicts in my life, all decisions made must be deferred to my own concept of right and wrong.

3. Why? Because to compromise one's beliefs is to compromise one's self. In doing so, one betrays that which defines them.

Problems which arise as a result of this perspective:
1. Openness to new experience and ideas is somewhat curtailed.
2. Tendency to stagnate.
3. Conflict with other pillars which make up my belief system, namely radical acceptance of loved ones.

In other words, I hold my identity to be the one inviolate thing that no one can take away from me. However, I've had to fight tooth and nail to figure that out, therefore I'm extremely reactive to perceived threats to my belief system. Source of Cognitive Dissonance > trying to reconcile absolute judgments on good vs. bad with acceptance.
I know this isn't art in any way, shape or form, but I've got to put this down in some sort of logical form.
20something Jul 2014
I march to the beat of my own drum, but I have no rhythm.
The path diverges in two ways and I choose the third.
My head is a labyrinth from which escape is fruitless.
Please believe me when I tell you that my heart holds more dark corners than most because the sun just doesn't shine as bright as it used to over here.
And it's not often that the gates come down long enough to let others in,
so welcome to the road not traveled.
Now the moon has become my guiding light to eventual freedom,
escorting me through the shadows of the past.
I need your fingers locked with mine as I share the secrets buried so far back I almost forgot where I put them.
You gave me this and more
or so I thought
because now...
Now I worry that the corners are too black and your eyes don't adjust well in the dark
and you too are lost in the labyrinth with little hope for return.
The road worn and beaten by footprints is the one you choose to journey on,
for my path has too many thorns and poisonous plants that choke whoever dares attempt passage.
And as you fade into the distance,
I can tell that my cacophony of percussion will never allow me
to be able to match the melody
of the soft, steady pulsation that emanates from your very core  
but you knew that all along,
didn't you?
Arturo Hernandez Jul 2014
I felt its power,
And it's resonance,

Vibrance.
It's eerie dissonance
Came forward, closer,

Wavering,
Twisting my heaving heart.
I feel like I don't belong here.
I can't place it--
Maybe too pure,
Maybe too evil,
Maybe too ill.
Its hard to say
When every word flung
Wildly around is a
Contradiction.
Too sensitive,
Too changeable.
The balance causes so
Much cognitive dissonance,
And the more I approach my heart,
The more it alludes me on the horizon.
Colorless,
These words ignite a
Flame
Stronger than any pigment.
I am worthless.
I am a treasure.
I am worthy.
I am pitiful.
I am beautiful.
I am a fool.
I am genius.
I am every word they say to me,
Yet I feel like
I am none.
Their icy words spoken with
Frozen hearts
Set my teeth chattering.

Nothing can protect me from this
Impeding cold.
The energy is inexhaustible.
Their ranks are numberless.
The fight goes on,
Teaching me the person I am
Is ought not to be.
Destroy the anguish
Mistaken as beauty.
They take my heart from me--
Brutally beating the bruises,
Formulaically tearing the
Gashes open with silver knives,
A gray harder than the
Silver of the moon--
Harder than the silver of my heart.
I am bruised,
Broken,
Wanting to be gone.
And they laugh at my pain.
They don't believe me when I say
I have nothing to live for.
All I need to do is to
Live up to the low bar they set,
But that's never good enough.
The words bleed out of me,
Yet they remain unsaid.
They would taunt more
If they knew their wickedness.
Sleep saves me from this endless cycle of
Torture.
Engulfed by
Vivid of imaginations of who I am,
I forget for a time
What they told me.
Meet me in this innocent state of existence,
Escaped from the pain.
I wish I knew how to
Avoid their toxic remedies
And the poisonous reminders
That they own me,
And will decide who I am.

But poets tend to exaggerate:
Tell me how it really is.
Susurrate Definition: To whisper
Stefanie Meade May 2014
Slow warm decay of days passing
this soft cotton music, everyday lull
does not fit
does not fit
the hard final chill I know is coming
the grinding of bone against gravity and time.

No matter what words I scatter
luminous pearl pathways
will get ground to dust, eventually,
under marching boots.

You fool yourself,
thinking they will gleam forever.

We are so alive right now.
This cruel and vibrant world
that we have all built together--
how can it end? How can it crumble?
How can we die?
Why can we die?
We can all feel it does not fit.
Cognitive dissonance, thinking of life and death.
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