Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
FJ Davis Oct 6
Hope always posits
that joy is still possible.
With the prettiest girl in the city
I wish that i knew her
I wish i wasn't so shy
I wish i was a bit more fly
I wish that i could tell her,
How i really feel inside
That I'm the perfect guy for her
But then maybe that's a lie
She likes a certain type of guy
And it's crystal clear I'm not that guy.
Sometimes we do not get the exact package of what we wanted, instead we get the broken piece of our many wishes, Love is blind and to get loved you need a foresight of what you seek for and have ever prayed for, love is a two way thing and it should be reciprocated, we all deserve to be loved.
her soul is parched
from wandering through deserts
looking for a oasis
she'll never find
Esther L. Krenzin
black shirt
black tie
shiny shoes
and smokey eyes

neat beard
dark skin
tell me your name
are you even coming?
why aren't they have someone like you here?
its sad
like you push them away
but did they ever even wanna stay
what is real
that's what i want to know
what exists
is anything of this real
and if not
what is
what if this is just a fantasy land
inside my own head
what if i'm in a coma
what if i'm somebody else
what if i am the only one that exists
what if i don't exist at all
what if there is some massive movie screen
that everybody can watch
from which everyone can see
the world through my eyes
what if i am dead
what if i have existed and lived a thousand times before this
what if this is some strange attempt to truly find peace
what if none of this is real
what if none of this is real
if i close my eyes
does the world cease to exist
and does anything truly exist
if it is possible for vision to fade and never return
perhaps the world is born when i am
perhaps it will die when i do
perhaps the world is just snippets thrown together
different perspectives
different timelines
there are explanations
the gods of science
but who is to say that that is real
who can determine what is real
is it me
is this all up to me
to all those reading
if there is anyone reading at all
i will never know you
i will never have a way to know
if anything
or anyone
truly exists
this life has the permanence
of dreams
flashes of images
thrown together
who is to say what is real
who is to say what is real
who is to say anything at all
my memories might as well be fake
so what do i do
do i do my best
to fit into this make believe world
do i let go of the universe
and play to my quiet niche
or do i let go of the present
let go of the past
let go of the future
and just be
who is to say what is real
who is to say what is real
does the world disappear when i close my eyes
does it all cease
to be
when i die
will the world die with me
is my body real
does it exist
and does the world around me exist
or is this all just hallucinations
is this anything at all
i have no way of knowing
i can see my fingers
i can feel my bangs
brushing against my face
i can smell the must
i can hear the gentle murmur
but what makes this real
what if this isn't real
what happens when it all goes away
what happens when everything goes away
what happens when i can no longer feel
what happens when my eyes don't see
what happens when everything fades
and even my thoughts go away
what is behind the veil
what is just out of sight
is there anything there at all
is it the void
is it just the void
the blackness behind my eyes
stretching out forever
is this the flashback
before i die
is my life running before my eyes
is everything draining from me
and is there truly mortality
do we truly exist at all
is there a we
or is it just me
alone
with my vivid hallucinations

it could go away so easily
it could be gone

i imagine those chambers
those water chambers
where everything is silent
and the water is the same temperature
as your body
and there is nothing
and you lay in the dark
is that dying
is that what truly exists
or is even that an illusion

is anything real
is anything real
There's something so lonely writing this, not truly knowing if anyone will ever truly see it. I know that I will never know the answer. I will never know if anyone exists. But that in itself is the answer, and I hate it, because I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.
Mark Wanless Aug 29
ever again i walk
the randomness of mind
and pray for surcease
Ken Pepiton Aug 20
genghis knew two food groups.

red and white, look it up.

Many Genghis genes remaing, tut tut tut,
no error yet, wait

in time the idea, the reason for so simple a sorting
is lost
and food laws arise to insure the purity
of progenity
"man ist vas man eats, nicht nur brot, y'kin, hear-ken"

destined to rule the world in the

here,
after all the others are killed by our wisdom and
dietary rules.

--- toxic masculinity
--- I heard first hand, a hipster-seeming voice tell me
--- Jordan Peterson is the source of the poison

Ah, am I to reply?
Am I to add a layer onto each pearl I feed the swine?

laque of knowing growing pains for what they really are,
we, the people,
blooming, bhering weight, finding worth

feeling ing ing the squeeze,
squeeze,
glory in the pain for gain, gain is good, grow, grow grow
try---umph
ic magi
bent and bowed bansai-wiseman, fed for years mere humble PIE
chanting more enthralled-folk songs
marching
words bubbling to the surface of spaceship earth,

blistering the deserts and the forests with black tar sludge
seeping from the fractures

to form mortar
to re
build the tower... that was Sad'am's idea,
it fell short in shocking offal from the rusting empir-
ical rule of laws of matter,

dis integrating to dust, leaven in the winds...

But every hundred years or so,
some one sees the problem
accused of causing the laquering of peace that seems
to be
beginning
to shine on
the rub,
the itch,

the cause celebre of this warrior mind, this
toxic
masculinity, but in the end

times change, nue and new and aljadid genii arise,

winds converge in great gyres and plan the melting of
the frozen one,

the great gyre in the north, the up-end of the spin,

locked these twelve thousand years
in de-salinated ice,

the salt squeezed from the very molecules of frozen ocean
once free

to spin
counter
clock, lock, lock the POV, see it, see it, see

the direction of the spin,
does it **** or blow?

You could know. Such things are not hidden now,

our simple sort of men have visionary tools,
eyes in the sky,

we look from the moon and see immediately,

there should be six spinners spinning currents
returning, turning turning
as winds return on their circuits on an un flat earth,

as Solomon noted in the sayings of Thoth;
so,
we see the ice, as ***** Gibson said it would be seen,

cybernetic, tic, you, tic, know, tic
what i mean
magi-
confidence in uncom-fort-ible
am-big-yous-is-us-ness

--- it was them ****** cow boys
--- imagined forever afters, based on guns for Christmas
--- appearing areal, Asreal can be, if one stared,
-- starry-eyed, Uriel appears to grant a wish, stare

staring in hope and prayer.
for all a child's prayer is worth

--- long-enough, at the wishbook from monkey ward
--- I'maxin' Please, Ma t'tell Santa I'd wear my guns t' school, Ma, I'd be cool.

hour-wareness of war;s worthlessnesses, winking eye sign;
pure floccinaucipilinihility, winks 'n' nods

manifestations of the imaginings of men,
wombed and un,

for money, not its use, just
luv o'the stuff it's made from in minds so inclined,

which tend to destruction from the mere knowledge
of a missing something, a meaning,
a hole,
a place of nada-zil-chic spells re re re main al and  
analible and
allathat, uninalienable mass of meaningful things...

name your God same as mine, shibbol-ethical as allhells-gnownstinki

fini.
eh? Fini? Uno fini, allathestinki? Bad-wind or kami-kazi?

it's a wish,
come true.
this world containing life, an air bubble to pre
vent
our inventions
from drowning in the fields of far-flung, far-fetched

god ideas gone sour,
for lack of a proper fungus. We can fix that now.

From now on,
we can listen to Lex Fridman sing "Simple Man"
from
a bubble remaining inside the lost disco years,

we can listen to Richard Feynman make plain what he meant
about life's locks all having keys in
a bubble remaining viable inside those Leave it to ****** years,

or read, since when in ever writing for ever began
and Google can translate, and
we can read by listening, now, we can read asif blind, and
see

there's more to this than that, why
settle for the simple, when

if
you step beyond, one step,
you find treasure
in truth
kept for you in the heart of your hiding child.
Aitia Macaronic Poet-try mused at a comment I heard in passin I began to imagine a toxic masculinity hiding in a child's closet waiting to take his guns to town, in 1957 the International Geo Physical Year, Hersey was researching The Child Buyer... those were times we got through
all I've ever learned from love

is

in the trying is the finding out
of the
all about,
losing battles to find yourself,
a war-won victor and a long term loser,
making the process new, expensive
the event expertise training
acquired to shoot your foot straight,
laugh about it when you do it again
and again

for the relearning is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters, always thinking
you know better, be better at keeping warm,
this time which is the next time

you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
past lessons ain’t no prologue,
the body is maybe in the wafers,
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate


and the epilogue is
100% of the
poem~songs that I love writing
and hate remembering
Ken Pepiton Jul 25
adsorb or absorb

it was absorbine, junior

serendipitous or duplicitous we are lost

one thing means another,
and
if I am your enemy,
for some forgotten curse or theft,

I ask, I pray, as you say,
un give me the enemy name.

Claim me friend and and drink from my wine,

let us imagine the best of times are when
our children's children

all know the math and make the best
of everything we ever
imagined, in a perfect world.
This has been a great day.
Next page