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MicMag Jul 30
Once is never
Or at least never enough
Life can be quite tough
But einmal ist keinmal

Let's try something new
See if it rings true
That despite what we do
Einmal ist keinmal

No inhibitions, no regrets
Do what we feel like
And never forget
Though einmal ist keinmal

Take risks, be bold
Don't harden your soul
Nor grow stale and old
Einmal ist keinmal

Live in the present
Be now, be here
Have no fear of the future
Cause einmal ist keinmal

Feel this lightness of being
As if nothing matters
Our significance shattered
Einmal ist keinmal

Sieze the moment
Give it your all
Live life to the fullest
Knowing full well
Einmal ist keinmal
Inspired by recent philosophical reflections on the German phrase "einmal ist keinmal", roughly translated as once is never.
Hadiy Syakir Nov 2018
I heard that
you're coming back,
but don't ever be like lush,

when things turned black,
head went off in a rush.
Hadiy Syakir Sep 2018
there were
shadows
that fought
for the right to
exist
descended off
the stairwell
fell into
the frostlake

and it continues.

before
they struggled
in the dark
then,

everything's gone.
When I'm happy a tornado of o's and 1's cascade
from my heart, a why-
an endless carousel of binary;

But to be happy should be enough,
in those moments when I freeze and smile
I should ask for no more than that,

that last little star in the background
before the lights go dim,
and extinguish everything.
A poem about me and a poem about the universe and stars.
Valerie Mar 2018
there are many stories of how humankind
came to be,
and i'm not exactly sure how many of them
i like to believe.
are we here pre-destined for a great adventure
or rather yet, we're just here because we're here

i don't really like the ones that tells us about fate,
how we're meant to love somebody and all that-
i don't think anybody is born to love anybody
except themselves,
and even then sometimes i struggle with that too.

i don't think we're souls carved out on the plane of time
and i don't think we're beacons that were planned to collide,
i don't think we're a star-crossed fairytale on a dusty page,
and i don't think the air was waiting for silhouettes to fill the empty space.

i don't think i look to the future searching for your face,
and i don't think you shout across the void for my name,
i don't think we're planets intended to orbit around each other
and i don't think we're the seams of this quilted universe
that stitched itself just for us.

i just think we're us,
and that is all we have to be.
coffee and no sleep is great for inspiration
How do I get inspired
with a brain so wired
when fragments of my conscious  
now refract the splintered image
of an idol which once stood above me
as the root of every rhyme
that spilled from pen to paper?
Now all I see is an ever-shrinking divinity.
as apathy interjects
to dissect
lukewarm affinities
it’s never long
before the names of my deities
sit like formaldehyde on my tongue.
Apologies are clichés
excuses are formalities
they’re just words  
that escape through
the smoke that chokes your lungs
after you threw your last manifesto in the fire.
Now I’m left with
the silence of the hangover
using rage as a muse
to thrash against the page
with poetry from the ashes
of what you once created
when your anger wasn't so understated.
luis Jan 2018
is poetry really something you think about

like, can this be considered poetry?
me, here

sitting at a computer screen
typing words ever so

conversationally

this reads less like a poem
and more like a speech
or perhaps, like a friend
telling you their day over coffee
and I bet right now you can smell the roasted beans
the air, thick with the smell of caffeine, whipped cream,
possibly a cigar or two

and you hear the voice of your best friend
who's telling you about their day

how they had it rough that day
Ben from accounting really knew how to ruin a day, let me tell you
or perhaps,
someone just spilled coffee all over their notes while they were studying

and as much as fifty apologies can mend a relationship,
fifty apologies can't dry up your english notes

can we really consider this kind of stuff poetry?
it's completely free-form
against the norm,
little to no rhyme or structure
no substance whatsoever

just a mindless person rambling about things that seem ever so slightly relatable

is this really poetry?

probably not.
i literally spent all of 0 minutes thinking about this please don't enjoy
Burning

Burn burn burn
turning around and around in a world
gone mad on illusion,
be glad to scrawl some truth
on the walls of self,
this prison we create for ourselves
endless as the space between things
atomic glances in the glaciers
of arctic reality, alone.

Alone and with you, just you
alone, alone with you, just you.

You don't exist, I am here, alone.
Loneliness the barricaded cliche;
a comfort from the complexity of Pandora cities,
lived network, passing moments, waste,
waste bucket lies and lives -

Cries in the sombre darkness of the city streets
heathens and homeless burning, dying
spice addicted fiend crying in empty
alleyways, and me alone, crying, dying
slowly, in this cage of my own creation,
the only thing that keeps me sane -
creation of hope, "delusion you dope" says
voice inside, burning bright demon.

Burn and fry, mottle and cascade downwards,
find yourself in the dirt of experience
and avert your gaze to the heavens.

What choice do we have?
The alternative burns and haunts my soul.
Endlessly, needlessly
Burn baby burn.
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