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Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
Autobio. Belief. Cautious ****,

dear, the cost, of time lost, while aching,
after sitting as still as you can imagine
for as long as you can imagine,
ignoring bowel and bladder,

yawn, and feel the stretching, think again
any work in progress
works best with conjoined minds of the kinds
one finds in old texts, and sometimes, illustrations.
Suddenly life has people init intuitive arting on letting peace be.
a fly, bloated, buzzes
trapped between the window and the curtain

i hear it bump against the glass
the wings crumple
the fly falls
landing unceremoniously on the windowsill

after a moment, the fly is once again airborne
returning to the window
to continue its exercise in futility
the trouble is
sleep doesn't
ever seem to last
long enough
no matter how many
hours are lost
to its nothingness
discarded willingly
to the vague
and the vacuous
some might say
for dream's sake
but debate remains
around the benefit
relevance or reverence
to be found
in that logic
waking up always
brings with it
a desire for more
for a return to
a form of non-being
where presence
and nullity
have equal sway
to be
not to be
free of interference
from that backwards
   of consciousness
Annatman Oct 2022
Comforting possiblity
That, still, you suddenly recall
The ultimate futility
Of doing anything at all
The best possible outcome
neth jones Sep 2022
sap life's might                                                                                           ­      
sweet meat played against its decay
fertile pocket of the grimace death                                                        
                                         meat sweet pocket baby of pacing matey death
pant my way into the afterlife                                                        ­
                                   punt one betraying thought after-naught
nutritious carriages rattling a plenish                                  
                 gatling across the brains warlord terrain
                raided til pointless                                                        ­  
by the desert fetching in on all sides
a verse far removed from its misplace in a longer work

Vikram sikki May 2022
To wake up and run
Should be a real fun
But NO , its not
Feels like stifling by a knot

Short of breath in my mind
Even before the start of grind
We sleep, that's fine
But to rise is asinine

The weight of my slumber
When I drag encumbered
Against all reasons
Be what may the season
My soul shouts " Treason"
For my wilted rhythm

Why why why
My heart starts to cry
I wake up for what
And sleep to naught
This universal cycle of routine
Is a time tested guillotine

My hunt is on for the reason
Till then I ll punish self for the treason
By waking after sleep
And running daily and weep!!!
Life goes on for what
Adriana Makenna Mar 2022
There are no real maps
There are none that are true
You lay the sphere of our bellies down flat
And you face a conundrum of view

So why do we learn they are certain
And why don’t we follow or nose
And how did the sailors of ancient
Find their ways to and back home

Mind map, Google maps, star map
Infinite things trapped in lines
Like drawing a circle round an ant
A taunt from wasted time
Ylzm Apr 2021
Death begins the day the newborn cries
Not its choice, grew up believing
Clinging to futility on death's bed
As if another life brings the dead to life

Affirmed as gods, life stroked, seduced
Painful dissonance yet believing
Chance is king but Will supreme
Striving to the death for one more chance

Failures chastised, pride conceals, boastfully
Offering ashes, gods obliged, believing
Truly only Money matters, Chance *******
Life ransomed too, not today, surely tomorrow

Love or transactional ***, legal or not
Life's answer or preachers' lies believing
Perhaps only masturbatory self love is true
Justified indulgence entirely in one's own hands

Meaninglessness, life’s honest and brave end
Else denial and delusion, make believing
This moment till death has despair to work
Alas many flail cowardly, ironic futility grasping

Will strong, flesh betrays, in hypocrisy
Peter wept, shamelessness hardens believing
Death discerns not its own stench
Life's fragrance repulsive and offends

Life imposed freely from the beginning
Conned and chose to pay for believing
A shadow of what will be but tempted to be
And the Accuser justified and God ******
Sarah Lane Jan 2021
Long ago, I closed my eyes with the warm sun on my face
And I dreamed of finding more of myself beyond this place
So I set out on a journey that would take most of my life
I searched every path but fumbled back when met with strife
Each turn and new horizon just a mirage of hope that faded
The day brought less resolve; the nights despair invaded
My foolishness deluded me and priceless years it stole
Until I was left with nothing in a wasteland of my soul
Who am I beyond these mazes? I thought I could be more.
Now standing here, I see tracks of the lives that went before.
We are all the same; life ends with a breath just as it starts
So I closed my eyes and understood... I am no more beyond my heart
Pride and greed along with a myriad of futile pursuits lead us away from the simple yet solid core of who we are. These cheap things and false ideas distract us from what is truly meaningful and keep us from experiencing happiness, contentment, and peace.
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