Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I explored the
depths of hell, and
found it wanting,
wandering the streets,
looking for a utopia.
Not all that shines is
the sun.
Pictures can be
doctored, and when the
layers are peeled away
the purple horizon isn't
royal.
It's a ghastly negative,
with black and white
images that lack
love and depth.

All the potions are placebos.
It's temporary and tiring.
When I grew up,
I stopped playing with
toys, they break and
disappoint, and worse yet,
they leave me empty and hungry.

The sky-pilot found me
and I am full,
belly and soul.
Besides still waters,
green is my bed.
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ydsv-JNhEdU
Zywa 3d
Then, Adam and Eve

invented god and soon he --


was superior.
Novel "Two Years Eight Months & Twenty-Eight Nights" (which is 1001 nights, 2015, Salman Rushdie), chapter 4 "The Strangenessses"

Collection "Low gear"
He met me in my mess
When I was wrestling with my flesh
With hopes & dreams started to crumble and crash.
On the verge of breaking under stress
He met in my mess.
Lost in Oblivion
I ran into paths Unknown.
To ease the ache inside my chest
When tribulations put my faith to test;
When guilt won't let me rest
I cried unto Him
Until I shed no more tears to face the fears
I found God in my mess.
🌼
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." ~ Matthew 11:28
Kenshō Mar 10
Peering down from a terrestial heap,
contemplating the debate at the seams,
exposing dim lights and the ones asleep.

I sat awake, in solitude, lost like a sheep.
Per(re?)ceiving all the secrets in ones dreams;
beneath the veil, and the ones that we keep.

What the bars in ones mind are made of are cheap:
confining and containing what one can gleam
from the empty gaps and the mental leaps.

I hope those objects and night-lights help you sleep;
Plato's shadowy projections move with moonbeams,
the brimful moon ebbing causes the shadows to creep.

The farside is bare, in twilight;
the mind becomes a maverick:
turning fireflies to winking sprights.

Can you regard all that I see
when you dream with eyes-closed?
And In your dream do people speak in poem or prose?

Are you transmitting dimensions of three
or are you given your dreams?

Do you wonder who contains those moments
and where they are received?

If heaven is dreaming nigh
I wonder what we would be

If God sent a message
what might be the presage;
And what might be the conveyance?

When you're dreaming Angels touch the ground,
revealing all that is bound.
~dancing with the beyond~
And (angels) evaporate in the dawn, or atleast seeming..

Let your eyes unlock~
Quick! The Gates are sealing
Run to recapture all that they've been stealing:
From all those who wish to lower your cieling.

---

A gypsy is whistling who's been up all night.
The dreams of many slip into hidden spaces:
Closets and under the bed; spirits dissipate.

As morning's light eminates
What do you see?
sorry for any errrors. enjoy
Piotr Balkus Mar 7
We are separate at birth,
but we have the same
mother - light.
Piotr Balkus Mar 6
Open to universe
limitless.
Rescues me
from nothingness.
cristina Mar 5
my love is desperate consumption of anything im not

i can only ever crave hankering separation

(the farthest away from my own sinful hand)

and abhor all that easily falls into my shameless claws

i swallow my desire and digest it long enough it turns into something carrying an all too familiar ugliness

(i stare into the abyss and in the abyss i see you tire)

everything i love i stain with my own repulsing vacancy,

mercilessly shape it into a cage befitting my prodigal heart

fill it with the same insatiable appetite that snarls and howls knowing no decency

my love is not creation but its own twisted pretense being picked apart

loving is god creating his own specular image of worship

looking at it with both resentful revulsion and unspeakable lust

and i, just like god, can never love anything made of my rib
Man Mar 5
The dream revolt of desk jockeys
Of disc spinning, pipe hitting Americans;
A rich man's insurrection.
Not something I'll be part of;
Something I'll watch
As they step on our flag,
Something to stir real action.
Try it, I,  like the rest of us,
Will watch the skin drip from you
As tar does too, and feathers adorn.
You can call that macaroni
When you try to be oppressive
With the law or religion
Or worse yet, the dissolution
Of the two being different.
When they steal from you now,
It will be in the name of God.
Love God, hate religion
021924

Itikom aking bibig
Nang Sayo’y mamahinga.
Isip ko’y Iyong pagharian
At muling awitan ng Iyong pagsinta.

Ilang dekada na’y
Nanatili Kang tapat —
Ni hindi ka nagkulang,
Ikaw ay naging sapat.

Paano nga ba ako hihinto?
Kung Ikaw ang aking Kalakasan.
Bakit nga ba ako mapapagod?
Kung Ikaw rin ang aking uuwian.

Tatahan ang aking mga mata,
Pagkat Ikaw ang aking Tahanan.
Ikaw ang Simulang
Walang katapusan.

At balang araw,
Sa isang kurap
At sa isang iglap lamang —
Ang lahat ay alaala na lamang.
When I look into the sky,
Its beauty reminds me:
There’s God.
Even when the stars are hidden
Deep in the clouds
And the wind is quiet,
I know He lives.
When the night breeze
Whispers softly into my ears,
I believe He’s with me.
Next page