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Nat Lipstadt Sep 23

IF we are each created in His image,
how glorious is the diversity of our deities
each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau
of a small planet, insignificant but
uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,



wise enough to know mine philosophical shortcomings,
for they are many,
insufficient wisdom, more than sufficient laziness,
but sometimes even the *o b v i o u s

strikes a rhyming chord,
even so, delving into God’s image
is for the foolhardy,
ergo ipso facto,
I am that,
that fool

but the boundaries of common sense poetry,
offer healthy delimitations,
and as rhe day wanes, eyes go blurry,
I am content to laurels~rest:

I do not count the times,
I’ve called out my beseeching deities,
I do not count the numbers of names,
we have designated and available for them,
or how many I’ve employed, and which replied
or the varied shapes they assumed,
to get my attention,

but this is a poem,
cannot leave you hanging,
if you paid your dues for joining me this far:
the due is due you:

(their ONLY pronoun),
keep their answers
short and oft inexplicable,
yet strangely satisfying,
for being a deity
they employ common sense,
and the answers frequently found
on a list of Frequently Answered Questions (FAQ‘s)

the most common response,

“but you already knew that!”
Sep 21~23, 2023
Nienke Sep 13
you have to be tough
they said
you have to be strong
they said
we have grown cold
we have become stone
but forgotten
pushed into a hole
to feel - sanity
the destiny of humanity
Spicy Digits Sep 11
I am going to pluck that illuminated corner of the night sky
and graft it to my palm.
I am sorry, precious sky, that we have been so distant
these last few years.
The Kimbeaux Sep 8
I am just me.
A single being.
A beginning and an end.

I am just me.
An individual.
My character and personality and morality belong to myself.

I am just me.
A human alone.
My heart is mine alone to own.

I am just me.
A person all my own.
My worth terminates in myself alone.
Feeling the sense of self during meditation. It’s just me and nothing else matters.
A M Ryder Sep 1
We are not
The monsters
That we sometimes
See each other as

I don't need you
To understand me
I just need you
To believe that
I am having
A human

Just believe
I'm a person
And that I'm
Going through it

It takes one
To know one
David Hilburn Aug 22
Did, a heart of sincerity...?
Made pure, made true...
With the soon, a vestigial anarchy
Came to these, the rue of what we fate, to irony due...

Life and a laugh
The instilled today, the tone of a voice
Given the wishes of the frank, and endearing more we hath...
The compliment of sorry eyes and sudden why's, a unity's choice?

Cope, tomorrow in league with such, a service
To fragile ideals, and the carnal low...
Seemingly mine, the inclined shrewdness of austere sigh's
Is a head at pride, a lover's lie to compel a friend to owe...?

Me, a hardier since, seclusion in a waiting worth...
Can a heightened sense of curiosity, begin here?
With the claimed sake, and kindness of silenced gain, by earn
And turn of chaste into a needy repast, is my ought's notion clear?

Waiting on the words to divine a character's politics?
Sate and uniformity in mind, for another go round
With such a treatise to sympathize with truth, that a gesture meant
Is a gesture in the fate, we knew as a careless whisper, to allow...?

A hat of composure make the day for neglect, isn't a worlds eyes drawn
Meant and imagination, to a seemly rise and flow; was distance to form the words?
Which brings us to the shade, of conscience's seldom, as if a waiting song
That has a notion to become, hungrier than me, that sees the problem of seasons early...
In retrospect, to a crying's elect; the tow we provide for kindness is as simple as that ... who the hell just gave a heck for me?
xjf Aug 12
A man
Protruding in the field
Standing in damp grass
A marshy meerkat
Alert sentry towards the sun
Eyes wide catching rhythms
Of the changing times
Of the passing seasons

Similar to this

A cat
rigid black and short haired
Let out of the house for the first time
Finding a spot
Between roots and mulch
Curled eternally  
Once playful
At permanent rest
Connected to the changing seasons
Signaling grave times

Both lost to progress
And disconnected from nature
Each making their return
to the flow of things

Despite unfortunate timings
And with all the wrong places to be born
The mother takes them both as they are
Grateful for her children returning
Pleased she kept the place inviting
And the hearth burning

“Come, take my hand
Put you feet in the soil,
say goodbye, and let it all go.
The earth will catch your tears
Bring them back to sky and
they will grow new innocents.
You will know peace
and be forgiven”
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