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i quietly wonder
if i had done anything
wrong to reclaim
another faultful star

as i stare outside the window
cascading past endless stretches
of worn paved-roads
and vast fertile landscapes

and everything looks transiently gargantuan

but i momentarily glance
at the empty bus seat next to me
and i feel rather small again

flimsy music in my ears
speaking of infinite sentiments
and i’m disenchanted again
these mellisonant voices are enough
they have to be enough

to keep my wandering mind
company against the ephemeral madness

i flick my red lighter open
and hold it close—but not too close
to my dying pen; wondering, for
a moment, if the same trick could revive
my spirits like the stuttering ink,
tempted to burn my flesh back to life

but i merely stare into the flame—
flickering unsteady still—and blow it out
so it doesn’t have to be lonely
as my heart is right now

as i travel from small city
to smaller town, i wonder where
all my friends are right now
how they are all doing
what they are doing

and if they’re all having fun
without me.
Inspired by: Fire by Sleeping With Sirens
Claire Hanratty Feb 2018
Nights like this always make me realise that
I'm actually alive, that
I'm a living person and
One day I'll become ash,
Or the nutrients needed to grow a tree and
No one will remember me.

Seeing the sky crash with the waves upon human dearth,
The wings of gulls that carry time and
Meander and glide their way through
Storms of sand,
Makes me feel utterly petrified yet free- and
No one will remember me.
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
Amidst the visions of the morning trance
Puppets engage in their own morning dance
If I joined, by chance, I would merge in
It would go unnoticed by omniscience

Where the displays remain luminescent
Where many a soul is rendered present
When the shackles that hold my locket rusts
Poisoning the remnants of the city

The soul that inhabits the city screams
Into a silence that does not respond
For the city is locked away inside
Beneath rusted shackles merging with flesh
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
Tiny pebbles tumble down a staircase
Of concrete, rock and sand
They keep their momentum going
With the assistance of the wind

Tiny droplets cover the decks
Of thousands of fleet
Through the blanket of light
They ascend and dissipate in the sky

The mere occassion
Bonds narrowly with evocation
With assistance of the heavens
They coexist

But through painful contemplation
The momentum is lost
A fraction of an entity
But what am I?
Equalityphil Apr 2017
When I really think about it
I realize that there is no point in doing anything.
None of my actions really matter.
Death is inevitable.
And once you're dead, it's not like time stops...
The world keeps moving & goes on without you.
We are all just insignificant beings made of flesh and blood.
And we like to distract ourselves from that thought.
We like to think that there's more to it and life is worth so much but really
you're born, you live, you die.
Sofia Jan 2017
i've always had a peculiar affair with history
history is a woman draped in red silk
with ***** eyes and sharpened claws
carefully picking out the hearts to break
and stories to keep
one day i'll arrive in her velvet palms
until then i am but another spectator
aligning myself with what has come to pass
i felt so deeply for the lost souls
souls history deemed unworthy to chronicle
i often wonder about the stories of fossils
of what love laid in the bones below me
of the life shared in worn out alleyways
i often remember all the sadness
the war that plagued the world around me
the death of kings the rise of nations
being affiliated with history is one way to come to it
to sympathize with all her victims
to love so much you love even what is done
the fall of rome broke my heart
for if an empire could fall
how much more i
to remember so much even what you never knew
i feared the flood that carried noah
for if all those quiet beings never reached that ark
who was to say i would've as well
i weeped for the library of alexandria
and all the parts of history left astray
for if that much life could burn
i am already ash
i find it hard to let bygones be bygones
when i am forever hanging on history's clavicles
somehow reaching for her and never quite making it
as i am a lost soul ripe and wary of her place
in a muse as big as history's heart
Phil Lindsey Jan 2017
I dream not of immortality,
But of being less insignificant than some,
Not of being loved by all,
But of being liked by those I’ve met,
Not of changing the world,
But of leaving it unchanged for the better.
For there are many who will have the world changed,
For better or for worse,
Or for no reason at all.

As a king builds a temple in his own honor,
So does a dog establish dominion by peeing on a tree;
The next king builds a larger temple, and
The next dog pees higher on the tree.
It takes only a war, or a rainstorm, or the simple passing of time
To shift the balance of power, for
There will always be another king,
There will always be another dog,
And there will always be another rainstorm.

A baby cries for attention.
He cries, “I am hungry,” or
“I am tired,” or
“I have peed myself.”
And because he is helpless,
We feed him, and we hold him, and we change his diaper.
A poet also cries for attention.
But unlike the baby, his cries are often ignored,
For we do not understand what it is that he wants.

I dream not of a perfect world,
But of a world where there is more good than evil,
More peace than war,
And more joy than tears.
A world where kings build temples for babies,
Where forests and trees are abundant,
And where poets rejoice because their cries are understood.
I dream not of immortality,
But of being less insignificant than some.
Phil Lindsey 1/5/17
May your dreams and prayers be answered in 2017!
Spenser Bennett Aug 2016
The empty sky burns bright blue
and I walked away from you
The cold earth is silent and lost
Covered in snow and frost

Vultures pick clean the still yellow bone
A fresh **** of the sand and stone
No loving hands will hold golden truth
Drunk on sweet nectar of wasted youth

The mountain speaks, slow and steady
Of rivers and dreams, rushing and heady
How can you breathe to something you don't know?
I guess love takes absence to finally grow

Flowers that bloom blood red and sharp
Oh love me, love me, take my heart
Dressed up and waiting for insignificance
My head and my heart; a common dissonance
NA Apr 2016
Just remember that
Although you may feel insignificant
So do the stars
But look at how together
Those scattered moondusts
Light up the night sky
So beautifully
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I've got that feeling once again,
After staying up til 3 A.M,
When insecurities start to creep,
And I curse myself for lack of sleep.

It seems I have no way of knowing,
Which way my thought process is going,
One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum,
And console myself with smoke and ***.

I try to find a compromise-
Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes,
But the world keeps spinning round and round,
Bottle's empty- no peace found.

Like the Irish airman in the sky,
I seem to watch as other lives flash by,
Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know,
The places those tormented souls must go.
A Sassoon inspired poem (the last two lines are almost completely stolen from "Suicide in the Trenches"), with a nod to W.B.Yeats with the Irish airman reference. Two of my favourite poets.

Written whilst feeling a bit guilty that I'm just a small, insignificant person with not much power to change anything, and being quite drunk. Never a good combination.
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