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Sudzedrebel Apr 17
Hare?

Is it stuck up?

Tired of reality?
You just hope
You wake up in a dream.
Do you know you risk a nightmare?
The mind hatches awful plans,
Sets up terribly dreadful schemes.
What's it all mean?
I don't know?
Maybe?
Do you know?

And this is how it ends!
And this is how it begins!

It's all alphabetical,
All numerical.
Can you hear the song,
Read in-between the lyrics?
The structure of its wording?
Have you tried at singing?

Is it all spiraling?

Chelone?
ab ja na Apr 17
muffled
were all the things i said
for it wielded hurt,
it was draped in poetic pain
no matter the season
and swarmed with a repulsive passion
i cannot love you for your wings
i want the scars, your scars
or the cut open bled out
parts of you
that i can resuscitate with every last of the air within me

or the ones that still bleed too
and i ll drink them dry when
i can't heal them
i will grow you wings
i will chew into the living and dead and angels and gods
i would eat the unborn
i would possess the dead
to feed it to you just so you can fly
just so you know me
see me

but **** i am tired,
i thought it was just my mind
but no i am old
so many centuries lived trying to
match and compete and triumph over myself
in being able to love,
in being able to know
do i have anything more left to give you?
no i will have to pretend like i do
which i cannot
so i don't know
every void with unfathomable depth is waiting for a larger one to consume them.
Sudzedrebel Apr 17
Golly, fellas!
Gee, ladies!
These folks.
Am I right, person(s)?

They say it's no fair!

Hey, if you didn't already know it-
I'm hoping you get the best.
Usually, that's by lesson.
And, wouldn't you know it,
You're quite the students!
I just noticed you were struggling learning.
So, I reduced it down to the basics!
You've just got to get to studying.
Of course, not that it's always obvious,
What field even peaks your interest?

Perhaps it's walking.
Perhaps it's gawking.
Perhaps it's trying.

But to what do they compare?

Perhaps it's sensation.
Perhaps it's thinking.

But who's to say
What that even corresponds to?
Who's to say
What those even correspond to?

The only you with say
Is the same to make the decision.
What I mean is;
A lot of things are going to get in your way,
Don't be your own obstacle.
Whatever it is you're trying to do, own it.
Sudzedrebel Apr 15
We know that which we know.
That being that we only know
That which is learning, to grow.
That knowing is to learn.
It is to never completely be sure
Of that which you already understand,
Yet to be totally assured.
For in that ignorance,
There is wisdom.
Lemon Black Apr 12
Over horizon, in the dark,
transient allure of shooting stars.
Still yet vibrant moments
of joint within and far.
A vastness seized with eyes.
A million years of travel stories,
narrated each, entwined,
it’s not the ears they reach, but mind,
recalled and forgotten as told.
I always feel I know them all,
not memorizing a single one.

A portal gate, wide opened
to connect past with present moments,
events long gone, foretelling return,
tethered together
with a radiant thread of light.
By courtesy of night sky
offered repast of boundless calmness.
I fear to call how troubled a soul
must have become,
to miss this invite for peace of mind
addressed to everyone.
It’s mesmerizing every time.
Light, bearing witness to things afar in space and time, covers distance at a speed only imagination can outpace. It reaches our eyes, fulfilling its journey by transitioning into a thought. But whose thought would that be? An innocent adolescent, genuinely deliberating on the weight of loss, an adult frustrated with how all this potential can be rejected, or maybe someone more mature, full of compassion, for the disabled and prevented from this experience, possibly even self? Is it a quiet time, when admiring night sky feels like a second nature, a busy epoch, too busy to bother, or the last living person, sustained on cosmic radiation for thousands of years, finally coming to a catharsis after millenia of tedious dwelling, realizing how everything is appreciated precisely because of its momentary shining? Perhaps all, at once, mesmerized jointly yet separated somehow. From the calmness they emerge and into the calmness dissipate. All thoughts, shooting stars. There’s no one to tell.
Many flames set asunder,
Each lighting the bark.
Many flames get its owns thunder,
Cracking the infinite dark.

It reshapes what is,
It annihilates what’s his.
God brought the light,
Men sought its might.

Each words carry meaning,
Each word burns the same.
Smoke riles thy beseeching tongue,
Sparking their ignorant flames.

They get crazy,
The crazy man.
It can said it talks,
But they never listen,
Stifling humanity’s walk.

They burn knowledge,
The very light they ate.
God punished not action,
But the poison apple, devils bait.

For now, no innocence sets entropy,
For stupidly of ignorant fools flame society,
Killing humanity’s last flame.

And now, darkness breaches realm,
As embers churn in rage, rage,
Against the dying of the  light.
The last of humanity, the last blight.
Gods wrath, now late, seeks no sight.

I rest here,
Could hope reset my dead ember?
I know not of eternity.
But I know it can be.
I had inspirations of knowledge, and the ever fight against ignorance that put the very flame of power in our hands. I got inspiration to use part of Dylan Thomas’s poem, “Do not go gentle in that good night,” as the fight is ever present today, as it must so. “The Crazy Man” also fits here, too.
Bonnie Apr 2
By Listening We hear,
but often forget—
The fragility of half murmured ideas
signal lost in a tide of noise.

Talking overshadows listening,
Loud, brash, and always there.
listening creates by transforming.
A friend listens,
and a conversation
Turns to something extraordinary.

We roar, we scream, we sing,
But listening eludes description—
its shape unclear until all words are heard

What if we thought
of ourselves as listeners?
compliant, unresisting
designed to receive the world?
Would it change us?

Would our own language then expand
to hold the weight of both
silence and sound?
cosmos made clearer
by this unseen gift.

Imagine yourself a receiver of grace,
Open to everything,
even the dark matter of thought.
Why don't people just listen? Maybe it's not valued highly enough
I knew it!
I knew it wasn't real,
I knew the echoes of this place,
Were just misleading hooks in my face.
Look at all these people, real,
I swear they aren't simple clones,
Or were they all along?
Leave it in the past
Antonia Mar 11
drops of change
fill up life’s tank

your own waters are full of old versions of yourself
there’s layers
there’s mud and there’s sand
there’s old and there’s new
it’s warm and it’s cold
both lightness and darkness
they all lay beneath

don’t even hold your breath!

JUST JUMP!
I wish we would have the clarity to see that our complexity makes us unique and authentic. The moment we decide to dive in and embrace all of our layers and we honour each of them, is the moment we start to feel that inner peace. how can one appreciate the light, if they never have to experience darkness?
It was a cold and early morning,
the morning I realised the full extent of the universe.
I saw it, glittering and flickering,
blinking softly, twinkling like a diamond,
like a star,
like a universe.
It was Spring, of course,
the end of Spring. Summer on the horizon,
Summer dripping in.
And I caught sight of the universe, glittering like a universe does
and in it I saw a man, hunched and wrinkled,
his face a crater, a ravine,
eyes cold and grey, sunken,
lips chapped,
hair thin.
He opened his mouth and a voice, cracked, poured out, filling the space,
like water into a ***,
overflowing,
curling around the universe,
a liquid voice.
It spoke and it said:
      "I am a wizard, the greatest of our age,
       the greatest of all,
       a necromancer,
       young, killed, reborn, reborn, reborn!
       And I know you and I love you
       and I've always know you and always loved you,
       and I know where you began
       and I think I know where you end."
And then he paused. He smacked his lips,
his cold grey eyes blinked up at me,
and then he continued:
      "Child, I am starting to fear your birth into sorrow."
And I'd never felt so know,
so understood,
so exposed.
And then he took my hand
and asked that I walk with him
and how could I say no?
So we walked, waded through his liquid voice,
circling the universe,
round and round.
And he asked me to speak
and how could I say no?
So I said the first thing that came to mind,
a quiet thought that appeared when I looked into him,
into his cold, grey eyes.
And I said it soft and hesitant, my voice wavered,
but I said it all the same:
      "I am no wizard, no necromancer,
       I am a nothing, a nobody,
       but soon I will grow, I will grow.
       I will grow and behold! Yes!
       Yes, I will grow and behold!
       And behold!
       And behold!"
And our circling continued
and he laughed and said:
      "Child, nobody is anybody.
       Child, once you are grown
       you will be laid to stone, to dust,
       to dust, to stone."
I told him such words reminded me of the construction work near my house,
of how it looks like a desert,
of how I don't think anybody should live there.
Should live here.
I told him that I need trees and I need air and I need mud
and not the kind you get there.
Not the kind you get here.
And he just smiled and stopped walking
and he turned to me,
his cold grey eyes filled with tears,
his smile remained
and he spoke for the final time:
      "We live here only,
       and we live here always,
       and we live here good.
       Come, look with me, child, don't fear,
       don't worry.
       My hand is in yours,
       yours in mine,
       old and young mixing together.
       An eternity between us
       between the spaces in our fingers, our palms,
       old and young merging together."
And so, his hand in mine, mine in his, he led me closer and closer
to that universe we'd circled
until we were millimetres from it
and his hand tightened in mine, and mine tightened in his
and I let him walk me inside.
Inside the blinking, twinkling universe.
For a moment all I saw was sound and light,
a horrible feeling,
a great discomfort,
great displacement,
a feeling I'll never forget.
But then it stopped. My hand was empty, the old man was gone
and I was inside the universe
and it was not what I was expecting.
It did not glitter or flicker,
blink or twinkle.
No, the universe is in fact plain and boring.
No, the universe is nothing but a spiral staircase,
it's walls are made entirely of mirrors.
It does nothing but reflect.
And it was in this moment
that all my thoughts became one,
streaming together
filling my mind,
my body.
And I smiled and my eyes filled with tears
and the thought was this:
      When I die, I have but one request,
      that you bury me where I began.
For in this staircase
in this reflection,
I know that my only want was to live a futile life,
to walk forever and then right back again.
And it was after this revelation that I was returned home
on a cold and early morning
at the end of Spring,
where the Summer drips in.
And I was half awake and half asleep,
and I half dreamt of an old wizard, tears in his cold grey eyes,
a bright light flickering, bringing him home, smiling.
And I half stared at the rising sun and the rolling clouds
seeping into my bedroom from half open curtains,
and I thought:
      We live here only,
      and we live here always,
      and we live here good.
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