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In the almirah corner, it lay,
Day after day, untouched, unseen grey.
Dun and dusted, its shimmer gone,
Once proud, now forlorn.

It first adorned a joyous frame,
The groom's pride, a life to claim.
A new suit for a bride so fair,
Their union sealed, a love to wear.

From meetings to galas, it bore the strain,
Day in and out, through sunshine and rain.
Before mirrors, it struck a pose,
Before cameras, it proudly rose.

Time marched on, as time will do,
The suit's threads faded, its purpose too.
The owner retired, and with a sigh,
The suit found its place where old things lie.

Beside medicines and x-ray scans,
It watched the world through aging hands.
But love rekindled a gentle spark,
The suit was worn, its journey embarked.

No goals to chase, no grand parade,
Just a quiet walk in the evening shade.
With a smile that spoke of days well-spent,
The suit revived in an instant of love.

For the owner well knew, as wisdom grew,
The suit was something more than just threads and dye.
It held the story, the love, the pride,
A lifelong friend with him through the times that glide.
This poem reflects the journey of a suit, symbolizing life's phases—youthful pride, relentless service, and quiet retirement. It mirrors human emotions, aging, and memories, showing the bond between material and sentiment. The suit’s revival for simple walks portrays love, nostalgia, and gratitude, highlighting beauty in small, purposeful acts.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Entertained.
Contained.
Maintained.
Retaining access to once knowns,
sit still listening, not thinking anything
- calling living winning, then quitting.

Get up and ask the truth to forgive
me as I have forgiven, and correct me
where my functioning is hindering.

Stretching the cord to tie the load…

Become what truth embodied is,
cushion the fall from the stacked
featherbeds for religious businesses-

thumpwhump, takes y'breathaway

Conscienceless conscious necience,
all automated - due souly to luck in
the making of DNA, you see,
discovery is the easy part,
much more inter-
esting testing resting mind mingle,
estimating instants time in transit…
imagining the code used to build
the ladder, up one side, down the other.

Handling, managing manacled hopes,
most substantial, dashed to smithereens,
whither in the rearview I see you not looking,
not noticing the era we lived through, seeing

sublime simplicity unfold before us as we examine
essential, necience, non knowing unrecognizable,

feeling path, finding fortunate occasional fruit sweet,
as a path crossing fruiting bough slaps

sweetness perception from reward schedules,
stinging sensation, signal sending saying, it's okeh,
sudden sinking subtle ******* muddy awareness,

sniff, just agnosis dripping,
thinking life's a trip, travel light.
Not knowing necience is a word, I find poetic, and either real, rather,
spiritual, or mater-real. An occasion is a falling out, or down essentially.
nescience
nĕsh′əns, nĕsh′ē-əns, nēsh′-, nĕs′ē-əns, nē′sē-
noun
Absence of knowledge or awareness; ignorance.
Agnosticism.
AmazingsanPoetry Jul 2023
Never forget being a human..
Most times in the quest and dedication of things brought about by imagination we forget the art of being human, it will be too great a catastrophe to loose humanity completely...
Stagnation is the primal curse..
Stagnation can be confused.
Not moving is stagnation, which is bad..
But..
Moving in one direction,
disregarding other aspect is stagnation.
Excessive obsession is worst.
Not looking back is terrible..
Not looking forward is detrimental..
Not in the present is dilutions..
In this Sense focus is misappropriated...
Everything is dilutional except the art of being human..
Humanity... Is
Consideration..
Accommodation..
Moderation..
Adaptation.
Repro­duction..
Transpiration.
Respiration.
Transformation..
Aspiration­..
Imagination.
So on the list travels into the desert of words unsaid...
Disregarding any of these is inhumane..
Excessive obsession on any of these is inhumane..
Countless bygone civilization of ages dissipates into the abyss of inhumane and never returned..
Humanity, one lost his humanity at the field of excessive obsession over material things..
Humanity is immaterial..
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2023
Life is not about money or material things
It's about love and the joy it brings
I live by this mantra
Jenn G Oct 2020
Warmth flows from my lips
Air barely escapes
Pushing forward
never moving
Open, close
Open, close
Standing in an empty room
Filling space with nothing
and everything
Consuming in a vacuum
Giving nothing in return
Seeking purpose
Finding guilt
Depth is created
not given
Maja Sep 2020
The thing about being an artist.

People only look at the finished work.

Not at the soiled hands which made it.
You don't know how low I went,
to write something deep

You don't know the things I had to do,
To find my material

You don't know how I broke my hands,
to create the art before you
Red Aug 2020
Dead glassy cow eyes
Mock me from within their bloated facade
They see right through me, and I, them.
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