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pilgrims Feb 17
I feel sick, so sick of myself.
I don't exist: calloused layers of shell.
This world is sick. War is more real than Hell.
Does good love exist? Is it more real than Death?
What will you love when nothing is left?
The soil is poisoned. Seeds freed from cycles.
Purge odious life.
Tears salt the Earth from true peace disciples.
No pain. No struggle. No strife.
Behind the mask there is nothing.
Behind my eyes there is nothing.
Before my eyes there is nothing.
Embracing void. Immortality.
Cannot be destroyed. Empty.
Embrace the truth.
I quit. I quit. I quit pretending.
Pretending I am not everything. At last,
I find annihilation
in you.
irinia Sep 2023
words come to me from the roots of a resonant hazard
I wonder if we fool ourselves that the future is open
Heisenberg paradox in our eyes, starseeds in yours
billions of years of solitude haunt me
we carry supernova physics in our bodies only they
know what we are attempting, we are crazy
enough to dislocate the inception of language

we should carrefully ponder the meaning of the words
with which we slowly killed our bonds
we should consider the poiesis of living
words have no meaning, only texture
Sean Achilleos Jun 2023
There were times that I had wished for you and I to be close

For our arms to lock into a warm embrace

But sooner or later the demons would get to you

They would use you as a stepping stone

To try and get to me

I would and could never permit that to happen

So in order to keep you safe

I have to keep my distance

At the cost of my own happiness

I have learned to love you from afar
sean achilleos
21 June '23
LeV3e Feb 2023
Our logic is round
Like the world that we stand on
Our fathers are proud
We proved to be worthy spawn

Our reasoning is cyclical
Like the seasons return on schedule
Our mothers still cynical
That love exists beyond her child

Morality makes us whole
Like a cold drink from a clean spring
But do we have a soul?
The weight of the question runs deep

You can't prove me wrong
Isn't a good enough reason to act out
And just because a song is sung
Doesn't mean I have to listen to you shout
Tolerance is a paradox, and despite our efforts to be and act freely, there are moral failings that keep us chained to the rule of Law.
Alex McQuate Jan 2023
Where is the line drawn?
Between hope and naivety?
Where the swelling of one's heart is nothing more than a fool's boon?
Instead of being a warming energy that radiates to the limbs?

Is it experience,
Hard won through heartbreak and loss?
Is it wisdom,
Some innate talent that some just have?

Forewarned is forearmed,
To keep the danger at bay,
But at what point does that wariness become a cage?
From what distance is everything far enough away,
To keep out the terrors of the world,
But close enough to live your life?

I'll tell you,
Bear witness to my words,
A question is your answer in this paradox,
How much are you willing to risk?

How much are you willing to lose,
How far of a fall are you willing to take,
For the sake of living your life,
For when you open yourself up to the wilds of the world,
Is when you truly start to live.
Zywa Apr 2022
Magic requires that

you see exactly what's there:

real reality.
"Het filmarchief van majoor Decoster" ("Major Decoster's film archive", 1992, Hubert Lampo)

Collection "(No wonder"
Zywa Apr 2022
An automatic

door for everything that moves --

is closed still open.
Collection "Half The Work"
cea Jan 2022
the palette of the sky wanders
from crimson to dandelion
the waters dance by the shore
the wind sways the verdant
and hums with the breathing

it is a wondrous kiss of view
that comforts and cradles
something that we
always miss

that we are always desperate
to see, to feel
to breathe in, to keep
we click to capture it still
to yield a frame that moves
and holds life of infinite

i am filled with awe
every time i look at it,
it is heavenly—

yet we rather ruin her innate
comfort and cradling mount
to get pieces that are dull
and mundane

yet we prefer destroying
the green that shades
and shelters
to earn the green paper
so to use it later to savor
the serendipity only she can bear
Brett Oct 2021
How can you ask a man
Who loves you,
About the man you love?

If I was lesser than
I may play pretend and spin a thread
That pulls you closer to the center of my web.

My love is a field of a thousand faceless corpses.
Each one a time when I swallowed pride, and
Gave you my mouth
So you could smile wide.
          Little Lady,

Can you not see this calm bravado
Relies solely
On my never-blinking eyes.

For even a wink would have this city sink
This grief I trap in ink.
You woke up and only met the sun today

In the dead of night
I cupped your pain, and
Drank your inclement weather like bottled rain.
Why me? You ask the man you once loved, about the man you now love. Caught in a paradox.
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