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Le Toad 6d
It is not the heart
That is complex
It is the burdens
We place up on it
It's not the reflection,
the mirror reflects
It's what our eyes
see beyond it
It is not the dreams—we've broken
It is the dreams—we've shared
It's not the words — we've spoken
It's the wisdom— we've heard.
Last night,
I saw a Man I once respected,
Doing something very wrong.
Now he is Just a Man,
A Man I once Respected.
Zack Ripley Mar 18
We always search for meaning.
We always ask for reasons why things happen.
But we can never seem to agree.
What if that's because meaning is an extension of our perspective?
They say beauty is In the eye of the beholder. What if we considered meaning the same way?
Ankush Mar 17
Words used words,
Weird that is words,
Words much words,
Where now words.

    Words that starts,
And words which end.
    Words just words,
    And stop pretdend.

Words in hands and hands,
Everywhere.
Hands that blurts,
    And anywhere.

He used words,
She used words,
They took words,
    And world look them.

Word bind word,
Wind that wend,
Worse change words,
Chained that weight.

    Words that started,
And the world which ends.
inkedsolace Mar 11
oh dear, oh woe is me,
my sight is blurred,
so I can't see,
yet this opaque nature,
deems to be free,
my ensconced vision,
is turning on me,
sheltering and comforting,
the me I could be,
yet with these lenses,
I still can't see.
they say of course,
perspective is key.
Gideon Mar 8
We do not sleep. Our all-seeing eyes do not close to rest.
Our ethereal bodies don’t have such mundane needs.

But we do dream.
Vivid imaginations are one of our token traits.
Through our dreams, we create schematics and prototypes.
We test theories and explore ideas in our superconscious minds.

After all, human…
What is mankind if not
a dream that the gods
decided to write down
in dirt and blood?
You can run
but you
can't
hide

I
see
everything

I am the shadow
blurring in the dark
I am the eyes
keeping vigil through your window
I am the striking gaze
causing you to glance around
paranoid

Foolish lovely
you left your door
unlocked

knife glint
floorboards creak
door squeaks softly
feet padding on carpet
your silhouette
asleep
in
bed

Wolf smile
mouth watering
teeth glistening
eyes sparkling

You awake when you feel
cold
steel
on your throat

Your eyes widen
flinching
mouth opens
scream
piercing
panicked
desperate
beautiful

"there's no one here to save you now, darling."

your terror and pain is
palpable
flooding my soul with utter
satisfaction
as you squirm under your
restraints

my knife traces your skin in pleasing patterns
leaving crimson fire in its wake
drip
drip
drip
eternity passes
time in a blink
the life drains from your body
and your eyes

exhale
a swift wipe of the knife on the stained carpet
one last predator smile
another hunt
another masterpiece
finally, again, I feel
good

tiptoe
out the door
gloves buried swiftly
back in bed
again
dreaming
of you

of that first
blissful
cut
POV of a serial killer- I read too many thrillers
Sorry if it's a little gory
Man Mar 4
I feel that the light is shining on all of us,
Here today,
That are of this generation.
Without thought for creed or nation,
Dispensation or convictions.
I feel in the air
A breeze of change
From the winds of truth.
I hear the chimes
Of a pur of gust on chords
From a pale vision given color.

I see concern in the face of my brothers,
I discern a scent staining my sisters.

That they are not treated as fathers,
That they are not treated as mothers;
That they are less person & more chattel.

Whatever your chosen identity.

And even so, despite conjecture
The majority feel as such,
That line of a nation
Is one without factions.
And yet, by the party system,
That lie of a nation
Is one where we are equals.
Because in being separate
We are not different,
Not in this way.
For we are conjoined
And yet disjointed;
Debating becomes like arguing,
Disagreeing becomes like fighting.

My friends, what are we doing?
Is it not yet evident
That without the cooperation,
Consent,
And participation
By the majority of the populace
That it is impossible for us to attain real order?
Outside of seditious and nefarious plans
For power grabs of total control,
Which will all reliably fail,
There are solutions.
Nothing so final
As the extremist comics,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So salivate and dream over.
And nothing so care-free
As some sadists or hedonists,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So swoon and fall for.
Yet nor too meek or rigid
As some fanatics or magicians,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So worship and practice ritual.
No. We will be democratic
With a government
Who hears of all
That plagues & plights;
By little & tall,
Small & large.
We will have a middle,
Common ground
Where we may all be impartial.
That place we shall call,
Columbia.
The light, a fractured prism, paints a wall,
But what hues dance there, is not for all.
My eyes, a filter, stained by memory's trace,
See crimson where another finds a gentle space.
The scent of rain, to me, a promise kept,
To you, a ghost of tears, a sorrow wept.

The mountain's peak, a triumph, sharp and bold,
To those below, a story yet untold.
The river's flow, a journey, smooth and grand,
To those it floods, a vengeful, grasping hand.
A whispered word, a lover's softest plea,
To jealous ears, a sharp conspiracy.

The canvas vast, of moments spun and frayed,
Each stroke of sense, a different truth displayed.
The taste of wine, a vintage, rich and deep,
To bitter tongues, a poison they will keep.
The touch of skin, a comfort, warm and true,
To those betrayed, a wound they can't undo.

The rustling leaves, a symphony of sound,
To anxious hearts, a threat on hallowed ground.
The city's hum, a vibrant, pulsing beat,
To weary souls, a suffocating heat.
The silent stare, a gaze of pure intent,
To guilty minds, a judgment heaven-sent.

The world unfolds, a tapestry of sight,
Each thread a truth, held in a different light.
Beliefs and values, woven, tight and deep,
Shape how we see, the secrets we will keep.
A half-full glass, a beacon, shining bright,
A half-empty void, consumed by endless night.

The bridge we build, between our separate shores,
Demands a language, that forever explores.
No single map, can chart the human heart,
Each landscape shifts, and tears the world apart.
And so we ask, and listen, and explain,
To find the common ground, to ease the pain.

The silent spaces, where our visions clash,
Require the gentle touch, of understanding's flash.
To share the stories, that our senses weave,
To bridge the gaps, that time can never leave.
To build a world, where empathy can thrive,
Where different eyes, can learn to keep alive.

And in the quiet moments, when we’re alone,
We ponder the foundations, we’ve always known.
We seek the answers, in each other’s gaze,
To navigate the labyrinth, of life’s complex maze.
Though we look at things from a glass half full or half empty – perhaps the question should be - is there a glass?
Author's note:
I remember a conversation years ago, where I had acquaintances - uber-nerds that all attended undergrad studies.  They started a discussion to egg the high school-educated Marine into a debate - whether to belittle me or embarrass me.  And the quantum state postulate of Schrödinger's cat was the subject.  Though it is a physics question, it rang of a psychology question I had once concerning Perception versus Perspective - and I remember being asked to leave by my professor after disrupting the class with my answer in the form of the question in the poem.
I posed the same question to the uber-nerds, and it shut them up.
Is there a box, Is there a cat?  Is there a glass???  prove it.....  Perception vs. Perspective
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