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Reuben F May 27
-Go and do afloat;
Hope into a boat,
Of a flowering sail,
That the howling winds bail
Your true carrier.

-Breeze forth far away,
Cease worth for a day
Of a towering Sun,
That of which makes you shun
Your true carrier.
This piece is about how i see existentialism and the perhaps incomprehencible oportunity we all have that's Life. I believe phylosofy and science are our "boat" through this journey of learning that each one of us come to abandon as we ineluctably die, that the knowledge we're continuously acquiring is the "flowering sail" of that boat - it's fruitful and the only concrete way, in my view, of giving meaning to this few time we have to actively be part of nature (that i put as "the howling winds"). Clearly, this is not an agreeable poem, but more of a personal expression of thought: i see the conception of "God" (towering Sun) as a barrier in this path to knowledge and religion as a whirlpool of deceit wherein any boat might go.
Nikolas Oct 2019
Supressed feelings, this is unimaginable pressure.
Roaming around with happiness, with the greatest treause,
Though I'm showing it slightly,
that never lets me get as loose.

Hiding it and hiding it, unintentionally and uncontrollably,
Creates the biggest void, and maybe leaves you wih some ruins of what you used to be.
It's hard living in a world where I'm not like I want to be...

I need some screws, a little help, to put myself back together,
And I have to be careful, to not make myself sadder.

I know, I know, somewhere under These layers I won't see a void,
But I'm going to be complete as I used To be.
Losing yourself puts you in the most unsure and confusing state. But you have to remember that it is temporary, and working towards gaining strength back and the will to change in a positive way is the most important goal you have to have.
Imagine your life as a train –
Endless road and no more unbearable pain.
Now you are passenger, put troubles behind,
That actually twist your brilliant mind.

Landscape by landscape, sunset by sunset,
“Freedom is here!” you cheerfully said.
Others might think you must be insane
“How dare he exist unlike a last soul in the rain?”

Stay focused and do not be absorbed
By spoiled people whose troubles were not even solved.
Take reality easy, follow these words,
Now they are would be my final chords.
A poem about one person that faced reality and finally gained the freedom.
rosecoloredpoet Feb 2018
I am
         am I?
ryanë Smith Dec 2017
he was lost but never knew. life existed with no clue of what to do just the same routine run around and find new things. all he knew was he liked to eat, but never knew what eating was just a good feeling of fullness when taking another life but no worry what is life besides him. he ran across the forest floor and only he could enjoy the soothing patter of his feet across the leafs. he never knew about the world no matter how much he explored he just saw it as reality. never knew who he was to others or what he was. i am me but only known as a feeling for words where not a learn-able traite. unaware of knowledge but does he mean to be unaware. what if knowledge is pain? what do we gain besides a pointlessness when we have knowledge i wish i could follow in his footsteps but i cant imagine it. id like to hear the patter of leaves under my feet and live in thoughtless serenity.
I wrote this when I was 16 and still love it
aurora kastanias May 2017
What marvellous creatures those biped ants,
Inhabiting the terrestrial little dust sphere, third from its star.
A naturally social animal “living in a complex social colony,
with one or more breeding queens.”

What organised creatures those biped ants,
Arranging themselves in a hierarchical manner, to follow
Rules and be protected by their chief, whose interest is
The survival, wellbeing and self-enhancement of all.

What ingenious creatures those biped ants,
Drawing, inventing and building that which their mind can imagine,
Creating words out of nothing to tell each other stories,
Hand their wisdom over and down to their heir.

What intelligent creatures those biped ants,
Engaging and toying with thoughts and questions
To find answers to sentiments they spontaneously recognise,
Driven by curiosity to understand their potential and universe.

What extraordinary creatures those biped ants,
Capable of love and caring, so unusual and rare on other planets,
Believing in strength and justice, freedom and equality,
Marching for their rights and for them be willing to give up their lives.

What fragile creatures those biped ants,
So vulnerable to greed, arrogance, fear and complex,
Self-commiseration and self-loathing, punishing themselves
With self-destruction.

What paradoxical creatures those biped ants,
Dividing in colours, red or blue, black or white,
Unwilling to acknowledge that any idea is a good idea
If in the best interest of humanity as a whole and its home,

Regardless of who gives birth to it and casts the seed,
For it to grow.
Sweet pliability of a woman’s spirit
That can surrender itself to its own illusions
Somehow to cheat sorrow of their weariest moments.
Had I not trod upon such enchanted ground
I would have not known the smooth velvet path
Fancied by those rose-budded petals of delight.

When the evils of the world wear sores upon me
And there seems to be no retreat from them –
I take upon me 'your' course and leave this world
Of fit and anger and find that it is only with 'you'
That I have a clearer view of the Elysian Fields
Upon which your womanly heart depends.

I see those evils wave their ugly heads in defeat
Even unto their own thoughts as you cast out the shadows.
I lose myself in you all those ill wills finding
That it is only your affections worth living for.
Surely this is not walking in a vain shadow
Nor do I do injustice to you by walking with you.

A man walks in any direction because he claims to
Walk with the issue of his commotions – for no good reason.
But in woman, at times, she walks in the direction of her
Heart as she conquers any single bad sensation of
That heart as decisively as that of reason - often sorely
Defeated before there is a fight to be fought.

They say that a woman thinks more with the left side
Of her brain while a man thinks mostly with the right.
The journey between right and left is but a few centimeters.
That distance between those quadrants can at times seem
Light years apart as if the universe is turned topsy-turvy.
Neither is more intelligent than the other, or so they say but

Science also says

Men tend to do better with tasks requiring more localized processing
Such as mathematics which is attributed to the white matter of the brain.
Women are better at integrating and assimilating information from the
Distributed gray-matter regions of the brain, which aids
In language and communication skills.
This is a generalization and is not true of all men and women.

So how is a man to ever understand a woman or a
Woman ever to be able to understand a man?
I can only attest to my own case.
If a man subscribes himself upon such an injury
That he incapacitates that masculine routing of reason
Then his mind is forced to regenerate itself creating different
Avenues of his ability to be human.

If by accident or injury he somehow disables some of the
White matter of his brain then over time the gray matter
Takes over what the white matter no longer can perform.
In essence there isn’t a left and a right anymore.
When that happens a man is open to communication
In an entirely new and different way.

What once was a bullheaded ***** thinking mainly with
Parts of himself that were more important to him than anyone else,
Now he is forced to see both sides of every issue.
Words are not the same, music isn’t the same and
Neither is anything else, not even a single breath.
So whenever you read something from one of these mutant men –

Remember what has happened to get this one to that place.

And remember always, hope shortens all journeys
By sweetening them, so sing my little stanzas
As I sing them – as with the devotion of a hymn.
If you do this every morning you will arise
And eat your breakfast with more comfort for it.
Make no mistake of it – I am a man in every way
That a man can be a man.

It’s just according to science that
I think more like a woman.
For better or worse and
Whether anyone likes it or not.
Personally I think I'm somewhere in between.
Play on the difference between the sexes
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
On mornings hence I'll forget
to forgive this callous blow
That left me broken on the field
where angels hearts don't go

As to the scar left there upon
I'll hide it best I can
For fear they might see my pain
and think me not a man

When in future I'll be asked
to say this was my fault
Why open this tender heart within
to the unending pain of assault

As future bears witness of
my life and deeds inscribe
Descendants will think me as kind
for the life I try to describe

In life I took much less than gave
I walked the good heart line
Carried the hopes of the small
held theirs as they held mine

But to God, I say through it all
I was true to his design
Gave my heart in earnest love
for a life, sweet, gentle and divine

Original poem with music and self portrait
What can be said of the broken heart that hasn't touched most? I was much too old to be having my first and only heart break. It struck me like a thunderclap . Knocked the wind from me and set me off my heels. I was a long time injured. And to a depth yet unknown to me. This is the first poem I ever wrote! Written at the age of 47, 2008. Luckily I went on survived to love and marry again!
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
Near the road a cemetery bloomed
in the ancient noon day light
An old man stood to his task
of tending graves each night

He had spent his youth working
too afraid to spend emotion
Took all he could from everyone
but gave no love to the devotion

Romance was not his forte
he practiced disdain for mankind
Hardly giving love to another
closed away his heart and mind

Thinking life to be a race
he had pushed his way along
Took from the world no pleasure
he whistled but heard no song

Now retired and long lived
he thought himself to be paid
To have outlived all the others
was reward for plans he'd made

As he looked to stones he tended
for all those he'd known in life
An old dream ached in his chest
for words written to his wife

She had once been his true love
the only one he had known
Lost to another in his youth
he was aged, but never grown

Now his tears water her grave
stones of family, oh so few
The dreams of lost love fading
wonders of life he never knew

Called to rest some time ago
he lies cold among his peers
A shadow on winter's night
walks the graveyard of his tears

Original poem with accompanying music and pictures
What is a life for? If we cower from truly living are the extra years truly living?
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
We come into life as innocents
no prejudice upon our soul
Washed clean by a new beginning
not a single debt, nor a toll

We have two choices most of us
codes of fathers we just swallow
Or blaze a path in loneliness
others wonder but don't follow

It is that rare one we may find
who chooses to go his own way
These are the ones we all admire
not for them but us we should pray

Fearless souls unafraid to di
they the ones bucking convention
Who teach us all our life's follies
by adding a new dimension

As life progresses onward
to it's predestined conclusion
We learn then teach the least of us
to see truth not the delusion

Don't fear the ones with their own ways
for they may know what we do not
He who turns toward forgiveness
has discovered what most forgot

We all could use a little more knowledge and forgiveness
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