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I see so many people,
Who carry their dread,
Like concrete umbrellas,
Up over their heads.

No time for sunlight-
Preparing for rain.
Ready to fight-
But not to feel pain.

All wrapped up in themselves,
Discontent with their lives,
Like they’re owed something else,
Than a good day to die.

Awareness floats on an eternal sea,
A glittering instant of consciousness ,
Vibrating between unrealities,
On a firmament of impermanence.

For no reason deciding to spring up from the ground,
As we careen through an exploding universe.
We spend our time trying to tear each other down,
The hue of our flesh sacks determining what we’re worth.

The earth is our mother and my ancestors are there,
I’m not scared to die as I was born- screaming and naked-
To love life as a moth loves fire is to live a prayer;
I am terrified of the moment being wasted.

Hope and freedom are not found
Behind the illusion of truth.
Look to Prometheus bound-
Who cares little to nothing for Zeus.
“A fool thinks he will live forever if only he can avoid a fight, but old age will bring him no peace, even if weapons do.” Havamal 16

My favorite account of the Prometheus legend is one told by Joseph Campbell in which the chained titan is given a chance to be released if only he apologizes to Zeus. Prometheus looks up at the messenger and says “I care little to nothing for Zeus. Let him do as he likes.” The universe is literally ripping itself apart, relentlessly expanding until it reaches a point where it will spring back on itself and relentlessly contract back into plasma before exploding out again into a new cosmos of stars and planets and creatures who worry about things like taxes and hair color. (As far as we know anyhow.) Not only will everything we think is important be destroyed beyond a trace, even our concepts of permanence and value have no place outside of the limited context of our own time and space.

The key to finding enjoyment in a life which is ultimately devoid of inherent meaning is to focus rather on the mechanism used to determine meaning itself- this strange, dubious gift of self awareness, this X factor that makes us cry at sunsets and be kind to each other, that leads us to ask questions and paint paintings and write poetry.

We need to learn to follow the example of Prometheus and determine our own value rather than accept our subservience to the machinations of power.

The worst thing that will ever happen to you is going to happen. The best thing that will ever happen to you will also happen. You can control neither.

I used to think optimists were simple minded or had just not suffered very much yet for some reason, but it’s only since life has really kicked the **** out of me a couple times that I can truly say I’m an optimist. I’ve learned to trust my ability to heal rather than my ability to avoid pain.
Having made a conscious decision to participate in life, don’t shy away from the painful parts. You don’t walk into a boxing ring and not expect to get hit in the face a couple times.

So **** it up, buttercup. Smell the roses, fight for freedom, make this lonely ruthless life **** a little less for someone else, or do whatever makes you smile sometimes while you can. Whatever you do, don’t spend your life trying to save yourself because you’re *******. Like the brave Lakota warriors said before charging into battle against overwhelming odds-
“It is a good day to die.”
rig f laurel Jul 22
the titan stares
into the sea;
hands in pockets,
feet bare to rocks,
coat gold and black.
his wrist scars itch.
belly trembles
as birds above
chirp with hunger.
he was the one
who, before thought,
thought to birth us
and paid with pain.
all for nothing.
the fire failed.
the fall is ours.
but his fingers
snap again and
a spark flickers
down the cliff walls,
to light ways out
yet unthought-of.
that’s who he is.
at least, we hope.
Psychostasis Feb 17
I've taken something sacred
Something I probably shouldn't have

Just when the dust settled they came for me
Swarming my room like angry bees

They couldn't find my stolen treasure
So they settled for the next best thing:
My Memory

And now here I remain
Unable to remember where I put my treasures
Or what they were
Or why they were precious in the first place

Here I remain
A wretched creature unable to remember value and worth
Or why these concepts were ever important

Here I remain
A pillar of the temple fallen
Untouched by time
Yet removed from its load bearing status

But alas
The eternally burning flame
I've endured and enshrouded myself in
Keeps my cold heart warm

And as I'm burned to a crisp and reborn by the flames of Olympus
I can't help but to feel an echo of emotion
Or maybe recall the phantom of a memory
Of a time when I was hungry for this very warmth
A time when this eternal fire was all I craved
Why? I can't recall.

Maybe there was once a reason for my treasonous action
Maybe it was even a good one
But none of that matters anymore
I have it now
And no matter how many times this very flame robs me of my memory and experiences
I can at least say that I'll always remember the day that



I've taken something sacred.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
things I know nothing of
things I know little of
things I know more of
things I know all of

where should I wander?
where should I linger

seriously?

lighten up. time I know, little
enough,
now is, then was, soon

we see
we note
we mark the place on this horizon
that big star rises
or seems to rise
from, but now we know,

some how that star is moving in
time, same as me

how can any knower know
the sweet influences of pleides?

look closely,

------------------

this time, this generation

here,
we're smart, we can do math in poems
12800 years ago, 1280 decades,
128 centruien measures in each

of which, lay remnants of four generations
of **** sapiens,
of **** sapiens sapiens, and
of **** sapiens sapiens augmenticious,
all mixed up and tangle tongued.

Now, 512 generations of beings of our genus
since the
speciation of we, the people of earth;

this time, this generation

now,
we're smarter, more able to know and use
the knowing, than any
we imagine real
before us
in these past five hundred and twelve steps,
from mitomom,

to you. Individuatible you.
to you, thinker of thought things,

to you, thinker of thought things augmented
by with for through witty

inventions, for instance, example gratis, et al

the Vitruvian man made the Vitruvian wheel,

tapping the flow of rain returning to the sea, pulling, nicely, with thanks, at first,
to the river,
power at a rate of two kilo watts per hour,

The old mill stone groaned as it ground seed
that could'a' been boiled
and chewed, but for the lack of knowing

how a fire could be started,
after all the ashes have grown cold.

Oops, time skip. Now, then back

Gen one, post all hell breaking loose

who knew how to start a fire?
was it a secret kept for the few who knew?

Was prometheus as real as jesus,
had we any evidence of things unseen,
had we any substance of things hoped for?
-- why?
-- because there is a liar on the loose. And now nothing hidden remains, save what you never knew anyone could know. Or so it seems, to me,
Callie Zeph Feb 2019
We talked again tonight,
Not talking - messaging,
It's like people forget how to talk to one another nowadays.
Rarely such a thing of picking up the phone and calling a friend or an interest
We type, type, type, giving varying degrees of attention
It makes it so easy to misinterpret how interested the other person is
Every little thing is expected to have ten times more meaning than intended
And people wonder why relationships in younger generations often don't work very well
Modern relationships are pieced together like the modern Prometheus, with mixed intentions in all the right places but with conflicting commitment tearing it apart
Strange how my mind wanders this way
Cynthia Jan 2019
It's the same old story,
Isn't it?
Oh mighty eagle,
Go ahead,
Tear it.

That's what they do,
Every time,
Every day,
Whenever something new appears,
They keep it at bay.

Oh mighty eagle,
As the trumpets sound high,
You people march on,
Blind,
To the agony,
The distress,
The loss,
"Who cares?
They aren't worth a lot!
"

And hey,
Maybe I'm wrong,
And if I am,
I'll understand,
For, someone who has heart,
Should know that we all -
are equal,
And play a part.

So mighty eagle,
Trumpets that reels us in,
Tell me, if you are wrong,
Are you willing to listen?
I've written two poems named "Prometheus" now but the title fits, I guess. This one is about ... Let's just say Trumpets and eagles. Yeah. That should sum it up. (*hint* *hint* Its about a famous Disney character that is a duck and has a last name named after a musical instrument)
Cynthia Jan 2019
Brittle and Bound,
The pain never dies,
Reiterate, reborn,
A sight for old eyes.

A cliff, an edge,
When will it all end?
Halving halves,
The pain never lends.
This is what happens when I spend too much time on Ted ed -- Really good stories out there.
Bragi Oct 2018
I was so in love
With what we had made
That any sense of sufferance
Of punishment
For my actions
Became an utterance, stayed.
Lost in my satisfaction that
I had given you something far lighter;
I was so in love,
Stolen, a divine fire,
Like Prometheus.
Simra Sadaf Oct 2018
drenched in the colours
of sunlight ombré
your soul burns
so incandescently
that it could have
saved Prometheus
from the wrath of Zeus.
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