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Ken Pepiton Apr 16
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


lighten up. time I know, little
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

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

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 26
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 18
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,
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 18
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.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Smoke signals from a silent cigarette
float to the heavens and linger
in the mucky conscience of regret
resting on the temple, my forefinger

Thumb lifted to expose
a metaphorical gun
countenance in prose
staring at a midnight sun

When will that monster again ****
another that I love,
Why did I so feel
like I could best the powers from above

I created a ghastly Adam
and I dare not create an innocent Eve
my future I cannot fathom
all time left to grieve

I will chase this gruesome snake
no matter where it slithers
across Hell's frozen lake
this calamity summons me hither

My final and only ambition
is to cast a life to silence
his and my cognition
will clash and bite in violence

I created a monster
and a monster created me
Madness! How it so saunters
and wails as if a banshee

Look over on the frozen horizon
a horrid shadow stalks
I, a fire stealing Titan
will march out to solve this paradox
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
There's a devil on my shoulder
with blood dripping from his hand
the other side grows colder
an angel lost in the promised land

An angel’s face
I never did see
maybe that space
developed improperly

It’s quite tragic
these choices I take
it’s not black magic
it’s my own mistakes

I guess I’m in love with the spiral
spinning down to infernal ground
infamous words gone viral
I am Prometheus bound
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