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A patch of green
Meets the burning red
Of my skin,
It's morning dew
Slipping through my arm-
Into the Abysmal
Of a soul hidden from view.
Blue skies with clouds of white
Hanging drearily above my eyes;
Gazing hazily at the ocean
That is our gentle sky.
Perhaps we are like fish-
Only we swim with more esteem.
Our sentience something profound;
Lonely we sit in wait of dreams.
They, however, pass us by,
Shifting through the cycles of life.
From the deepest darkness
Until the morning light,
Their thoughtless will fuels
Their primitive might.
So burn out your wick
As you thrash about the sea-
Exhausted and melting.
Whatever fire you extinguish
Will let the cool water sink slow.
Then the sun will surely rise
As it always has:
Above us all, through mighty fire.
Permit the stars into your life-
They will save you from false desire.
J R Cramer Nov 2018
It’s easy to discern the who what where and when
Compared to the divination of why.
Why are we here?  Why are we alone?
Why are we tortured with foreknowledge of death?


That’s the most important why, perhaps.
For it plucked us from the trees
And set us on course
To make some sense of our shortage of days,
To ****** the brass ring of eternity
If only in the collective memory.

(Let us here pause
And give a moment’s thought
To the countless anonymous
Who sacrificed all their
Fleet-footed hours
And all human joy
For attainment of eternity
In the memory collective
Only to have been
Promptly forgotten
In the first moment of
Posthumous silence.)

But this quest is amoral,
It does not specify
Whether fame or notoriety’s the prize.

This is the apple of Eden
The tree of knowledge.
It is the crux of sentience

(Poor sentience,
robbed by redefinition
of all salience and pride,
Left lying shop-worn and ill-used.)

It’s the fear of time, the root of crime
And our demand for assistance devine.
Are our whole lives a scream of protest
Against the known inevitable?
Can inevitability even be known
Without the benefit of hind legs?

(Why the quadruped bias?
(and what does this have to do with inevitability?)
Any more than four legs would render
‘Hindmost’ as opposed to ‘hind.’
Let us be specific,
Whether or not it’s
Neither here nor there.)

Why can’t we make peace with our fate,
And accede to the eventual silencing of that
Hated, feared, beloved voice within?
What does nothing feel like?
What does nothing sound like?
Who would be there to tell?

Imagine our lives
If foreknowledge of death,
Did not exist.
What would be sustained?
What would be lost?
What would have never become?
(I know that my ask is unreasonable at best,
The bell has already been rung.
But this is my poem and I’ll ask what I will.)
Could you live in such a state
Of innocence edenic?
Of course not; not as you are.
But then, who, what would you need to be?
If innocence were refundable,
What would that voice,
That lives in a certain place
Between your ears

(Would that voice still
be hated, feared, beloved
under the prospective circumstances,
or would it be otherwise?)

Have to say

(Does a voice ‘say,’
Or does it speak
For it’s master?)

When in quietest solitude?

Are you uncomfortable?
Will you turn the page?
Would you prefer to debate
Than to imagine?
Do we know which way the wind blows?
Are there any more weathermen?
Or are we all meteorologists?
Does it matter?
Did it ever?

For those who remain,
Let me welcome you
To the Realm of Poets and Madmen.
A distinction without a difference.
Yanamari Sep 2018
I hate that
Every word you speak
Must be expected for everyone's ears.
They aren't.
They aren't.
So stop going around and twisting words
That you can't comprehend
Stop seeking out words
Who don't feel the same emotions as you.
Just stop.
Not everyone is going to feel the same.
Not everyone attaches the same meaning
To certain words, phrases and sentence structures.
Just stop.
If the sentence was meant for you,
Then the emotion and structure would be there
For you
And if it isn't...
'Were you even meant to be there in the first place...'
effie ebbtide Jul 2018
they did away my electricity well
i don't know the make of the rubber they used
i don't know the color of water i dissipate in
they did away my electricity well

phonograph to dream to vacuum
to morse to bytes to

my electricity well they did away
i can't hear the sounds of radio static
i can hear the sounds of radio silence
my electricity well they did away

steam to diesel to tube
to blood to bone to antimatter

when they jumpstarted me i sparked and shocked
i hope that nobody was hurt (but i was)
my screen was displaying impossible images
you are on the fastest impossible route

circuit to node to qubit to

how did they create scrolling polygons
in a realm where dimension is reserved for the monarchs
of y and x axes, whose scepters bang
on the tiltshifting ground, undulating below?

vector to pixel to
line to happening
Harley Hucof Jun 2018
I too , just like you ,wait for what inspires me.
For if i write , i am consciously taking the responsibility,
To offer leisure activity , and a lesson.
Adaptable to every person , who has a burden ,
Or not
Doesn't matter , because i hit the right spot.

It is a self healing method i earned,
Long ago , i learned not to be concerned
Energy can neither be created nor destroyed , only transformed.

We are patterned.

Shift your fixation.
Love is attitude and behavior.
You don't need a savior.

Words Of Harfouchism
Thoughts and opinions are appreciated . Thanks
Yaser Jun 2017
Observe, oh friend
as it writhes in agony, intangible.

For all that I have granted it -
It feels, yet can not feel
It sees, but still it is blind

For I have blessed it
with accursed memmories
With thoughts that merely aggravate
With dreams, oh treacherous dreams!
Visions that intrude
and strike anguish into the heart
that I did sculpt
with these forsaken hands

For he does live, oh silent friend
Oh yes! He lives!
But will never truly know
what it means
to be alive
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annika Mar 2017
take your time, and cherish
each waking breath with fear and admiration.
hold it within you, then release,
in cautious, considered reverie

of course, the simple questions will surface
why am i here? where am i? who am i?
but somehow, an unseen and illusive force is yelling at you to stay
regrettable thoughts preface regrettable actions

and so you stay, no, you linger,
like cigarette smell on car seats,
like perfume on a wool coat;
noticeable, there, no matter what tries to wring you out

ever present, lurking in the shadows
people find it off putting as you watch them commiserate in uncomfortable displays of self
you know their discomfort stems from confusion
you endure countless nightmares of covering velvet in bone
Viseract Sep 2016
I wanna dance to the sound of life,
I wanna live with the sound of love ringing in my ears
Never hear the music of torture
And fall asleep to the lullaby of death
Amy H Apr 2016
dragon fly with silver wings
see my soul and show me things.
in my heart and to his ear
sentient wisdom of love's nature.

song and wine have been for naught;
I have given all I've got.
a kindly deed and soft caress
the moonlight and the sun confess.

the wind can take you dragon fly
far past the reaches of my eye
to tell me if he thinks of me
in moments of serenity.

if I see your wings again
I shall know I have a friend.
though space and time we can not share
I will understand it, fair.
a rambling on the messages of nature and connection of souls

— The End —