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silence
sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives

it seems to slam louder
when they leave

i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be

here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am

lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?

celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged

all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited

once again,
i don’t care

how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to

well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i
should

how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own

maybe that’s the root

sometimes, all this reading begs the question

do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?

i think i know the answer,
eureka!

i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care

only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality

how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves

it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends

around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers

consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business

sewage

their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:

could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?

how could they?

they’d like to, i’m sure,

but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.

-melancholicreator
i dont know, i was in a mood

enjoy.
1) to solitude: for embracing my current and unavoidable state of being, not in useless ponder or contemplation, but in a organic yet intentional direction towards self forgiveness, and a transforming journey, and realization, into “being”; as described by Eckhart Tolle in “The Power of Now”. for allowing me the gift of space within, to bear fruit to earnest honesty, yet foment Light for future plans, in virtuous manner, without dream-like delusions or self torment from the past.

2) to the, slow yet obvious, dissolving of the Ego via realization, and active practice thereof, of the “observer”: as opposed to the “thinker”, which bore gorgeous fruit to disassociation from the “earthly”, and incredibly vain, self and its incessant attachment to it via unconscious living.
notes of gratitude in the form of Aurelius’s journaling style, at least an attempt at it. gonna try this on my personal, physical journal and translate what i seem worthy onto here, let me know if you enjoy.
J Vital Feb 3
I walk in the shadows, a dead man alive,
Broken pieces, whispers of survival.

I'm the ghost of my existence,
Existence carved from pains' persistence.

I'm the stillness, I find my voice,
Voice of resilience, my soul's choice.

Though shattered, I rise, I rise again,
Again, Echoes of solitude,
my silent refrain.
J Vital Jan 29
Solitude Whispers
Peaceful ripples through Serene,
Silent lake mirrors.
David Cunha Jan 13
Six string buzz galore
Stars align in solemn swear
The soul oozes out
- David Cunha
january 13, 2024
5:30 a.m.
Christian Bixler Dec 2023
dim hallway
alone the hanging lamp
floats
brandychanning Nov 2023
the sol and solitude
scalpel~dissect layers of tissue,
marrows of nuclei separate,
the warming is discomforting

dismayed and dissuaded,
cannot be in two places,
either/or/or simultaneous,
my centerpiece is a-kilter

wavering and waving,
my balance is mis-weighted,
teetering and tottering, in a land
lightly and thickly discriminating

between bodies and disembodiment
I am neither
I am both,
therefore,
I am invisible
to eyes that are shut by
obstructions of
willful
blindness
ShininGale Nov 2023
Through the years I have watched and defended you on my mind,
even to myself I exploit my own plot of the story.

I know your love has its limit,
I saw the clear lines and live with it.
I know I was treated differently,
but hey! I told myself I've always wanted this.

𝙏𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩.

It was easier to agree and trust others, right?
But with me there are words added to the lines.

It has always been this way;
to become someone your own, but always feels alone.
0110110202309055AM
I forgot when was the last time I wrote a poetry
but through the time nothing really changed.

But we became better people, better individuals.
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