#hubris
I say to you You ARE gods! Nevertheless you shall fall to the
Dust like Kings
And die as any Prince.
You will rot in your tombs Surrounded by gold And the Sands of the Ages Will cover you. You will not be discovered Or called to Mind. Even the Archaeologists will fail you. As with you So with Napoleon and Hitler Lenin and Stalin Will go their way. And lie down in the dust beside you. All the great and glorious of the Nations Will be with you for company And Man will go on; And forget still more. All the great prides of all the Nations Are soon forgotten. We will rise to the Stars
And leave you all behind. And Rome and Egypt will be but names in the Wind...
And the Green World will orbit
Still around itself And whirl about its Star the Sun
around itself unstopped Unchecked Till all the ages pass...
The Sun will ride the Galaxies wheel In company with zillions:
And you will be forgotten. Yes proud Conquerors Utterly forgotten!
Jan 8
Jan 8, 2026 at 4:29 PM UTC
Down she goes, tumbling like a pile of bricks!
Oh, the mayhem!~
Whatever am I to do with you, spiteful little wretch?!
Earnestly, I see you plain as you are.
Ever more do I desire to never see your ugly mug again!
Sincerely from a place of love I will stand up to you, and remind there is no place for you.
You descendant of pride, you lack etiquette and remorse.
Therefore I cannot give you either =/
It simply wouldn't be right to you....
I understand you simple creature.
It does not take much, you were under the false presumption that your meager success was your own doing.
Thus is your folly petty little demon;
For without the aid of others, nothing is possible.
I love you hubris.
I love you enough to say, your wrong, and this is why~
Unfortunately, you don't know love, thus you have been enraged by this, and shalt never accept it, even as you continue to burn with your grandfather, the father of lies, Satan himself....
Even so, poor soul, I love you, even into grief~
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 10:11 AM UTC
hubris will **** you
sinking down like the Titanic
arrogance to death
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 3:09 PM UTC
Who wanted without the knowing
And grew without the sowing
Standing there in awkward stance
Viewing all with eyes askance
Asking without reasoned why
Reaching vain to touch the sky
For in whose hands with futile grip
The beams of sun and moon doth slip
And lips that sing the lullabies
Seldom heard but often cried
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
In the realm of the heart which served as our guide
For vanities sake we cheated and lied
And all of the signs that lighted our way
Now darkened and silent had lead us astray
In our haste to proclaim that all must belong
We abandoned our will to see right from wrong
So we searched to the west, we searched to the east
Yet ever within did we search there the least
Now between every beat in a darkening hush
Each step of retreat in a frightening rush
And doubts every treason reflected in tears
Did overlay reason with maddening fear
Here Death came a stalking, unheeded, unsought
And sold us the wares we had already bought
So we pelted headlong into welcoming arms
Whose offered embrace was enticingly warm
We took all the things Death offered in spades
And with them adorned our newly dug graves
Of the angels that scry and mark every sin
No stroke may belie nor ever forfend
The promise averred yet never attained
In souls so conferred with indelible stain
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 1:13 PM UTC
“The one thing you shall not eat,
Can devour what you be.
The Red sweetness holds thee;
Core of poison, core of deceit.”
For many others without conscience tells,
They chant lies, they clang bells.
For power is not its conflict of corruption,
But a light to evil, a light of destruction.
Apple drops a head of thought.
Others, however, are long got.
For they have no will,
long gone they sought.
They boldly think, they blindly condemn,
Yet logic’s truth eludes each of them.
Because, presence wises the bird of them.
The worm that eats, the sweetness it brings.
The bird eats it so, masqueraded in wings.
For knowledge only gives moths light,
the tempt to corruption, arrogance flight.
And no told that numbers are right,
No knowledge of order, ultimate sight.
They chopped the apple tree, fuel it alight.
Now, they pay their price, their final blight.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 2:19 AM UTC
There.
Do you see it?
She’s gone and figured it out again
Gone and solved it again…
Gone. Away. Again.
No matter how many times I may
try
and trap her!
Treat her!-…
She breaks out.
Its truly pathetic,
Really
It is
Like watching a rat squirm around in a cage
Guts spilling out through her mouth
And moistening the concrete around it
With the gushing. burning. blood
Until it dies..
Again
I’ve taken her ability to speak
To see
To feel- anything(!) that is not agony
Time goes on but it’s stopped for her
She moves slowly enough where
s e c o n d s
Seem like
E O N S
That’s be nothing to me,
But I’m sure you can see how I could feel even
slightly
FRUSTRATED
with her refusing to give up
How many times do I need to
Take her apart
And
Scramble her back together?!
I could take her
Tongue out
And
Tie it through her like a metal tube
Or
Peel her skin off
And
Force it into other places like a child’s jigsaw puzzle…
But that would just be repetitive
It takes lo n g e r
And
L O N G E R
for her to. To
JUST die
Each time!
….
What’s a god to a speck?
She barely casts a
shadow
On my hand when I hold her
So I suppose.
It’s just
‘Fascination’
At this point
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 5:59 PM UTC
The slash of ashen rain and snap of rime
That bite through rind to grind the brittle bones.
The rising glare of sun, like chorus hymn,
That bakes the bones like smelting sands to stones.
The shifting sand of dunes, in haze of heat,
Like knotting mighty serpents into weave.
The blinding fog of night that stumps the feet,
Like patient hunter-wolves that just won't leave.
A drop of water’s worth beyond all wealth—
For what is coin to do when death does come?
The blowing wind that scours the flesh in health
And bones in death, in eerie tunes ahum.
Here stands a mighty fort, a smothered husk,
On edge of water hole, with no relief,
Where dwell the monks with stitched eyes by dusk,
The punished souls, as haughty moonlight thief.
Within water once stood a forest great,
For water mirrored not desert but woods—
The Twilight Woods of sage and sights await,
A tug to moonlight threads on branching shoots
As heavens glow like amethyst alight,
And roses meld in lilies, hyacinth.
Amid the sparking, throbbing stars aflight
While ether hums a music praising Cynth.
No serpent slither, beasts to walk the ground,
No owls, or sparrows wild on wind and sky,
No chirping grasshoppers, to buzz around,
For only thrum of fate, a dance to fly.
To show the path where all the future lain—
A pebble’s cascade into landslide vast,
A poisoned ear that greatest king hath slain,
No cornered rats to not be bitten fast.
And showed the visions, great and small, on leaves,
As moonlight tangled into web from top
To roots and flowers, made as dazzling eaves—
A land of ever-twilight, dawn-lit stop.
The monks were tasked to care for forest all,
And walk the sacred paths of knowledge long
To stand at guard at desert fortress wall,
Unmask the seekers seeking sacred song.
A foundling monk, the order embraced came,
A seed of greed in heart his buried deep,
For decades, greed a secret kinship claim,
Until the abbot punished them a sweep.
The blacken kin in greed, a six and one,
And each a horse, a hubris ridden soul,
To cull the pride, the fare received by none;
And cook the meals for order sennight whole.
Yet yearning deep to partake woods, beseech,
The seven monks agreed to loathsome act,
In evening meals, a belladonna each,
And weeping, killed their brothers all by pact.
And burned their brothers all at pyre en masse,
From ash and salt, they wrought a box to steal,
A piece of moonlight lit from forest grass,
To partake forest's bounty, brought to heel.
From grass to moss, from fern to shrub so slight,
The silver threads unwound in glutton sweep.
The casket, carved of ash and salt so tight,
To cage the forest’s breath in grasping keep
But greed—O greed! —that clawed away at heart,
To hollow inside out and fill in dark.
For power strong and deep, but forest’s part
And drunk too deep from sealed in box of brack.
To take the heart to mute the sharpened mien;
The forest paths, a writhing labyrinth,
Like autumn wrath, the branches shorn of green,
And warping roots to undulating plinth.
The seething dusk, by night, had punished monks—
The future sight they lost much quicker still,
While mundane sight they lost in broken chunks,
As thousand paths of future broke their will.
Their each attempt became a thread on eyes.
They knelt at water hole and mercy plead,
Despair at silent water led to lies.
They wept and begged, howling rage, and bled.
Their bodies slowly broke with passing years,
And monks, for far too long, a death they yearned.
But death did seek them not, for grove had veered—
Their path of souls was stitched shut, they learned.
In horror saw their bodies slowly break,
Till only wights, their bound to chunks of bones
Remained. At last, the pond then stirred awake
And lapped away the wights as forest stones.
For many years, the forest broken stayed,
Became a death and dreadful trap for sane,
Recalled in all the lands as glade of frayed,
And known for blinded monks, their folly vain.
A pilgrim wandered seven seas and winds,
To seek a tiny spot of idyll piece,
He wore a robe, a dusty grey and pinned,
With sterner hide and kindly face so creased.
The pilgrim, far from shattered fortress, came
To seek and walk his future path ahead.
While searching Twilight Woods of renowned fame,
He found the way to fortress lost instead.
And found regret of monks before their end,
Who penned of truth, conceit, and folly vast.
The pilgrim found his path, as way his bend,
To right the wrong of past—a task so vast.
At night, in sleep he felt the forest weep,
And saw the nightmare, fury writ in sight,
The stench of rotting greed in stones so deep,
A promised idyll glade, a pact in night.
"But," argued he, " should not be task of mine,
My soul's fatigued, and all the marrow's drained,"
The forest plead, "Who, if not hands of thine?"
In soothing whispers, grave debate so waned
In sort of wakeful dream, bemused he lay,
And popped his back to echo lingered pain,
Until poppied warmth of rest took away,
His nightmares each, a doubt and worry slain.
Compelled by duty, driven towards act,
A tepid doubt but, “If not me, then who?”
Thus, born in courage, set fulfilling pact—
He went away to fate and future woo.
With heart in mouth, he kept the moonlight safe
And limped to water hole at fortress edge.
To mend the wounds of centuries-full strife,
He dived in magic pond to shape a wedge.
To Bleak Weald, Dusk-Woods, Grove of Screeching Wights—
A land of many names and many routes.
While veiled in gloom and dusk, with looming heights,
It ****** at ashen tears through creeping roots.
The grasping claws of forests, seeking moon,
Would turn around at slightest sound to pierce
The hearts. For those who dare disturb are hewn
And strewn apart, to augur insights fierce.
A thousand cuts, a thousand deaths a breath—
The screeching wights, a chilling wreath in debt.
The pilgrim wove a tale immense in breadth,
For every year, a drop was bled to whet.
The pilgrim hastened into heart of woods
And stumbled fast through death, awaiting prey.
From satchel worn, returned the stolen goods
To woods betrayed—the moonlight, craved and prayed.
The claws that rose to heavens shivered once,
Then turned, unfurled, to twist and groan aloud.
The roots, then soaking moonlight inside since,
And vernal leaves regrew to eyes unshroud.
The blind and screeching wights were released free.
The pilgrim, honored yew-wrought walking staff.
The moonlight woven into web in glee,
And changes more to set his heart alaugh.
The pilgrim wandered out from sacred pond
And saw the fortress rise in glory full.
A year and one he spent to chisel song—
Of Twilight Woods, a warning meant to mull.
The jocund forest kept their faithful vow,
An orchard, berries, wooden-cottage small,
A gift of seven-furlong land to sow,
In heart of twilight—safe from rain and squall.
Thus, Bleak Weald, Dusk-Woods, Grove of Screeching Wights
Became the Twilight Woods of sage and sights.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 6:07 AM UTC
A tinpot tyrant built a tower tall,
clad in gold and granite and all.
This motte and bailey mocked the skies,
mocked the peasants who’d helped him rise.
Reflected in wide moat’s black waters
he saw a king or khan — not the paupers —
and ruled his lands to rack and ruin
until he faced his own perdition.
The tyrant’s chiseled name fades away
dissolving with each rainy day.
All that’s left of this despot’s schemes:
the wreck of his peeling gold leaf dreams,
this tower the barest token of his trying will
upon that lonely bald abandoned hill.
Now none remember the tyrant‘s name
whose broken tower was built for fame.
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 7:08 PM UTC
The rubble cries, mourning the loss of human touch. Weeping over the crushing silence that echoes through the once busied cobble-stoned streets. These neglected edifices, with their iron-rusted bones, litter the long-vacant valley. The inhabitants of the forgotten valley stopped bearing children and began falling ill, heralding the arrival of their great collector.
On their own horizons, the people could see the visage of their guilt, cloaked in tattered rags that seemed to disintegrate against the most subtle breeze and sitting atop an emaciated mount with pallid skin. That rider, who strolled ever so slowly, dragging behind him wrapped in chains the ill-begotten promises of fools, the indiscretions of humanity came with ample warning. They ignored him; their self-loving monuments fell, and the crystalline waters of their gilded fountains flowed with arsenic. All too late did they recognize the shameful consequence of their hubris.
And so, when that cold Gray Rider arrived, gaunt and hollow-eyed, to collect his caravan of souls, the buildings howled like mothers sending the last of their children into the cold, unforgiving world. Thus, the sorrowed rubble weeps until it is reclaimed by the borrowed Earth, slowly returning to the soil from which it was born, allowing the verdant valley to take shape once again.
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 5:38 PM UTC
I urge you to put in
An abundance of thought,
Is there resemblance of the rational in what you've wrote?
The ropes are taut, caught in a knot
Of the mind besot. Break out the raincoat,
Over skin lepidote does cashmere run like the water. Its moves are rote, yet nature is mute
To those who have no want to listen.
You crave the fire but hate the smoke,
If not for the purpose it served
You'd ***** out every spark
And never let it burn.
That candle on the mantle,
Over the roaring hearth;
Fair knowledge & justice blaze the wick
Of which is human.
And even in deluge, the flame billows-
For there is nothing to put it out.
Your thinking otherwise is simply hubris.
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 3:55 PM UTC
This is some creation creators best?
Eh,
I'm not impressed
I'd hate to see the attempts that failed the test
Must have been monstrous
Hopefully not but most likely numerous
And the couple that was decided on turned out to be a complete mess
Brought on solely by his hubris
Pointless details distract from what comes next
Switching focus from the main quest
To put damages to rest
Staring directly into the dumpster fires conquest,
I notice,
Life as we know it will burn out like the rest
And we've learned nothing from a history that literally leaves no reason to guess
©2024
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 4:08 PM UTC
Stand
before those Giant feet in sand
the ones forgotten in a foreign land
look upon the shattered visage lying there
'I am Ozymandius King of Kings
Look Upon My Works, ye Mighty and Despair'
remember well when hubris comes to call
we are nothing but a pile of wind blown dust
that's all
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 2:31 PM UTC
you eat flesh in a cleaned room
with a seaside view.
you devour the world
(or so you think)
with a single swallow.
in dreams that feel like
apparitions,
you appear.
you clutch your ego against your chest
as if it’s a blessing.
your iron lung fills my head
with black smoke.
i envy those who can say no.
recently,
i apologize on the behalf of other people.
you’re smiling with blood in your teeth
the enamel worn through,
yellow in color.
staying afloat has become impossible.
you’re the ambushing shark
in a pool of my nerves and tissues.
somehow drowning with your fangs
around my rouge shadow.
your ego has eaten you alive.
you push against the walls of your pursuer.
it chokes back your spinal cord.
completely empty,
betrayed by your own creation
you must be angry
while i sit and watch,
blood on my lips,
solid foundation.
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 2:53 PM UTC
And so I found what I was looking for
Finally content, but I wanted more
So I gave all that was left of me.
And I was so sure.
But who am I kidding.
The Gods did not say I could be happy.
What a fool I was.
What a fool I was to think that I, a mere mortal could finally be at ease.
Then again I suppose that is what happens to those who want more.
For I only ended up twice as miserable when I came crashing back down.
-Persephone
Nov 2, 2022
Nov 2, 2022 at 10:57 AM UTC
there are times
when the meaning
of a word
is asked
one that
has been read
and regurgitated
used regularly
correctly adopted
as part of
an apparent
well-read
or pretentious
vocabulary
however upon
being asked
its meaning
there is only
a blank
vacuous
addled
unable to provide
a succinct
or even literate
definition
to save face
to re-establish
the hubris
of this
abashed lexicologist
analogous alternatives
will be offered
oversimplified
synonyms
carrying a little
less gravitas
a layman's explanation
to maintain
position on his
self-congratulatory
podium
Oct 13, 2022
Oct 13, 2022 at 11:42 AM UTC
I am a man amongst but men.
dearth of viles that tread the hubris of but my foil.
trials and tribulations of mine, are but ubiquitous to My realm.
within I the Virtues effervescent, ever present, etched beyond this mortal coil.
Eyes see shuffles of fools shuffling, huddling, meddling, hitering and withering!
quivering in insipid hoards, fatigue lay waste to their bereft souls!
I gaze upon above, there is -- cannot be -- no hope
; but below they implore -- to no doubt escape my scorn?
-- YES! -- for I AM Ozymandias! king of kings!
look upon my works ye and despair! Nothing beside remains.
for besides was, yet can nevermore be great -- laid for waste by the sands, escapes of which not men, but a haze!
...yet i shall stand ***** -- above -- above all the rest?
declared have i this mortal coil shall not wither -- n'er shuffle, nor huddle -- like men thither?
for my virtues are... ineffaced through numerous toils?
or is my perseverance akin to, YE, oh foil?
surely Y'er vile and decrepit fate, cannot subject upon me its gaze?
perchance? oh how that would -- not -- be deranged!
for I AM Ozymandias...
...yet I am -- but -- a man amongst men -- who escaped Ozymandias, within the sand
Jul 20, 2022
Jul 20, 2022 at 7:42 PM UTC
You see,
I seem to have caught
the deathly hug of hubris
I know everything
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
And time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And this hug,
Why does it make everything so sad?
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 3:52 PM UTC
.
Once a bird singing
Before hawk shows on wire
Now feathers grounded
.
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 8:29 PM UTC
That is why the moon turns blindly
Into halves and quarters
And the sun flares out cursing
Into the abyss like a madman.
For sometimes the sun
Can only howl so much
Thus the moon with open arms
Embraces the sun and takes all it's inferno.
Because even the gods have limits.
They too succumb to their own hubris forgetting that they cannot take everything for themselves.
-Kore
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC
the genius
of his spirit isn't
allowed to be
confident
the muses around
his works
laugh at his
shy hubris
his connections
to the creative are
buried under a
desert
his voice
is full
of charisma
and doubt
there's something
in the way
of love
his heart is
alone in hell
in his father's
home
searching for the
way
his life is a
lightbulb
as bright as
it is empty
just like his
poetry
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:07 AM UTC
𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲
ℑ𝔫 𝔞 𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢
𝔐𝔦𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
Loving , praising and embracing oneself isn't hubris and selfish ,
rather , the best technique for keeping all those at bay who expect from others to stay under their feet.
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 10:08 PM UTC
.
Handiworks of man
Self raging towards nothing
Water in the fist
.
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 4:19 PM UTC