#interrogation - Hello Poetry

could you imagine what it’s like to not imagine? to feel a feeling, before it ever happened? to tell a breeze from a beast, waiting in the cabin? to conclusively deny the myth of the dragon? could you ever really know the false from the true – having lived so little in a world so new? could you live with love, when all you have is you? could you assure the blind that the sky is blue? could you split the atom, and fill the void – with a hate so violent you were meant to avoid? could you find your peace, amidst a frenzy on steroids? could you smother the fire with which you toyed? could there ever be a time you’d know for sure – if you should let go, or endure… a bit more? could you think for yourself, with thoughts obscure? would you dare to tell your child - ‘you’d better mature’?

0

Mar 6, 2025

Mar 6, 2025 at 1:10 AM UTC

dead_poet

could you...?

could you imagine what it’s like to not imagine? to feel a feeling, before it ever happened? to tell a breeze from a beast, waiting in the cabin? to conclusively deny the myth of the dragon? could you ever really know the false from the true – having lived so little in a world so new? could you live with love, when all you have is you? could you assure the blind that the sky is blue? could you split the atom, and fill the void – with a hate so violent you were meant to avoid? could you find your peace, amidst a frenzy on steroids? could you smother the fire with which you toyed? could there ever be a time you’d know for sure – if you should let go, or endure… a bit more? could you think for yourself, with thoughts obscure? would you dare to tell your child - ‘you’d better mature’?

16

A free portrait! Imagine that, At no charge this troglodyte Decided that I deserved a rendition in pulsing crimson, me! He effortlessly sliced the curve of my face, And then holding true to brute form, Let his fists do the rest of the painting. In a breath’s thought I fought the idea That this strong browed man was a fan of Yves klein, but then he caringly guided my sight Floor-bound and I noticed that he was a Monochromatic ******* Now, I wasn’t expecting Monet, But in truth the elegance of the lazy red river Careening down my cheek and neck got my hopes up. And then further was impressed by his liberalness With bottomless black crimson Where he’d only previously flirt with young pinot noir As he took a break to wash and massage his stained hands I clutched at the hope that perhaps he was done with the Onslaught with such blunt tools, As such methods could ruin the whole piece Unfortunately, he returned And his care for each swipe was becoming more More impassioned, but less precise, I asked if he perhaps needed a second break? Perhaps I could assist him, I wanted to give it a try myself, but my hands were Tied. In vain, I tried to tell him that, Perhaps, His bearish skills and appearance, Would be better suited to a life of leather, whips, and Oedipus Complexes, But his response was, Cutting. You should never laugh at an artist Especially the bad ones Because then their work some how finds a way to get worse I asked if he’d learned how to work from his father, And whether his father had worked him in any Other Manner, and that’s when I became dizzy I think. Apparently struck a nerve.

0

Feb 5, 2018

Feb 5, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC

john-paul-richard

Untitled

A free portrait! Imagine that, At no charge this troglodyte Decided that I deserved a rendition in pulsing crimson, me! He effortlessly sliced the curve of my face, And then holding true to brute form, Let his fists do the rest of the painting. In a breath’s thought I fought the idea That this strong browed man was a fan of Yves klein, but then he caringly guided my sight Floor-bound and I noticed that he was a Monochromatic ******* Now, I wasn’t expecting Monet, But in truth the elegance of the lazy red river Careening down my cheek and neck got my hopes up. And then further was impressed by his liberalness With bottomless black crimson Where he’d only previously flirt with young pinot noir As he took a break to wash and massage his stained hands I clutched at the hope that perhaps he was done with the Onslaught with such blunt tools, As such methods could ruin the whole piece Unfortunately, he returned And his care for each swipe was becoming more More impassioned, but less precise, I asked if he perhaps needed a second break? Perhaps I could assist him, I wanted to give it a try myself, but my hands were Tied. In vain, I tried to tell him that, Perhaps, His bearish skills and appearance, Would be better suited to a life of leather, whips, and Oedipus Complexes, But his response was, Cutting. You should never laugh at an artist Especially the bad ones Because then their work some how finds a way to get worse I asked if he’d learned how to work from his father, And whether his father had worked him in any Other Manner, and that’s when I became dizzy I think. Apparently struck a nerve.

44

Is it okay to accept someone Who made you feel so rejected? Is it okay to respect someone Who made you feel so disrespected? Is it okay to be strong for someone Who made you feel so weak? Is it okay to love someone Who made you feel so unloved?

0

Jun 11, 2015

Jun 11, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC

dantherpamez

Irony

Is it okay to accept someone Who made you feel so rejected? Is it okay to respect someone Who made you feel so disrespected? Is it okay to be strong for someone Who made you feel so weak? Is it okay to love someone Who made you feel so unloved?

8