#manmade
Am I real,
Are you real,
Are we real,
Is it real,
Can I feel?
Do you feel?
Can we feel?
Does it feel?
Is the sky really sunny?
Is the water really running?
Is the wind really whistling?
Is the sun really blistering?
Are we products
Of a conduct
That relinquishers
Are fond of,
Are we subjects
To a subject
Where the solution
Is reject,
Are we fools
To a tool
That doesn’t know
It’s being used,
Are we falling
For a faux
That’s already been
Exposed,
And do we really know
What’s real?
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC
Death should be certain
for time to ensure renewal
by pulling life's curtain.
Be fearful of what lives forever
as hubris clouds its mind
and terror will be its only lever.
We are delirious to fathom creation
of a god without its creators flaws.
Beware of this eternal aberration.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
Ridges cut sliver thin
etched inner folds
with iron flint.
A mold once smoldered,
crimson, no longer.
Cooled, bent to the hing
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
To hear the priceless sounds,
No medicine competes.
In the rhythms, I am bound
In success or in defeat.
through the tolling of the time-
With those quickening beats,
The sound invokes with clever rhyme
both privilege and a treat:
Light and easy, peaceful and bright,
Or Insidious, sinister, audio plight.
Sorrow, hatred; loss and gain
Drugs and *** and love and pain.
From Intro to Chorus, to Verse-Refrain
melodies tattooed deep in the brain;
Act as the sun, when it does rain
And as both dirt and soap, when life does stain.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
*i
think that
i shall never see*
A Poem lovely as a Tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast,
A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her
Leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear
**A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose ***** snow has lain;**
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are
made by fools like
Me, But only God
can make a tree
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
I saw a flower
So miniscule compared to a tower
But it’s beauty so superior
The tower so inferior
Though a piece of art
Created by someone so smart
But a flower wasn’t designed
Nor created by mankind
Instead a natural piece
It’s life only a temporary lease
Nothing is forever
Nor constant, always an unpredictable endeavor
But that’s the beauty
Nature’s easily attainable duty
The want, the need, to continue on
As we look forward towards the next dawn
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
Tick, tock
We count the seconds, minutes,
hours, days,
years, decades
of our lives.
Why?
Time is a man-made construct.
We're taught to define our lives by it,
confine our very selves by it
from the time of our birth,
counting down until our death.
One, two, three, four.
Stop the counting.
Do what you have to, but then...
As far as I'm concerned
time should not be a rule,
but merely a suggestion.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC