"acuteness" poems
Life of a man in poverty is pure experiment,
It effortlessly starts in the morning on each day
Swaddled in acuteness of despair and hope,
Hoping to pass on food for breakfast and lunch
Without test of agony in hunger pains;wistfullness
As drive for opportunity of super is forcefully atomic,
Projecting for bliss in posterity without education,
As paranoia of a merchant awaits disillusionment,
Pumping into regular snags from fortune creation,
As economic powers that be fix final nails
to the coffin, in which rests twist of fate,
Hoping for global relations to succor the times
As self reinforced poverty fetters all experiments,
Happening to be in the pauper’s laboratory,
Converting everything all into poverty’s turf.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
You grind off my fingerprints
To remove my identity
Putting your finger to my lips
The silence will better me
You're a predatory anemone
That can look ahead of me
Sensing the dread in me
Slicing me splendidly
Despite my defended pleas
You ruthlessly rend me
To bring about an ending
To that ring you were lending
So our lives will stop blending
You break my heart
Then sow it back together
You stop and start
Leading me on forever
As I fall into darkness
Only seeing your face
Is this just a dark test?
Or is this a futile race?
I move like a shark rests
When you can't be replaced
I am paralyzed
By your hazel eyes
Catching the gaze of mine
Through a maze of lies
And my ways of crime
Are infantilized
By your infanticide
Roller coaster ride
Of which I must abide
Because this lust of mine
Convinces me rust is fine
And to ignore passing time
You make me want to live
You make me want to die
I have everything to give
Instead I reluctantly fly
Through the dark clouds looming
Formed after you cut through me
With the acuteness of your beauty
And the bullets you were shooting
That I attempted to dodge
And denied their existence
I want you to live in my lodge
Yet I always meet resistance
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
This convalescence eases on slowly,
Coy acuteness craves the longing contentment!!
No resentment, as I walk high heel to booted lace!!!
Creditor, to whom Didst thou pay thine debt?
Or is thy debt still owed?
Curiosity is crowched beneathe the delinquency of fendid demagogues!!
Mortar of temples and synagogues,
You chief cornerstone!!!
You guru with no home,
Curvature of decadence delineates your demeaning haste,
Open up taste the taste, and heed thy view!!!
A must programmed to turn muteable,
A mourner for me and you.
Omniscient angels raistheth me above the mountains peaks,
Where the strange instruments are observable,
And lovers are loveable,
As your kin she will be to be more than distraction!!!!
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
There was once a boy
Full of energy
And child-like tenderness
The likes of which
Could fill a room
With the softest of light
He thought this ability,
Of bringing smiles
To the grimmest of faces,
A gift
One of his own making
He grew through this
Giving these instances of joy
Blind to the eternity of melancholy behind them
Moving in a warm field
Paying attention only to the most luscious of fruits
While ignoring the weeds which flourished under
Such a privilege he held
Partaking in his life of ignorance
Enraptured by the small moments
He took to hold eternities
He wandered in this garden
Taken only to those colors most vivid
While ignoring their insignificance
But there comes a time
When even the greatest of these colors pale
Perhaps it was a greater shock to him
To see past the earlier smiles
And finally perceive
The pain that lay behind
Masked by the limpest of wrappings
In order to prevent those outside
To share in its burden
He saw this
The greatest of depths
Fueled by his singular experience, perhaps cruel
Most never see these depths
Wrapped in similar worlds,
Built on privilege and painkillers
Never ripping off the bandage
To experience the true pain behind
He fell far
Into this abyss of loathing
Knowing not how others could live with it
Eventually deciding
He couldn’t
It’s in these instances
On the barrier between free fall
And the climb’s first grip
Which can either define an age
Or extinguish its potential
There was once a boy
Aimless and despondent
Holding the burden of experience
Of the force barely held back by the bravest of smiles
The likes of which
Could empty the most vivid of souls
With a blue acuteness
But in the moment he could have succumbed to its impossibility
He instead witnessed something similar, yet entirely unique:
A smile
Yet this one smiling, somehow, past the pain
Holding both the curve of brittle lips
And twinkle of eyes, ones which had seen it all
There was once a boy
Who grew thinking he knew joy
Able to give it at his whim
And when he found the truth behind this sentiment
In the moment he may have succumbed to its inevitability
He found where true joy was held
Not in the smile of those pretending against the truth
But in those who did so in the presence of it
And the boy was no more
As he fell
To the Man who rose in his stead
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
A man must walk with a certain swagger when alone,
Falling sharply through all the corridors of the world,
Unaffected, thinking of the women who may receive him.
This, the Fall and the tangle: the acuteness of past days brought to their brittle end.
No more time is granted for all your half remembered mornings' dreams then before the heart's ready sacrifice, heel bone's tread.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
My friend has these eyes
flecks of gold hold vast to her pupils
sorrow is magnified in them
as she looks at the gray world
My friend has these eyes
they see color in small things
create masterpieces when she focuses them
but disregard the true beauty they see in the mirror
My friend has these eyes
I wish she could trade with my own
so she could see her eyes the way I see them
and understand what looking into them is like
My friend has these eyes
I know not what mysteries they have seen
know not the acuteness of their vision
nor the times they have bathed in a sea of saltwater tears
My friend, you have eyes so why can't you see?
The beauty that surrounds the emotion you project
onto the world?Good, bad, and despairing
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
Highschool.
You hear the word, what pops up?
For most adults, the awkward times or the years where you were so irresponsible you can’t believe yourself looking back at the memories. For some, it was violently preparing for university, stressing over your career choice. Many of you had your first boyfriends or girlfriends there. All in all, not bad.
I don’t really have that.
I never felt awkward for a period exceeding 5 minutes or so, I’m barely ever irresponsible (especially not in school), I’m not violently preparing nor am I prepared, especially considering I just realized I should be studying for SATS if I want to go study in California. I don’t have a boyfriend, never did, and I’m not interested in anyone.
Many times, I feel I don’t belong where I am, but not in the sense that I don’t fit in. I can and I do fit in because I choose to, but my full capacity does not. Many times, I’ve been described as wise beyond my years, often asked what I’m studying in university as well. I’ve always connected and interacted better with adults, even as a young girl, and now, my only best friend in the country is a past teacher of mine, while my other best friend lives in England now, and we connect nearly every day.
I am ambitious and intelligent, and I want more out of life. I am deeply moved and inspired by music, finding a passion in it where most only appreciate the tune and connect vaguely with the message. I believe my ability to sing enhances this acuteness as well. I am a highly receptive human being, and I can detect nearly any emotion in the person I’m communicating with, whether they are aware of this emotion or not. I am more deeply aware and knowledgeable than most people are aware of.
I am insecure sometimes. I can be in a bad mood. I’m not perfect. I’m not immune to most things. But I’m always working on it.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
Lumbago awakened me in tears
of pain and fear of intensifying
acuteness, worsening condition
compelling mind to impose
therapeutical distraction,
persuading fantasy to create
spontaneous cuttings of pictures,
papers, magazines, old national
geographic dreams scopelessly selected
waiting on ideas to sparkle a theme
from coffee, cigarettes and analgesics.
Human evolution standing behind bars,
as I ponder on the meaning not
of the artwork but its making,
for I have no walls to hang
the sticky assemblage and haven’t
had them for a while. Used to clothes
in suitcases, books on other people’s
shelves, memories in shoeboxes,
the essence of my being in a body.
Oh walls! So longed for by humanity
urging to ***** building distance one
brick at the time, compartmentalising
individuals looking for pseudo shelter
under roofs, spurious safety behind
ramparts, four to enclose shame
for their actions, inconsiderate
behaviour of the willingly blind.
Yet what if there weren’t any walls?
People unable to neglect the sorrow
of their neighbours for they’re standing,
just by them, no drawing the curtains
no locking the doors, no closing
the gates. People inhabiting open
landscapes, bonded by necessity to engage
in living together, for unity is strength.
No wonder why our kind is so fragile today.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
The acuteness of the first fall is directly related to the acuteness of the pain,
And you are the sharpest thing I’ve ever felt.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC