"antithetic" poems
These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ********* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
*A nebulous hope on the silhouette of horizon.
My redeeming font , one sweet poison.
Slowly it obliterated me ,
branding with ache of reaching.
The ashes of my nous shouting and screeching.
Left with repugnant psyche of an undying hype.
Resplendent hysteria of an antithetic type.
Is it the verity or nebulous dream.
Is it the silence or vociferous scream.
The part of me desists.
The part of me resists.
To walk the path that leads to decay.
Holding the faith with doubts at bay.
What do I do , to overcome this interlace.
May be I spiflicate the existence , and
live as Inanimate* .
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
This is not a poem, this is a life.
I have fallen in love, and I know you've fallen in love (at least I hope you've fallen in love). But, our love was antithetic, it was electric, it was eccentric, it was modern. It was like moonbeams, it was like the pavement after rain. Our love was timeless, but most importantly, it was faceless. It was without impression, it was without imperfection.
I just wanted to remind you, that this is not a poem, this is a life.
I met you, and you met me, but it wasn't face to face. We never walked down the hallways of our high schools and brushed the backs of our hands together. Never would I be able to compare the glint in your eyes to the way the sun shined in our favorite spot last Wednesday at 4:32p.m. We never sat on your back porch, or leaned precariously over my balcony, and nervously leaned into one another. Never will you understand the trembling of my knees when I first heard your voice (this is all becoming very poetic), and never will I know the unabashed heat of your skin; or the cold of your dangerous glare. I'll never meet your mother, and you'll never meet my father (but that's okay, because we wouldn't want that anyways), they are our secrets locked away in a box underneath our separate and never merging beds. I crave nothing more than a love that cracks open my ribs and sends a hurricane barreling through my heart. Few have tried, yet none (only you) have succeeded. The failed have only summoned a cold winter within these bones, but you struck up a blistering summer and an incomprehensible spring, where my eyes viewed nothing but random march showers.
Sorry, I forgot that you were not a poem, and this is our life.
Only upon assessing the damage your vessel created with your departure did I realize that this is not a poem, this is a life.
(a.m.) 03/12/14
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
*As you wish
So shall it be
Silent
Obedient
Altered*
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
∅☢☯✰✿⚥∅☯✰✿☠☯✰
Religion, you harlot and ****** of the masses
I smell the stagnation you bring upon earth.
Gold becomes lead, in stained roseate glasses
diluting, corrupting, negating its worth.
Hierarchical structure and pseudo-anointing
seem holy— but prove antithetic to Christ
whose transparently sure apostolic appointing
began a new age, and sufficed.
I renounce you, religion. Your temples lie fallen…
the future arises from ruins, ever new.
Mere human unrighteous momentum must stall
when the truth spins around into view.
He was scorned, he was vilified; slain for your sin
Abrahamic philosopher, healer and friend
yet perceived as demoniac right to the end.
His beginning is here in your heart. Never fear:
Dead religion must perish for true love to win.
Hermeneutics imploding—His coming is near
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
When our eyes met
The skies united -
Your black pupils,
Of dark clouds scent,
Have been rained on
By tears
Mechanically aligned -
All these years.
When our palms matched
Distant lands collided -
Prolific earthquakes
Of feelings anew
And valleys of senses
Descended from you.
The highest mountains
Are poor and shattered -
Meaningless, little stones
At our feet...
The days go darker
As the two antithetic poles
Magnetically align -
A sole heartbeat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Malcontents are contrary.
Praiseworthy comments
Find antithetic lamments
Filled with spite and bile.
If somethings are good,
It's understood,
They're twisting all the while.
They argue black and white,
Or night and day;
Wear blinders to other ways.
They just don't see the rainbow.
Every query has three sides;
Their's is there to despise;
Contrary to pluses
Of the other three sides.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
and here had you to come
along again, to turn but
rut down-in again. why
of purpose bound-to-barter
by the wind in ragged
motion; trees don't sway,
but, more-so, break and fray
when antithetic priest-like
figures moan-chant away
the now, the new, that
coming for-into a wounded
day. a channel/offair.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 11:07 PM UTC
Stoic as I stare,
Into the limitless abyss
Encompassing our limited lifespans.
Incomprehensible: The amount which I will forever be unable to comprehend.
Knowledge: unobtainable and forbidden.
And Sun, moon, and stars,
you vain celestial bodies,
Cursed to far longer an egotistical existence than mine own span,
you are but vapor.
With this cogitation, I might face death with sheer tenacity,
I shall stare him in the face and claim I am not afraid
For all die one day.
And still I tremble.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Although I never looked closely, there's something in the Bible about cutting off the hand that causes you to sin; tearing out the eye of the same nature and casting it off.
Have you heard of it, dear? Last I checked you were a non-denominational Christian.
So maybe you have, but you're too pretentious to say so. It was always like that with you: you left things out.
It's quite interesting. I stopped believing in God around the time that I met you.
Do you remember? Two years ago, the walk home, too many dandelions. They crawled up through cracks in the newly antiquated sidewalk. I couldn't focus and you were too focused--an antithetic situation.
You were my savior for a lot longer than you should have been.
There was a shrine to you inside of my mind, with 300 steps and stone pillars time hadn't been kind to. It was like an image from a textbook, but a little more fuzzy around the edges.
Hell, I think I prayed to you; you were just as absent as the God you believed in, so it was easy.
But you're just an man.
Maybe that's too strong, maybe
child would be more suitable.
And if you're human I am almost certain that I was at the other end of this spectrum of religious allusions; one of your demons, or maybe even all of them. I represented everything you couldn't control. I ate away at you; I was the devil on your back and under your eyelids.
I can't go away. You painted me as this sort of ugly creature and put it in plain sight, and though you never looked at that cursed painting, you cursed at it a lot.
I'll be ******
But unlike you, I can always convert. You could disappear completely from me, washed away,
If I wanted you to.
And I did. I cut off the hand that caused me to sin,
I tore out the eye of mine that remembered
The veins in your hands, your bony hips
the curvature of your face, your lips
And I never saw them again.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
a vehicle of the family of man;
who say what cannot the mass.
mapmakers of the human psyche,
topographers of the human morass.
culling small order from the disarray,
trying to sow joy in infertile topsoil.
redolent the music on the mind's wind,
sacrificing sleep and self, for creation.
with all the monks within his head
praying for so many antithetic things,
notions and trinkets, truncated by dread,
oceans and skies and flutterby wings.
writing the songs of the solitary deaths
of the incomprehensible connections
missed by humankind's transient passing.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC