"causeless" poems
All it takes is a moment,
And all my happiness can fall into despair.
In just a split second,
I can go from having the best day ever,
To just another day of the week.
Equally though,
I can slip from an anxiety attack,
Straight into euphoric insanity.
But it isn't all causeless.
Yet the effects shouldn't be of such a great intensity.
It's like my emotions are hyped up on steroids,
And I can't keep them stable for long,
Before they return to this up and down,
Roller coaster ride called my life.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
In a scented garden
Bees bow into
Flower-heads.
Pigment on canvas
Leaves drying points
To scratch the
Finger-tips.
A woman places herself
In this scene.
Far-off,
Precipitous buildings cling,
Spider on a wall
And long tree line between.
Ochre
Reddish brown mingle
Subtle essence of
Feminine.
Birds bow,
Bees bow
And man too bows-
Adoration of
Mysterious earth
And miraculous
Causeless
Creation
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
Come closer beautiful girl,
kiss your lips as red as blood.
Your soul's night stars no longer shine,
drowning in the bottomless lake of your forsaken mind;
mind that's lost it's heart,
disappointing isn't it?
Your cells; a causeless riot,
storm of rage; fears and tears,
muscles; bitter exhaustion, rotting from within,
bones; eager to crush every nerve,
leave you senseless,
disillusionment poisoned greatness.
Wrap your arms around your bones,
memories won't keep you warm.
Melt your flesh to cold hard armor,
impervious to the world's sort decay.
Hide your pearly eyes in flawless shells,
drift away with the tide of his scent.
Come closer bereaved lady,
ignore the sirens of sinful sorrow.
Take my hand with no hesitation,
ascend with me;
to the apathetic void of enlightenment.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 7:35 AM UTC
The words are bleeding out, and pooling into stagnant solace.
The drive-less inhibitions of roads ends, losing me in the after thoughts of my reflections now lost to oblivion.
The stillness is heavy.
Devoid of imagination, and wonder, i am null in the nothing.
Devoid of the spark that turned to fire, i am aware of nothing.
Focusing on nothing unfurling in the darkest of hours, accepting the timelessness, of my limited consciousness, drifting outside of self, through the fruitless branches of my destination unbeknown to me.
All roads leading into themselves.
The means, justifying the ends, as my eyes only but close in settled closure.
I am closer to god in knowing.
In knowing nothing within this dreamless sleep that i keep to myself.
The low humming encapsulating the causeless cyphers of thine own obscurity.
Blurred.
Wordless.
My words are worthless, as they collapse into non-existence, and erupt upon the other side in a foray of images unseen by unlooking ears that peered into the sounds of sights heard, but only once.
Written, but only once.
Forgotten, but only once.
The sun shone but once, and the grass grew over the sidewalk.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Outside approval is ten times more common, twenty less important, and thirty more strived for
The ****** of everyone talk and talk and talk and say little to nothing.
Ideas after idea after thought is thought inescapable, different, a singular miracle
How unique am I, the harlot giggles, but inwardly, outwardly he is coolly solemn,
How clever for that, he says
And ****** by the ones who shift the glass
And turn off the fluorescence of compassion, he is unchanged, untouched, unbothered.
It’s the careless who care about the less of caring-ness,
And lost are the ones with the maps etched on their palms by benevolence,
And cold are the ones who say what they must to avoid what they should, and what they say is silence.
And what the ones who know cry for is forgiveness,
For the misstep, for the crushing blows they intend to land
On the faces of those who think that the brilliant room will make them glow,
Those sick q-tip figured devices
Who ravage the lighting, the upward slipping, causeless miracles,
Those ‘flightless’ birds, with no song, who soar for themselves out of caring eyes,
And past. Applause to the harlequin-assumed,
Who prance on in beautiful spectacle, laughed at; gluttonous and thick,
Forgive me.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
Ok. Before I go over the edge. Remember bed is over there.
Ok No what does modernisation really mean?
Can you utter a cause or a singlular theme?
Can you correspond with the elite
While they travail the armpit of luck
with money compete?
Is the totality of all modern hope
Just a pinch and a *****
At the mechanism that moves us forward?
Thought defunct.
Or really?
Is it completely
Debunked?
Have the affluent articulate contrived in their lair?
An image of hope that's been thought to declare
Constant reward
At the expense of a few
Whilst we stand in line waiting.
The snakes not the devil,
it's the queue.
Heaping on heartbreak
The causeless remiss
Seeking new nerves
Challenges this
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
.*who said... that German was, unbefitting to fulfill the concerns for the operatic?! Germans sing the most... nettopern known to man... their baroque reinterpretation... shudders the body to usurp all the ancients' phobias borrowed from the Greeks... goosebumps and... **** like:
freude, schöner götterfunken,
tochter aus elysium,
wir betreten feuertrunken,
himmlische, dein heiligtum!*
but then again...
anemia with the Wagner...
come: walhall..
come Chopin...
and an... orchestra!
you are born, to be lived...
and what questions you have,
are questions indeed,
but they are rudimentary...
and asked,
even if asked at all...
at what could be
beat estimated
the worthy time...
beside the / outside
the mortal script...
known as... life;
how does that feel?
when feeling
perfects
the "art" of the implosion
of thought?
the, missing moral "ought"
of the narrative?
the lost, theta?!
how does, that, "feel"?
all, emotion,
yet, seemingly,
no, thought?
how does that feel...
mother?
ship, micro-cosmos of
quasi-Braille telegraph...
how, does, i, "feel", mother?
the complexity of human expression,
within the confines
of the childish beginning,
culminates in the banal finality of...
that, which, is mortal...
that, which, is mortal...
will always over complicate the sentence...
and make life, almost causeless.
we are all but wagers,
in a game that consist of nothing more
than a win, or a loss...
a game, waging...
falsely perpetuating
a gain... mortality...
and a game waging...
not falsely perpetuating
a loss... again: mortality....
why should i forgive
the bass guitar omission in modern
music?!
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
The sun lies down to die
The void exists, my kingdom never came
These hallowed hands, they bear no sword
I turn my scarred back in shame
To shade these monsters from the light
The choir of undeserving life
Avenged the hand that feeds
And spat back all the seeds
We were all ignorant it’s true
And to this vile earth, only shells remain
Carved and gutted with nether enclosure
A vacuum crown with an existenceless mane
Tiredly playing the façade of composure
To satisfy terrified anti-erosion
The disciples of mine were sent into sleep
And the rest were all charmed with seasong so deep
From the bottomless, black, black ocean
The tears I shed for his glory undead
Wrenched and torn from my soul and his gold and the ghost
And the trifling lies living lachrymose lives
And the soul-stolen dead dug a ditch for their tread
In a futile fervor my cold causeless cries sound:
I have failed you God.
I have failed you so valiantly
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 2:47 AM UTC
I captured the moonlight
in tiny incandescent jars
and watched it reflect for hours
glaring fiercely to reach the stars
I plucked The Hunter
straight out of the night sky
and watched his belt dimming
unfit to pursue Pleiades, he cried
I charmed the love out of Venus
desperate to call it my own
and witnessed her beauty diminish
while my vanity cast its stones
I harnessed the light of the Sun
selfishly hoarding the ultimate power
and witnessed my own life force
become increasingly dimmer
It is causeless to ransack
or squander gifts of wholeness
allowing our fear of insufficiency
to steal what we already possess
So bask with stars in moonlights’ glitter
Honour Orion’s strength as your own
Unbind the sun’s rays to kindle your spirit
Return Venus’ love and never feel alone
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
So how might our nation
give more global warming?
Watch your world as to
what is wrong, then they
might not approve. What
is wrong? Such a person
more profound is to judge
awakened consciousness
when he freed no thing
very good. Rather than
events, give more than
the universe. Knowing
versus wants and nurture
the energy. These are
not normal times. Events
are happening like always.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
tonight
walking
i see
in
the
passing
tightly
gusseted
human things
a very small pretty
which
is in their lips
hiding till their
lover turns
(whispering sweetly nothing)
or laughs abruptly children
causing one causeless
unnecessary grin
to perch instantly
) the wind against my coat
presses coldly
November and.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
How can one person be the solidification of all my dreams,
Like when you open that box there is fragrance of peace,
Of the meaning of life, of the significance of each breath,
Like a little fluffy cloud that picked you up from despair and took you to wonderland,
Like a little boat with flippers that waded through troubling waters for you,
A giant mountain that gave you vertigo but stunted your ignorance,
A dangerously deep ocean that sunk you in the serenity of truth.
A magnificent, shiny stone, precious among the alchemists,
A knowing touch, a trust so profound,
Condensing all of my life in his palms,
Like delivering me to the other side,
Like I have seen the face of God,
and that was it, I said, take away my name, take away my existence,
Be it that this man has made me known what life is.
A sacred haven for my scandalous secrets,
Incessant rants and causeless regrets,
A fierce champion, an astute philosopher,
A pocket of sunshine, a partner in crime,
Reason for my light, reason for my tears,
Reason for my smiles, reason for my fears.
I saw myself in his eyes, neatly wrapped in a tear never fallen.
While they called me a hopeless romantic,
I thanked my heart because it wasn't - it was a seat of hope and desire.
True to my name.
And his heart was a seat of love and wisdom.
That was protected from the world's desires.
But how utterly beautiful now to give away to anonymity,
Because my existence cannot be defined or held together in a few letters anymore.
Amid that truthful presence.
But the most important,
The source of my purity,
The depth of my kindness,
Beacon of my wisdom,
How can one man be...
But he is.
But he is..
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
Once, there was a balcony your body clutched like a tree limb
But there wasn't enough inertia in your heels
There wasn't enough sorrow in your heart
There wasn't enough of a gust to send you over.
Once, there was the earth my body burrowed into like an urchin
But there wasn't enough soil to cover me
There wasn't enough gravity to immerse me
There wasn't enough wanderlust to keep me digging.
More than once, we had sighed in the glow of a lonely moon
We had misconstrued misfortune for opportunity
And we had became immune to the idea of repose
More than once, we tasted salt; in tears, in seabeds, in seared skin of the heart
We felt faulted, in both spirit and in brooding sincerity
We thought the worries we were haunted by were causeless
We've bared scars on our palms from digging
From gripping on to any bit of the world to stop it from spinning
But when our fingers interlace, and our wounds overlap, you will find a map of home.
Once, we were on a balcony with a bottle of bourbon.
A gust of faith was enough to push you off the edge
A surrender was enough to unearth me.
And together we drown into the pool of how beautiful it is to get lost in vulnerability.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 6:19 AM UTC
Seabed steps balancing an open rhythm,
hardwired horizon, Basquiat cross-out head.
Sparking concavities of globed trips,
causeless smiles, here~wear one too if
you want.
Off at shine in the make, steps supping ripples
to helices, empyrean's safety cords
vibrating fast enough to shake off
any spell.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
"A Heavenly exile exists until Light returns unbroken to its source. There is no Light without Darkness, and no Darkness without Light. At every step we take there are worlds upon worlds before us, every journey has a secret destination of which the traveller is unaware; right work and diligence will bring out the hidden reward. Never seek to imitate the spiritual path of another. Forgetfulness is exile, remembrance is redemption fore true knowledge comes from the heart; see oneself with all your heart, with both your impulses seek peace within. Have you a scripture that promises you whatever you choose, and having died once shall die no more. That you shall have what you yourselves ordain''.
Spake the invisible fallen angel, the ruler of those who give that gain by giving, whose appearance would **** most with fright.
"With Song we can open the gates of Heaven, cleaving to God-
Here I am, I am present and just as the celestial stream flows on forever without ceasing, so must one see that his own river and spring shall not cease in the world and that a prayer without devotion is not prayer''.
Continued, Eblis the jinnee, with a breath of awareness upon the tip of a flaming xipoid tongue. The same of which he was made and used also to question the Almighty Maker, having before the fall asked,
''Me thou hast created of smokeless fire, And shall I reverence a creature made of dust?''.
But of this most men have no knowledge and a curse that is causeless does not alight with devil's luck or diabolism's sortilege no matter what one wishes.
ELEETE J MUIR
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 10:25 PM UTC
History tells stories of epic truth
This recounts an upheaval in Zanján
The Báb's blazing influence in his proofs
Opposed by the Mujtahids of Iran
I see the light of enkindled heroes
Dissolving ties of worldly attachment
Souls' lives sacrificed through horrendous blows
Causeless bloodshed, we ask, to what extent?
Formidable Hujját, in God, trusted
Struck dead by cannon, wife and young baby
For mere appeal to the Sháh for justice
Her name was Khadíjih, his was Hádí
At last, though suffering, he did not grieve
In heavenly blessings did he believe
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC
Born into
a dying moment
dry breathing
and distant sounds
the Echoplex
of stacatto reverberations
as Causeless care
is Shuffled lightly
each dealt
a sovereign play
of words - deeds
becoming seeds
planted
below
the Flatline screen
the rooted vein
of blood -fed
abberations
averted versions
by abbrogated
participation
in colluded
Instituted falsification
declarations
leaving each one
only the thinnest
of self- satisfying sanctuary
within
those deepest recesses
of absolution
that place
that never sees no sun
rooted deep
entangled
by rote remote repetition until received - until believed there was nothing... Nothing nothing ... nothing we could have done.
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 12:29 PM UTC