"clensing" poems
We need a piece of peace today
One of promising serenity
Of pure, tranquil energy
Absorbed and indeed reflected
Let it filter the state of mind
Clensing our presence
We need a piece of peace today
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 7:17 PM UTC
I am from...
...Endless falling from a sky of no sleep and rockstars.
...Backyard barbucues full of no one i know but everyone i'm supposed to.
...Vast wastelands of metal and glass death traps holding lots for most, but nothing for me.
...Ringing sound waves from a freshly broken wooden spoon from hitting my pan too hard.
I am from...
...The clensing pain of surviving by myself.
...Sock monster fights, ripping, arguing, bruising.
...Shouting, loud, bright spartionan battles.
...Broken guitar strings, strung too tight, couldn't hold under pressure, weak.
I am...
...A broken down car with no hope of ever running again.
...A cat trapping a mouse in a corner, smelling its fear, enjoying the game.
...A stryofoam peanut, stuck to the ones around me, never letting go.
...Fighting for my right to live, sad for when the fight is over.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
Identity facilitates a lense for which makes us capable of opinions.
Identity is what I've lacked in my attempts to connect with the world.
Identity helps to emphasize with others. To build a community through shared values and beliefs.
I am an earthing I have no identity beyond this.
Who I am has been erased from a lifetime of isomorphism.
Does this erase you to?
To collide the world into one being.
One consiousness.
One struggle, sameness to our differences?
Does this erase you?
Culture washed away, clensing my skin.
Scrubbing away at me until I am white.
"Clean".
While cradling my head and whispering mimetic kindness.
Cleansing me of who I could be.
Cleansing me of my ancestors values.
I have been erased.
Just a physical embodiement of what Im allowed to be.
I am human.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
removed from the soil
tossed in a bin
washed in the devils sin
distributed to the masses
spewing his message
repeat when needed
or turn the page
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
everynight
before he lays in bed
he goes on his knees
and pray
he prays to the mighty lord
if he may please
let him breathe his last breath
before the sun rose again
when he sleeps
whispers of terrors still filled his head
what a quiet night
but the noise continues
and haunts him
mainly during the night
those men with unholy hands
even though they always prayed
prayed all day
prayed all night
prayed prayed prayed
some even prayed for peace
arent they holy men?
little ones
just ten or so years old
children of god
angels with clean fresh souls
havent even sinned
life has barely began
but they didnt believe in the same
that reason they were left on dung
you are all pure
but to the men you were all evil
evil human beings
killed
thousands at a time
for something
the little ones dont even know
and doesnt make sense afterall
they had no hope
taken away from this earth
some havent even reached two days old
sweet angels dont cry
you werent the only ones
your mama and papa
and whoever
that were not 'abiding the laws'
to the men you were all bad bad souls
shot or bombed
the ***** creatures excuse was
that they were just clensing the world
just believe in what they believed in
and you should be safe
but freedom wasnt a choice
to them you are just a part of a game
and they will never care or feel any shame
that man still cant sleep
still begging on his knees
praying to be with his son again
thats when he will feel complete
those ***** men
pray and promise to never hurt a soul
then lay in bed
smile and thinking about the sounds of terror
to them those were the sound of sweet death
something they took pride in
what a honour
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 7:29 AM UTC