"despairingly" poems
This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old human,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The wind shifts like this:
Like humans approaching proudly,
Like humans approaching angrily.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy and heavy,
Who does not care.
5.7k
Colors fade together
Lines blur
Madly, truly, deeply, for an instant
Moved to hate, in an instant
I wish so despairingly
That I could Love You
But know that I never will
I wish so desperately
that I could Love Someone,
Anyone
Yet I know I never can
Bones elongate, stretch to impossible lengths
Soul trapped inside
Manically rattling its prison walls
Begging to live
To be set free to hug the steaming pavement until
Skin slithers away like worms;
Mindless, fearful
Begging to love you, whoever you are
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 8:55 AM UTC
dearest stranger,
i am too abstract now for my own good. i feel and hold myself, in place, in my hands and i slip right through like sunlight, like tiny moth scales, like the delusions of a sauntering ghost, like all things unreal and untouchable, like a madwoman, laughing away in her free fall to an unsteady ground.
and all the flowers are cheering in their surreal, psychedelic scarlets, and all the rocks are breaking, and all the words are failing to capture what i truly feel.
am i still despairingly corporeal, like paper napkins and panes of glass? am i still in actual flesh, now that god doesn't exist? am i still as tangible as this last, frantic breath of a letter?
am i still actually here?
bidding my farewell now,
ginia
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 11:35 PM UTC
She was holding on to a man broken
every gesture made, every word spoken
was a desperate cry from a place so deep
that he can only reach it in his sleep
she holds him together so the pieces don’t fly away
keeping her balance as he kneels to pray
sometimes he sees her, sometimes he doesn’t
sometimes he lives in his past, sometimes his present
she implored, she beseeched
she tried action, she tried speech
‘if you cannot love me, let me know
if you will not love me, let me go’
But he holds on, as if holding on for dear life
as if he is drowning and every stroke is in strife
as if she is the only thing keeping him afloat
as if she was every single word he ever wrote
and his eye remains to the shore -
someplace clear but far
it seems within reach yet
more distant than a star
more and more it appears an exercise in futility
finally admitting it is beyond her ability
she drops to her knees, eyes up to the Master
trying to prevent her heart’s impending disaster
the weight is so heavy, so hard to bear
hope only comes in the form of a prayer
with hardship comes ease, promises the Beloved
but try as she might, she cannot rise above it
despairingly close to losing all hope, she implored
her tender hands bleeding from the double-edged sword
would letting go bring relief or a tortuous void?
would her heart remember the previously enjoyed?
♦
~ epilogue:
Then one quiet night upon an angel’s wing
she heard a voice that only an angel can bring
somewhere between a sigh and a scream
somewhere within a half-awakened dream
She watched him float above the ocean waves
his feathered wings skimming the waters surface
catching rays of sunlight into pristine prisms
a radiant reflection of blue-green and turquoise
From the edge of clouds, he finally spoke
and his words became a poem
singing sweetly behind smiling eyes
gliding together over the ocean foam
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
did you have a
good thanksgiving?
not to bring you down
but the people who
first helped the whites
are the poorest folk around.
the Nations of Lakota
the Navajo. the Sioux
they live their lives despairingly
not knowing what to do.
these people have rich heritage
some live off the land.
but the rez may not be able
to give them ground to stand.
what Caucasian people
gave the native folk
were the parts unwanted
a disgrace! a joke!
some put up casinos
to "help" them in their plight
but much of this income
is wrenched from them by the white!
drugs and "fire water"
are a great deal to blame
for destruction of a culture
which bears noble name!
I have read the stories
of Gallup New Mexico
of many deaths of citizens
of the nation Navajo
because intoxication
and the bitter cold
have them sleeping under cars
or so the stories told.
when the owner of the vehicle
gets in and drives away
they run over the poor drunkard
who dies where they lay.
other grave conditions
have these people fraught
they have no essentials
we don't give a thought.
don't want to be crass
don't want to be gross
but they have no toilet paper
use newspaper! or worse!
there are churches. charity
but the folk are proud
they have basic dignity
this is not allowed.
but you can help their Nations
by giving to THEM
the worthy tribal leaders
will help them once again.
I felt lead to write this
I am SO concerned
they are the source of inspiration
by a great respect
they've earned.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/27/2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Drifting downwards on the stony hills, only to be picked up by the breeze,
I can hear my lover's voice echo off on the lonely landscape.
Where are you, my love? Your voice plays like a sadden tune,
It sinks into the chambers of my heart.
I am unsettled; I search for you aimlessly.
Wisps of dark clouds form, a gush of wind picks up, I am caught in the midst of a storm.
Again, distance and time conspire to separate us.
Unable to see, I can hear only raucous roars of thunder and lighting.
Your voice fades away.
As the wretched winds push me, I try despairingly to hold on to something.
The storm gently ceases. My eyes open, I see my arms wrapped around you.
Two lovers lost finally come together forever.
Holding hands down the paths we walk,
As the splendent sun slowly sinks in the hills,
a new chapter awaits where love finally blooms
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC
Your explanations -
Truthfully dishonest.
Your rationality -
Crazily sane.
My character -
Recklessly patient.
My feelings -
Despairingly hopeful.
Our love -
Simply complicated.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
****** darling
You pretty much own this helpless heart
Knock on wood
Because every time I plan to despairingly sit
I end up fallaciously understood
Desire one and get two
Because my personal algebraic anomaly
Leads me
Then leaves me
All but a clue of what to do
Which lane to travel in
Nor which direction to go
But why not follow nature’s advices
The basic instincts, intuitions
Institutions and devices
Of this heart
But, this is just I
Feeling completely unplugged
I’m simply praying my anatomy will prevent the falling part
Of falling in love
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
I have an idea for a film:
A kid, maybe about my age,
is perpetually uncomfortable
with his own existence.
he resolves to
**** himself.
he tries what he assumes
will be the quickest,
most dramatic
and least painful
way.
he takes a toaster
and runs a bath.
the power cord doesn't reach.
he looks for an extension cord.
he cannot find one.
he tries to drown himself
instead.
but his lungs just
won't give.
he tries rat poison.
he only gets so far
before he's throwing up
his guts.
no good either.
maybe he gets so
drastic as to buy
a gun.
but the gun is
a dud:
the firing pin is
busted.
he goes through
several more of these exercises
to no avail.
finally,
despairingly,
he gives up.
upon doing this
the boy becomes
enlightened.
either that or he dies
of cancer.
I haven't made up my mind
on how it should
end yet.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
*who are we
in god we trust, the ruler of a nation bereft of purities
corrupt ink in the capsule of a human’s casing
wages printed on the stoic faces of our leaders, blood and gore imprinted on their eyelids
spilling our incoherent tangle of words into songs and pleads for relief
we are spitting images of our mother, and her mother
iodized wounds that stretch to our finger-prints that they deem must be caged and stamped at all costs
our wrists are battered and tied with the rope of our pride
and our pink flesh is swelled up with their brand freshly printed onto our skin that reads, ‘you are nothing’
nothing but chains of forgotten children abandoned in rusted swing-sets
children who’s screams are full of hot air like the balloons that loiter about our minds
the balloons that burst sharply in a staccato beat when bittered thoughts contaminate them
we are children who press our fingers into our eye sockets and scavenge around the recesses of our minds
young hands damp with drops of the dreams that cascade down the pores in our bodies
the drops that empty into the gutter that encroaches the territory of our bones
pushed back dreams like the rotten tomatoes that stink of moldy desperation in the grocery store
memories melted into perfect formations like a drill soldier with a stone-cold face empty of temerity
memories stacked up like all you can eat pancakes that drape over us like an everlasting blithe
they leave vague impressions of naivety and sit despairingly upon our caged ribs
they cower behind closed doors and occasionally peek out from the clouds of illusions to say,
‘are you happy?’
but they disappear with cruel inspection like a fading smoke because we don’t dare to discover the truth
but even still we harbor desolation-spiked weapons that secrete through the same pores that piece us together
we are the ripest of onions, a scintillating mixture of strong scents and spirits
and the moment we realize this we try to scrape the walls of our binding
try to peel ourselves of the revolving emotions that we have been programmed with
and as our wrinkled layers flake off, we learn a bit more about how different we seem to appear
until we are nothing but a sun-dried core, who has found the truth only to move never-more*
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love:
I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully
to thee-yes, only to thee!
My eyes brighten at every sight of thee,
my mind delights at the thoughts of thee,
my pulse fastens at the views of thee,
my blood curdles at the scent of thee,
my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark!
Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps,
sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee!
Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets
as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and
with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful-
sweeping straightly back into my soul.
Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers-
blowing silently with the rustic gallantry
of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated
with defiant, but affectionate branches
of terrific, terrific love for thee!
Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know-
t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee,
as well as how my pure joys rely on thee!
As despairingly as how
my soul was born for thee,
my life was crafted for thee,
my hands were paired with thee,
and thus so graciously are my young feet-
my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs
in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated
by thy gentle, manly breath.
Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate
and blessed with all the might
of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first
been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold,
my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light,
my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou
shalt always be!
And so art thou the perfect accord
to comply with all such of my mine;
as thou art but the freshest bloom
of my ****** years,
as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths-
but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious-
yet ardently succulent imagination.
And how I am so devoted to thee, my love!
Just like the stars are to the moon above.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
call you constant *** I don't
want to pretend I'm the
nihilistic indifference in
this situation- - - in fact,
I'm Jim Carrey in Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
and if the world could spin any
slower to allow my eraser to
scrape your memory away as
invalid shards into the tin of
'another-one-bites-the-dust,'
I would despairingly watch
you disappear to the point of
no-remembrance so I don't
have to despairingly watch
you disappear and remember.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
To hell with it, enough I say
It's time to rise and be ready
With the sword's sweep to go and slay
The dark forces of my enemy!
Madly I go out for the drive
Beware foes you've no retreat
I'll hunt you out wherever you thrive
And will not come back before I do it!
All around I find echoing hollow
Pitying laughter in mocking glee
I move and my own shadows follow
Despairingly crying where is the enemy!
Where is the enemy, taunts my vengeance
Where is the enemy that my wrath seeks
Where is the enemy asks my impatience,
My enemy inside me reigns in bliss!
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Doubt pours out of the water spout,
which is connected to my face.
So I shut it off,
And like a tablecloth,
conceal my cluttered shame.
I leave my castle,
and with a tattered hassle,
I strike a lovely pose.
But a pose it is, and like a stifled hymn,
I shutter at empty prose.
As soon as I leave,
I cry and then grieve,
wishing I never departed.
I long for my bed, to rest my troubled head,
and get these lost thoughts charted.
Even that's a lie,
cause I wait to die,
caring not at all to think.
The narcotics I bleed,
flushed out by swirling steam,
carry me passed the brink.
But when I start to pass,
crossing the overpass,
I slam my brakes and beg.
Then life appeases,
my Id does what it pleases,
while I struggle standing on one leg.
After night approaches,
I ash my final roaches,
and slip into my home.
Is this incarceration,
disguised as a democratic nation?
The confusion manifests as a poem.
This is never eased,
and with a new disease,
my intellect is infected.
But, this growing doubt,
that clogs my water spout,
is despairingly reflected.
Though, answers dance around,
in their lovely gowns,
they leave when the music halts.
Then my cataract,
allows the mind to detach,
and hides the mirror and my faults.
But, this is not much relief,
because my chattering teeth,
remind me that the world is cold.
Reluctant to breath,
I role up my sleeves,
because the world is for the bold.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
these thoughts are skittering katy-didn'ts
seizing and disjointed like twitchy smother-ees
sometimes i look at death despairingly
as a vacation i can't afford.
i only write poems to practice my prose
so i have fifteen minutes to write this down
and i can't hear anything with the bells in my ears
clinking together like our silver tongues.
march never seems real year after year
even when i explored your tan lines
while the upside-down sun scorched my hair
and we measured the various states of abandon.
i'm never as morose around other people
as i wish i could be, sincerely.
they are a mirror to remind me, cruelly,
that i am a sentient meatbag.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
H. In darkness,
R. shadows weave their silent threads,
H. whispers dance where moonlight dreads.
H. In light,
R. golden rays embrace the dawn,
R. hope reborn, the night withdrawn.
H. If I’m still broken,
R. let the wind collect my sighs,
H. stitch my soul where sorrow lies.
H. Laying despairingly in this life,
R. like a leaf in winter’s hand,
R. drifting lost through barren land.
R. Yet even roots in frozen ground,
hear the call of spring’s soft sound.
H. Through the cracks where teardrops fell,
hope still blooms, a quiet spell.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
The child in the the gallery cafe
Was underwhelmed by her
'Children's Lunchbox'
She sneered peeling wafer thin
Ham out from between bleach
White bread
Stares despairingly at the
Cardboard, itself adorned with
Animal iconography for her
Enjoyment
She feels patronised and no
Longer hungry
Pushing both the apple and juice
Box tumbling to the floor
She makes for the door
Her mother still unaware
I have a duty to alert her
But I just watch
She bursts out onto the
Street as I reach for her
Juicebox
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I'm running out of ways
To poetically admit
that i still hate myself for loving you.
I'm running out of space
to occupy the new scars
that relieve the pain i feel for you.
I'm running out of energy
to cry the tears i feel
when alone & not with you.
I'm running out of patience
this infinite abyss
will soon encompass me.
I'm running out of time
I no longer can wait --
spare each despairingly moment
without you.
I'm running out of love.
How long must I wait?
Do you have any decency for the pain i am to bear?
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Come now, spill your secrets
on this slowly rising floor
paint me in your misdeeds
for I am craving new colors
flickering eyes expose fresh
hesitancy that lingers clearly
upon untasted tongue
that (despairingly) longs for freedom
unfurl cold nuiscances
they hold no power here
come, proclaim your hidden inquiries
while we’ll decorate these steel walls
in our variegated offences
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Every moment that I spent with you
how much was delightful
how exciting and delectable it was
but it is the reflection of the past
I passed every moment with you until tomorrow
now are the remnants of memories only
had the pleasure of heaven in your shadow
I still remember those sweet moments
when your heart would palpitate only for me
now tears start flowing from eyes despairingly
but those are now hazy and blurry memories
now why do you keep me sulking
my baby heart now in your arms
why feels sadness
and loneliness
where gusts of cool breeze smiled till yesterday
why suddenly hot winds began to wave
now every moment with you
is like simmering heat
and your arms
appears to be a flaming volcano
what happened to those vows and promises
we had taken for an infinite relationship
why do you remain so sulking to me
why are you so heartless to me
can you return my past
can you return my eternal love
I will wait for your return
my arms are curious to hug you
my sweetheart come To rejuvenate our relationship
in the shade of banyan tree
where golden memories of our dreams
are waiting for us to embrace our love
I am waiting
and will wait till my last breath.
(By Kishan Negi)
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
Something in my throat made my unspoken words shake.
And something in between every aching memory made the lights seem like at any moment,
They would break.
The floorboards creaked with every step of my timid feet,
As the shattered glass dove in deeper and deeper,
Like it was pouring from the stained and sagging ceiling above me.
And as it opened up the scars that had just barely finished healing,
My skin screamed with pain and panic until the tears didn't want to fall,
But they did.
I could feel the sum of my strength weakening
As the first teardrop fell from my face
And landed on the ground with a vibrant shatter.
Then the tears fell like frantically racing raindrops
On a cold and stormy day.
And as they despairingly drained from me,
So did my strength.
And yet,
I thought it was all so beautiful.
But as the newly awakened wounds opened up wider and wider,
I could hear my heart howling in agony,
Hiding all alone in its quiet room.
I tried to give it something for the pain
But it just screamed louder.
So I tried to comfort it
But it just went back to hating me again.
*"Tell me when you think it was that
We became so unhappy,
So hopeless,
So vulnerable;
Sleeping out of sync
With our dreams utterly
Severed and estranged?
Tell me,
How do we fix it?"*
The constant weight of
Hope versus practicality.
I never minded it always blaming me for its mistakes,
I just made sure that I always held it
Close enough
And tight enough
During every single earthquake.
But no one is going to fix it for us,
Because no one can.
There's no one else,
There's never been.
It's just us two.
And we're not even two,
We're really just one.
And that's when things start to feel
Especially lonely.
But maybe it will all cease when I stop living my life
Staring into the barrel of a gun.
But maybe,
We're really just one.
Only one.
No one else,
No one else but me and my hardening heart,
Never apart.
Only one.
*Just me,
And my lovely counterpart.*
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Scared and alone
you huddle by yourself,
Scared and alone,
you're left with nothing but the thoughts
of your own head.
A hollow voice
that remains.
A voice that is strangely familiar,
despairingly soothing,
and yet comfortably distressing.
Scared
and alone,
you're left with the problems of your past.
Come back to raise the dead.
A ravenous beast inside,
that has yet to be fed.
Yet in the deepest corners,
of the wondrous mind you have,
you find some peace.
A way to find comfort in the deafening silence,
to quell the noise,
to drown the monster.
To stay the fight. For even just a moment longer.
And for once, even a moment. You're not scared.
But you're still alone.
Thankfully.
So stay. Alone with your thoughts. And find comfort in some sleep.
For tonight we revel in the time together.
What little time we've left to keep.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
She's a hopeless Romantic but not the kind you think of she's beauty and chaos tangled in confusion and love she'll risk shattering heartbreak as her hearts true desires unfold .She's devastatingly hopeful despairingly vulnerable down to her soul .She would rather die from breathless moments than live a life time of ordinary breathing she just needs somebody to move her so she knows she's alive .
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
Shots fired.
Expression of emotion is vital, cathartic.
My words despairingly ugly. Sensorship even uglier.
I will not find peace or sanity until i ***** my offense.
Do not negate my reality
with your unempathic offence
A survivor on defense.
The best defence is attack.
I apologise to no one
for the constant exorcism and reinfection of my demons.
You dont have to live with them.
If you take my words
and stuff them back down my throat
with your own pretty pious version of hate
dont think you won't then be a target of offence.
Don't speak for me
Dont correct me
Do not vett me
Do not circumvent or block me
my spite will pour from its source
Deep pain and loss
Regardless of my senses
Of my deliberate take on inhumanity
If you want to be humane step aside
And don't let the filth catch you on its way out!
I will shout down my demons with fire and light
Stand back!
It is done,
When tis done.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
There was magic at work there, some protecting veil
I felt beyond the mobile cab, gestalt, with its felt-angelic wings
Anew, I felt safe on that bend and wind of 322.
The needle at ¾ heading back the country road
From the quiet haven of West Chester, PA, towards here:
Oh, in awed—amazed the simplicity, we both looking
Back on the other: one loquacious and I speechless,
And simple was the history—a thousand stories and I
I picked mine!—Its grantedness between the golden parallels
My incipience of joy cutting through the last dust of the silos
The thronging corn and coral-bugs celebrating me
Or is it with me, that much too.
If I had never been down yon, I feel as though I’d know your
Serpentine nostalgia all along the miles’ track
As kept as if my birthright.
Beauteous a gateway to the Juniata-home, though miles
Away from here and subject to an absent roam.
Its waves may roil ‘gainst my native door,
‘Tis this your patchwork sister on which we humans drew
That equates paths, that pining name, that road 322.
And, oh, as before I knew of thou distant eyes
Despairingly all recollections of home in the Gallery
Of Autumn fruit: plucked, transient, and rotting.
This music! Music can’t help—I hear highschool in the chords
Playing in the lyrics, transformed by my design
As meaningful, self-serving words and they all burned
And brand to home if I, if I ever can again.
But where would I go, where do wizened lines end?
Written in sullen, maddened road maps, words to that history
All my own—does it write in the river, end in the mouth?
Or the Appalachian Eden, taken on the river’s vein
To my little fall of man, a threshold barred by flaming swords
That of hate and of command, miles fatten as years accrue
Go distant past the western sun,
Down,
Down,
PA-322.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC