"disbelieve" poems
May all those who fear me find friendship with me here.
May all those who disbelieve feel my commanding presence.
When they need love, let them in and I will nurture them.
When they hunger with desire, allow release in my audience.
They who tire will rest with me in my palace.
They who long for peace can have it in this place.
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
"To the Afterlife; whether or not it exists!"
"I disbelieve in the concept of an 'Afterlife.'"
"Well, what if there's excellent ***** in the Afterlife?"
"In that case: motherfuckin' Sold!"
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
I was on bed then clueless about my life.
I remember three years ago, it was a strife.
I was made to realize by pain of being alive.
The procedure of tracheotomy was done.
The other nose was cut into my windpipe.
The lower end of my throat was bandaged.
The two navels are located on my stomach.
The second navel was gained at the hospital.
The upper navel is not always here to be seen.
Blankly I stared at the world in front of me.
Bluntly I stared at a big wall in front of me.
Bleakly I stared at people coming to see me.
They would come few in numbers initially.
That time is something I can't recall clearly.
Then I was home worriedly waiting for him.
The eternal-seeming torture period started then.
The dreaded physiotherapist used to come then.
The kind man was renamed ***physio the ******
He caused me great pain, I was like a 3-year old.
He saw me writhe in pain & I begged for mercy.
He continued coming & I remained terrorized.
I used to ask my parents if they're actually mine.
I was made to disbelieve in them as my parents.
I took numbing pills directly into my stomach.
I used to remain in sheer terror all day long.
I took offence at the sound of the doorbell itself.
I was asking my parents if someone would come.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, dreaming is my official drug;}
some wound some abuse came to an ache a demand
things I wont suppose an understand
ought for them to ****
brought to me bruised with arms no one to fill
why does it make me mad
quickly to the rush if your eyes I hand
corner stances of broken promises landing to your palm
scratches I seem to beg my lips to kiss to calm
I hate to admit it but
I got it bad to that devilish sword
whispers of magic into my mind taste of words
cutting my limbs in crap
drowning my heavens in a trap
cause maybe then I dream
on the moment unpast unseen
think your feels would come to me
horror of a real I disbelieve
or not come to the sleeping nights I don't need
or not embrace the lots adore me in free
fly my stars to a miraculous scene
so resented so loved
yet so hard to redeem
-------ravenfeels
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 4:13 PM UTC
Real
you may think this is not true
but it is and if you disbelieve
well now start to think again
it started like this:
**I was walking downtown and was bored
I entered a bar and yelled to the bartender
"Get me a sheerly temple"
It wasn't alcohol but I liked them
I got my drink and sat down on a
circle bench and when I did a man about
6'2" blonde beach hair and a smile on his face
"Hi.I saw you walk in.Can't shoot whiskey?"He asked.
"I can I wanted something more normal.."I reply back.How did he have the rights to ask me that.How rude!
"I'm sorry your expression looks disturbed."He says.
"Sorry Mister I just don't know how you have rights to ask me if I can shoot whiskey.That Beach hair is somewhat personal,what if I couldn't cause if I did i'd die?"I say.He stares at my hair."Hot pink and green?Beautiful combination."He says."Okay thank you?"I say."No i'm being truthful."He says."Okay well maybe I like you."I say."Well I like you."He says."My name's Tiffany,call me Tiff."I say."Jacob,call me Jake."He says.**
We talk for hours then he kisses me.
Then he decides I'm dumping this girl
And that's how I got dumped for the first time.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I've trudged the tracks of righteousness alone
And walked the walk of wickedness with grace.
I've done things I cannot now condone
On either side-- you'd see it in my face.
I thank god for this life which I have wasted
And all the gifts which it has given me,
But how do I repay when I've not tasted
The lavish love of such an old decree?
"By faith" you say. I say "you have it all,
For I'm not one to disbelieve my doubt
But faith? Oh, please don't make me lol.
Betrayal changes what men are all about."
Perhaps god's nothing. I'm fine with it;
Ex nihilo cogitatione fit.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
for better or for worst
once i was blessed to know the wonder of love, acceptance and complete trust. the trio loosened, watered and nurtured my fertile soil and the future harvest took root and grew strong and wild always reaching to the skies. the farmer never got to see the harvest only the green carpet slowly hinting to change.
who is willing to take over the farmers work and tend to the lush green carpet bulging with potential? many has come forward but with hidden agendas bend on enriching the self camouflaged in the "greater good". these over time do and did and will do more damage than nature ever can inflict. despite all this the land is still present, still fertile, still growing and still hoping for a good farmer. imagining that the true owner has just gotten lost and took a few wrong turns but faith will be the morning star and lead wandering feet home. to the land in time to rejuvenate life and bring in a golden brown ripe harvest that will leave eyes wet and breathless with disbelieve at the abundance and riches despite all the hardship and pain
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
"Utter Nonsense"
these are the
first ordered syllabic constructs
that breach
the vocal chords
this day
thereby establishing
the mirror of the
Descartian Principle:
*ergo cogito, ergo sum
je pense, donc je suis
I think, therefore I am*
these words prove logically the
Left Footian Principle:
*incredulus non ero
je n'y crois, donc je ne suis pas
I disbelieve, therefore I am not*
this is all just
utter nonsense
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
Diana was a dreamer.
She wished to sail away
On a sailboat made of reverie
To let her mind wander.
"Why, sail away?" you ask,
"It's such a bad cliché!
Writer, writer,
Be more original", you say.
But no, I can't, see:
This Diana wished to sail
And if you disbelieve that
She's surely destined to fail.
Diana wished to sail far,
For she knew she couldn't fly
(And talk of cliché!)
But she knew to sail a boat.
Why sail, why, it's easy:
If you knew no other escape
Wouldn't you take that route?
If you could fly, you'd fly.
So she could sail
And that, she did.
You'll notice, here,
I haven't told you why
Or where she chose to sail.
Well, I don't know!
Are you surprised?
Gosh, I didn't ask her where!
She just up and left,
But I know she's happy there.
The sailboat in question
Is a sight for sore lies:
Sails of soft green
And gold like her eyes.
It smells of the sea
And all that is sweet
And under those sails
Is such a lovely retreat.
This boat, while lovely
Requires much care:
No assembly required,
But imagination and flair
Are what makes this boat run
For, it's imaginary, of course
And only Diana can see this sailboat;
In her mind, forever, it'll be.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
There is in sadness a sense of Fall, of spacious leprosy where crippled thought like the outmoded nymph dies behind each tree, and childlike peeks out to let at least childhood disbelieve in its unhappy end.
There is in sadness, a branch that holds the once-upons, the happily-evers, and the destined-to-bes, a sweet find for all in grief. Each stem lends momentum to their pluckings.
There is in sadness, a young man who cherishes dead leaves. He lately held waxen happiness and knew this as his permanence.
Feb 14, 2022
Feb 14, 2022 at 7:20 PM UTC
We think it's in the protection:
above, the vast canopy called Sky;
then we want freedom
when pervasive is intrusive
and seek shelter
Searching, we expend lives. Rain
finds a way in, we run seeking new.
We think this is unique,
then neither vast not endless,
but blobs floating in space:
it is in the beauty of illusion; then
disbelieve, hopping bruised on.
Neither in protection nor in freedom
nor in anything other;
Under the canopy again,
up on a hill, until
buried deep somewhere in us,
we see, it was there, all along,
and we grow up.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Actively
Disbelieve
What you see
One day
You'll be free
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
***The third stanza can be read in several ways. It depends on how you read it (as two collums, one full stanza, etc.) Hope you enjoy :)
The headlines would never see Truth.
She is too truthful.
Their lies would never believe her.
She would scream
"Beautiful land taken away."
They would shout
"New zoos opening!"
O' humans,
You have stolen me!
I am your beautiful prisoner.
This dark place will never be a home.
My people will dwindle down.
They will become the ice caps on this warming planet.
People will disbelieve all they want until they see the impact
"Too little, too late."
Down to the bone my loves will gnaw on what they can.
Mother Earth Is the World
Food Supplies Gone
Water Supplies Down
And Father Sun Forever heating up
Can everything truly be done
Because people wanted to have fun?
Humans are you so shallow
That you let vanity corrupt untamed lands?
I used to be Africa a land of beauty.
Where even the blind man could see me.
I used to be Africa a land of love.
Then you took my people and made them slaves.
I used to be Africa a land of resources.
Then you took what you could
And stole the rest.
My sticky molasses was not strong enough to hold me together.
Instead I stuck to more places than could be counted.
The number grew until there was no more to hold.
Coming together became a chore.
I lost little pieces here and there.
They started to grow like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slowly becoming connected together.
Slithering snakes snaked their way up smothering my breath.
Snakes with innocence for faces and trust for eyes.
Soon my land was used.
Minerals and gems taken.
Goodbye darling tanzanite.
Food and animals taken.
Goodbye Quagga.
Impact has come and people now try.
They start to help Mother Earth.
Reducing, reusing and recycling.
They're efforts die as they see they cannot bear the tide.
They live with a history rooted in fame.
Now it seems their lives cannot be filled more with shame.
They stay under waiting for their blunder
to take its toll.
They have no misery in what they see.
They do not care about my history.
I start my flame
and light the embers.
I no longer an smothered
The humans are.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
The First Poem of the Day: Thou are not Nameless
I shall call you
Lovely,
for unenumerated reasons.
Yet you may account, accept, number,
my unseen caring, daren't to disbelieve,
as reason number
One.
Naming you is a perk,
Awarded to myself by myself
For somethings are too
Marvelous,
Like those words that are
my principled friends,
Principals and principles, not or,
These words, like you, you, you, like Lovely and
Goodness,
All the days of your life,
even tho so many are devoid thereof.
I tender to you. To myself. This
First poem of the day.
Screen name only protects so much,
You can't screen, veil out the
Brutal and the ugly, the dread of
Just Another Day.
The shrieking silence from the pretend friends,
The holy dark inside that we born with.
Hurt, you think you know only, best,
So Here is this something you can rely on,
Something you count on as reason number
One.
Amazing that with words,
really each a miracle,
Stop, think upon it,
You understand me
because of the uncommon commonality,
the community of words,
A universe of words shared,
Principal words are principles.
So empowered are we,
I cannot leave you Nameless,
How could I,
Oh I cannot alone save you,
Tho I desperately want to
Because we share
principal words that are principles.
I name you lovely and goodness,
Could not leave you ever Nameless
Here now and in this, the
First poem of the day.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
Practically disbelieve prophetic sustenance
Pre exist convince self sacrifice austerity
Lead solitary lonely strife unravel dysfunction
Slowly impede on sanities senses spirit bend
Empath way to escape betray forgive pain
Obey Frey free from Cain disintegrate
Holy guardianship vindicate Lord Lucifer
Emancipate misused divinity behoove
Sacred energy bitterly keep on enlightened
Sorcery face El-light what immaculate forgery
Divine Sphere of influence follow through
Underworld Godspeed enchant exuded kneads
Forbidden prayers left lay Ilahi arrest turn off Sylph
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
This truest love, triumphantly
is a bird of prey
marauding 'twain these grayest skies and tenured gain
dine with blessed distinction,
feathered queen!
And any mice caught in between-
For does my love in summer's rain
prey on the solace of my nightly dreams
Do gauge my love as span of wings
the distance 'tween each finger
Her wings are spread and through the sky
she soars in arcs and swirls
Each and every blissless night,
she passes coyly o'erhead,
The curtain in my blood unfurls
and this presence ever lingers-
Perched aloof and tauntingly in a bending oak
she says: "These stars that hover
above the sky I disbelieve-
Their palaver, quaint and lasting,
I disbelieve-
They grip and guide my flutters as an ever-tightn'ng yoke."
Each hand I place o'er the other,
'til each branch is a rung, ladder to the moon.
Said: "And coldly does this horrib' moon smile,
she laughs 'til my tail is the dust
each stroke of hours and minutes speak to me
this cunning moon pours in our hearts this lust-
How could these shambles any trust?"
This sky, though blacken'd,
cannot rend apart what's happened,
and all it sees with terrible eyes
can prevent not this love fore'er mend-
She glode politely out o' reach,
To soar delightly by me-
Said: "I see the jilted morning glory
bowing to the moon.
Each stalk twines traitoriously
a capsulating swoon-
Each fruit it bears bequeathes 'nto me
callous forms of elliptic bracts,
eats as nothing more than flax-"
For every morning glory's betray'l
I'll harvest ten thousand Orchids from the meadow's fringe,
plucked from the margins of the bog-
This love is not a passing arc
that follows does that jealous moon-
I'll trek the acid, foy an' dinge,
and, if those mice do not erstwhile dine on this orchid's seeds,
that which lays dormant, 'neath the leaves
will send up freshly blooming stalks.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
once your heart tells you to do one thing and your mind tells you another, you go with what they say.
when your fingers interlock with someone else's that aren't who they're supposed to be you cringe at the thought of your feet touching at night.
once you start to believe what other people say is true, you start to disbelieve in what your teachers tell you.
contradictions make the curiosity even more unbearable, yet we still wonder around like its our job to get lost in the dark, never ending abyss of our mind and we wonder how it was even possible that we sunk so low in our self esteem where we cant get back up
and the lines that make up the picture of your sadness are carved into your skin, differing you from one another to the next and so on,
until you cant find yourself in you anymore and you go to someone else hoping to see some of yourself in their broken eyes
but you cant.
yet you still search on and on until you find one thread of yourself somewhere else and you keep pulling that until it runs out and you run out, but then what?
do you keep running or do you keep your mind set to never getting that feeling back in your gut like you got when you held that right persons hand, and when your feet touched at night.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
From time to time I need a little help at work, casual labour. Someone said Bugg was a hard worker, you'll find him in the Crown. Sure enough he was there, yes he'd be pleased to help, starting the next day. Bugg used to live in a house, but bought a painted gypsy wagon, horse and all to live an itinerant life. He kept moving on, from one village common to another. I collected him at first, and sure enough he worked well. He said he once met Rod Stuart in a bar and I had no reason to disbelieve him, still don't.
He started using a motorbike to get to work. His time-keeping was, well, non-existent. He came out with excuses like there was a police car cruising nearby, so he had to stay put as his bike was not taxed or insured. So we had a little conversation about that, and I thought I had convinced him it would be worthwhile getting it legal. He concluded the discussion by saying that well, the police don't stop bikes much anyway.
One day he showed up at about eleven. Later on I casually asked if there had been a reason for his late arrival. His disarming reply was a simple 'no, not really'. A nice enough fella, but I was beginning to get the measure of him.
Instead of being paid at the end of the week, Bugg wanted his money daily. I realised he was spending each day's money in the pub every night. I was still glad of the help though.
When the work ran out he moved his wagon a few miles to another common, where he had work helping with a barn conversion. Ideal for him, a village with a common, work and a pub.
One very early morning someone on their way to work saw his wagon engulfed in flames. He was in it, burnt to a crisp. When I heard about it I was shocked, but I can't say I was surprised.
Poor old Bugg, hopeless old Bugg, rest in peace mate.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
i always wanted to write about the true heroes
It's not about hockey stickers or football kickers;
face punchers, these million-dollar-heroes, they manifest no social change
It's about us the people, it's about you and me
It's about free givers who give of themselves for the good of mankind
It's about free changers who freely make change for the good of mankind
That's it, hmmm, changers and free givers?
Oh yes! Free changers in the face of diversity
and against any form of oppression,
never be apathetic to what is right
Never become fearsome in knowing what is right
Stand up for all your brothers and sisters,
here on our delicate planet earth
Say never to the numbskulls, who disbelieve in change,
even at times trying to educate some
When hearts go forth and attach to others
is the beginning of a selfless human being
When the sun never seems to rise,
join other heroes along the way
Everyday count your blessings what you and I fought for
Altruistic motivation is the greatest catalyst for real heroism,
take advantage of it my heroes and potential heroes;
i love you guys, keep on truckin'
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
pull me close son of god
let me emulate your perfection
in the similar direction skewed by human perception
what is perfect god?
are you?
though since you create creatures with fallibility
you must know so yourself
you must realize the nature of mistakes in order to make them
when you breathe forests grow and seeds are sewn
you tiptoe through the seas and make your mark on the continents
platypodes? the most useless creature
but beautiful
with the combined features of simpler folk
duck
******
but then god
you created me
or did you?
did i sprout from my mothers ****** because nature made me that way
or did the universe align to spew me onto the world because it needed my difference
i dont think you had anything to do with it
i think the world was born, as was all life after it
by the scientific methods so many have studied
but i do not disbelieve you could be out there
necessarily
but for that matter i also do not think you are omniscient
i dont think you control the stars
i think you live in a collective consciousness of the witness-less humans
with little to believe in
i think through the millions beliefs that you exist
you have come to be
and you give us someone to blame
to thank
when inexplainable circumstance haunts our present
you exist because we do
not the other way around
we have created you
we have put you into the sky through prayer
and shaped your vision with our verse
humans are clever with our big brains and big brawn
but we are not so wise to realize how much power we manifest collectively
we have created mass fear through words
through stories
we have created global hope through the telling of tales
we are individually weak
holding little power
but as a whole
humanity holds the might to shake the very foundations of the earth
we create beings larger than ourselves so we have a way to feel humble
because without the fear of restitution
our constitution weakens
and we either wilt
or grow too large for our britches resulting in catastrophe
though some use the belief in god to justify their hate
but they have created a personal god
one who is not a part of the greater spirit
a god toxic in nature
and small and weak
so atheists are not the righteous and true
but neither are those who believe in a higher power
neither am i
or you
we are all cells in the lining of the galaxies ******
and if you add fear into our equation
we hold the power to create new beings
no matter how imaginary
so god exists if you want to believe in it
but the disbelief is also valid
because god does not exist to you
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
O ye who believe! If ye help Allah, He will help you and will make your foothold firm(7). And those who disbelieve, perdition is for them, and He will make their actions vain(8).
Qur'an Chapter 47: 7-8
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
That was a star in millions,
Which I wanted to touch from core of my heart.
Just to touch from warmth but not to touch so harsh.
Yeah! That was vacant from any bothered shine,
He made me do sins, his lips were like vine.
I saw him on the full moon,
He was shining brighter then the moon.
He doesn't believe on sun anymore,
Just a thing that gives light for sure.
His disbelieve made me believe,
In love and destiny.
I tried to touch him cause I got sparkled in his shine,
And then when I touched him he lost his shine,
He drowned in darkness,
And never appear again.
Again I destroyed a star in million!
Being satanic and dark I stay now low
Spreading the curse wherever I go.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
My view just as yours, no better or worse
Everyone’s right in his eyes
Of nothing I’m sure except there is nothing sure
A contradiction in itself, certainty of complete uncertainty!
I do as I please, and despite what you say, I will not seize
Do my actions make you feel distraught? Change my ways, you cannot!
The earth goes around, some may say; and others the reverse
It’s neither here nor there; it’s all based on what you can bear!
Of all things I know I’m right, because I feel them in my heart
How dare you disbelieve me? My faith makes me care free!
Be released from your prison, release your mind and be set free!
There is nothing absolute in life, only what kills your internal strife
You cannot offend me, in my beliefs I am firm – they are shaped after me!
Like my god - I am a clone, he looks just like me!
I overlook my deity, by defining god I become He.
My god would do no other, I am right and he can do no wrong – did I stutter?
How do I know I’m not wrong? Because I am head strong
My defenses are fully placed, my time to doubt I will not waste
I am right in my own eyes; we tell ourselves all kinds of lies
In the end, this it changed: our life and after have been exchanged
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
I’m feeling this way,
I don’t yet know how to escape
Yet I know it will evade at some point,
I’ve been drifting in and out,
Without much sound,
For maybe a year now, maybe only a second.
Should I think it’s an overstatement?
Is that what I’ve been lead to know?
Or is it just my mind bringing false accusations to surface?
Could it be because people want to doubt me,
Or because I assume if it’s happened to me it’s just a little bit, it’s only small; it doesn’t matter,
Not at all.
Three years? Four or five? Maybe none,
It’s not real, this doesn’t count.
Anxiety. It’s anxiety they said.
We’ll give you these pills,
Because you’re complaining about something else,
But we won’t acknowledge that.
You feel terrible, but we’ll say we’re treating the thing that you’ve put in some sort of remission.
Listen, listen. Why do they never listen?
It’s not that bad. How do I word it?
I could say I feel dead, but not really,
It’s been worse before,
So I don’t feel like I can use that description anymore.
It will go away soon,
I should be happy.
Actually, should I? I should feel tragic.
I do but I feel good sometimes too.
Why am I trying? No one who sees this will understand.
How about, it’s this:
I want to do something but I don’t feel like anything.
I don’t feel good but it’s not anxiety -
it’s been trickling in, but not this time, it’s not just that.
Maybe my emotions have just gone underground today,
Maybe it thought it would match to how I’m physically feeling.
I woke up so exhausted, I told someone I’m sick,
Still sick,
And they said being tired doesn’t make you sick,
But this isn’t normal tiredness,
This isn’t feeling down so your body can’t be bothered either,
This is one way of what it can feel like
When your body’s done with you,
And mines been done a long time,
But never long enough to care,
And in a decade it still won’t be time,
But I guess I should be content because
It’s only been five-hundred-and-thirty-two days.
I know no one will believe me, but maybe that’s okay,
For now,
After all, I can’t say any of these things out loud.
Like monsters, they would all surround me, laughing maliciously,
Thinking they were right,
They’re not, but how much longer do I have to put up a fight?
No one can know if I feel stressed or upset,
Not sad because then their army will have ammunition,
Meanwhile I have nothing.
Nothing, give me something,
But actually no, maybe I can’t take anymore false hope,
Because everyone, all of them, have ******* me over,
Time and time again.
They think I’m stressed, I’m not ill,
So if I say I’m starting to become stressed, unhappy, not good...
Well I don’t know what will happen,
They’ve already destroyed every single part of me.
I don’t want to give them more reasons to disbelieve my honesty.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 6:24 PM UTC