"disbelievers" poems
holi pigment splash on your skin. tangerine, aubergine, saffron paladins. a carousel of mourning veils in pretty pretty ruby red. decadent dancing in the streets with no regrets. whatever came the day before, i can't remember anymore. the drinks and streamers impugn disbelievers.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
They've sold their souls in the midst of humility
and super-pervaded occult, they've sacrificed
people just to get that fancy car, and that
mansion like paradise, and all that glamors on the
face of multi-universe, they are living in the era of
self-aggrandizement, and more doubtfully
contemplate christianity, they moved a step
further to promote atheism, the concept of
humanistic thought have been overthrown, and
decisions made under the philosophy of
postmodernity, depictions of reality are mystical
and emanate from the dark prisms, their
conception of glorification is different from the
society's, therefore I'm hateful and watching as
the world slowly chokes itself to death.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.
************************************ ****************
1. When the heaven is cleft asunder.
2. And when the stars have fallen and scattered;
3. And when the seas are burst forth;
4. And when the graves are turned upside down (and they bring out their contents)
5. (Then) a person will know what he has sent forward and (what he has) left behind (of good or bad deeds) .
6. O man! What has made you careless concerning your Lord, the Most Generous?
7. Who created you, fashioned you perfectly, and gave you due proportion;
8. In whatever form He willed, He put you together.
9. Nay! But you deny the Recompense (reward for good deeds and punishment for evil deeds) .
10. But verily, over you (are appointed angels in charge of mankind) to watch you,
11. Kiraman (honourable) Katibin writing down (your deeds) ,
12. They know all that you do.
13. Verily, the Abrar (pious and righteous) will be in delight (Paradise):
14. And verily, the Fujjar (the wicked, disbelievers, sinners and evil-doers) will be in the blazing Fire (Hell) ,
15. In which they will enter, and taste its burning flame on the Day of Recompense,
16. And they (Al-Fujjar) will not be absent therefrom (i.e. will not go out from the Hell) .
17. And what will make you know what the Day of Recompense is?
18. Again, what will make you know what the Day of Recompense is?
19. (It will be) the Day when no person shall have power (to do) anything for another, and the Decision, that Day, will be (wholly) with Allah.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
One day you'll see my words
On every hipster boy and girl's Instagram pages
And it might not seem like much
But least I successfully achieved what I said I would
Disbelievers will be believer's
Don't be deceived by people who tell you can't achieve
Hold tightly onto your dreams.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
she spoke to me of dragonflies
and visits from the dead, and it made me
long to hear the voices of the lost,
those without tongue to taste the wind
or form the wistful whispers
why had I seen only a butterfly,
against an ignorantly blessed, black sky?
its colors a magnet to my eye, but silent
even with wings whipping desperately
as it was ****** into the abyss
no words issued forth
for my eager ears, to allay my fears
that there were no messengers
from the other side, or if there,
they chose not to take flight, or
find me worthy of their sad song
what if the disbelievers were right?
and once we lose sight,
and fall into deaf sleep
there is no ether where we roam,
but only the dank dark decay
the soundless feasts of bacteria
on the hopeless host
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Acrobats diving into a sea of exotica
Landing amongst the heroes and the renegades
They were equipped with the power of silence,
Subtle yet unafraid
And all disbelievers drown in decimals of a twisted maze
Were they casting spells on the curious?
Or we're they the definition of what it is to be brave?
I wasn't ignorant
I was here to learn from it
It was force that lead me into the darkness just to find the light of faith and hope at the end of the tunnel
At the end of a race
After an avalanche of discouragement
I finally saw the weekly forecast of what it could be.
Partly sunny
Mainly rain
A light chill
Or a thunderstorm
I wanted more
I wanted everything
I wanted more
I had everything
I was dreamer drunk on dandelions only to find what couldn't be true
But I wanted to;
I wanted you
I was hopeless romantic with a bad attitude
With a delirious mind casting spells on you
I was entitled
You weren't having it
I wanted everything
But you wanted less from me
I was incapable, but you were everything
You had nothing
But you were my everything
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
You could say it's
all in my head,
it doesn't exist,
just a result of
a hope that persists
but,
There's got to be
something better than this..
Were humans and the world
just dropped and born
out of nowhere,
just to be dumped in eternal misery?
And if angels exist, where
do you think they live?
Not in the air or else
we'd be breathing them in constantly.
The afterlife exists
even for disbelievers,
Some call it Heaven,
some call it Hell...
What will it be?
Only dying will tell.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:51 AM UTC
The Church in its awesome majesty
Looked down, from over the hill,
From faith, to hope, to travesty
It stood, and is standing still,
So proud in its fine regalia
Its ritual, and never the least,
Its potent God who would wield his rod
Deter the jaws of the beast.
The Bishop of Saint Ignatius Church
Was a proud and holy man,
Who wouldn’t suffer the jibes of fools
From Rome to Afghanistan,
And certainly not those down the hill
In the new Masonic Lodge,
That beastly, secret doctrine that
He advised his flock to dodge.
He’d stand at the steps of his church and stare
Down at the barbarians,
He hated Lodges, he hated Mosques
And Rastafarians,
‘There shouldn’t be anyone else but me,
I hold the eternal God,
What gods they worship could never be,
For they’re all distinctly odd.’
While down at the Lodge of the Masons
They were cool with their golden rule,
They had to believe in a god as such,
But how, it was up to you.
For some would practice the Baptist faith,
And some Presbyterian,
While some enrolled in the Primitive state
Were a type of Wesleyan.
There was only a single Catholic
And he wore a glued on rug,
He wanted to still be young at heart,
Was known as the Grand HumBug,
The Antidiluvian Mason’s Guild
Was the name he’d chosen himself,
The others differed, but he was keen,
And he was the one with wealth.
Their God was known as the Architect,
They carried the masons tools,
The set square set them apart from all
The disbelievers and fools.
They worked on their secret rituals
And kept a goat at the back,
For leading a blindfold novice in
And guarding the Lodge from attack.
The Bishop heard that a Catholic
Was leading the Masons there,
He fumed, choked on his rhetoric, but
Was heard to firmly declare,
‘I will not shelter a wayward sheep
Who has taken to ways I hate,
The only fate for a traitor here
Is to excommunicate!’
He gathered a dozen priests to march
With candles, down to the Hall,
Surrounded the base heretic’s Lodge
And named HumBug in his call,
Sprinkled his holy water ‘til
It fizzed, and gave off a smell,
Doused his candle and closed his book,
Consigning the man to Hell!
But Humbug patted his glued on rug
Went out, untethered the goat,
He let it loose on the dozen Priests,
It butted the Bishop’s coat,
They ran in confusion up the street,
To the church, set up on the hill,
While the goat was hard at the Bishop’s heels
Like a demon released from Hell.
It butted the Bishop’s altar and
It charged, knocked over the font,
Scattered the pews for the devil’s dues
In a hellfire sacrament,
While HumBug muttered he might end up
In Hell, with his Mason’s sect,
But the Bishop’s God, had failed with his rod
In a clash with his Architect!
David Lewis Paget
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
Walking solitary sidewalks
in the cold sober night
Overhead streetlights glow
Solemnly
Like spitfire red sentinels
Watching us midnight creatures
Yea, our cold souls play wicked games with our minds
Steadily wasting away all rosy cheek warmness of youth
We are
Godless
Forsaken
Inflamed
Disbelievers
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 9:21 AM UTC
You have a silver tongue.
Your words are elegant and your delivery admirable.
Your words could part seas and light the sky.
They could make an army of disbelievers stand on their feet
And praise you, worship you.
You are that powerful.
But as silver as your tongue is it is just as sharp.
Your words brush against my skin and cause happiness
But in another moment despair.
They send knives through my skin and force an apology from me
As I clean up the blood.
Your words make me question how I could be so lucky
Yet so unlucky at the same time
Because in the right moment your words are a smooth melody
That wraps around me and makes me feel at home.
But in the next my ears drown in dissonance.
I cannot pretend that your words don't bruise me
But I also cannot leave
Because you have entranced me
With your silver tongue.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Rocking your head back and forth
Disbelieving faces stare
As you cry for mercy
Quietly going insane
Dropped through the hole
Feeling nothing at all
As you saw what the world could be
Reality and fantasy kaleidoscoping
When you awoke--
The brightness was gone
Vanished from your mind
And your ideas seemed inconceivable
--to the others
Oh, the others
The disbelievers
The skeptics
The ones that refused to open their mind
Possibility spreads like a tree from a single root
But they are unable to see it
Instead, they dismiss you
Send you to the sanitarium
Where your screams of madness can be heard
Even today
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
To bend, to twist and warp your mind into something you can not define. That is their purpose, they want to blind those that can see. To see the truth behind the lies, to read the word that shows the light, is the very thing they wan us disbelievers to feed on to others. To feed onto me, they want to show the very truth we want to see.
Not the truth that is meant to be. Our minds have melted into nothing but mush and gush that can never be rebuilt, or saved from the very thing we fear to this day.
Insanity.
They want to immobilize us, control us for they know we are all weak human beings. With envy and lust, this is how they take hold of us. Using this to our disadvantage. Telling us we are nothing, yet we know everything. That they are instilling and drilling into our brains. they are scared and fear, that we will rise and fight and start a new revolution.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
she jostles under the vine serpents,
knees scraping trees,
green light bending onto her skin.
she’s a dirt daughter
shoeless, careless
the breeze reinvents her smile.
she arrives
her toes press hard against the sidewalk,
and she takes a clinical step forward
her pale moon face
begged by the wilderness to return.
on the other side of the street he bursts from
the subway, his feet neatly clicking up
the stairs.
his briefcase swings
tightly on his hand
his dazed green eyes scurry across
tuesday’s bachelorettes
and they fall in love at least a dozen times.
he arrives
when they stumble into the same civilization
their eyes collide.
they could be blinded.
or they could catch it.
it would run under their skin
like voiceless hummingbirds
awakening their architecture
and electrocuting their blood.
yet love doesn’t just happen to
to the yin and the yang,
or the bird and the bee.
people aren’t perfect puzzle pieces.
love happens best to the disbelievers,
to the fighters, and the skeptics.
it happens to those who know that in order
to make a spark,
you need some friction.
it’s a howl of wind:
constant and spontaneous.
it can vanish and evolve:
always new.
it can braid lives together
like a man with green eyes
and a woman with a pale moon face.
maybe its all been done before.
but there’s something about the way
he juggles a sentence on his lips
and how her face rearranges into a smile
that seems new.
the story doesn’t always sound like this
but humans are like destinations
intersected and scattered
life comes and goes
and sometimes
Love arrives.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
He is from the land of old souls,
from the land of the willows and ****** beer
that spills over
in manifold growths like old men's beards
or the **** that covers my living room -
a damp jungle for nightmares
and someday the final battle.
He is from the land of disclaimers,
and disbelievers,
and organic fruits.
Haikus they called pop
and he calls my eyes his muse.
The wine is self preservation
for he is from the land of do little, very little, wrong.
Where they grow the hot clarity I breath in
and weave the milky wanderings
through everything at once.
And I think of the orange lace,
like a 70s ******* bunny.
The crystal goblet that caught the light
and my lips -
but mostly the lace.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
True Love most say is the work of fiction and fantasy
That it doesn’t exist in the real world today
But for those nay Sayers and disbelievers the world
Is a dark and weary place.
But True Love does exist I say, for it lives in the
Hearts and minds of the dreamers and poets
And but of course for those happy and fortunate
People that find it.
True Love isn’t measured by time nor distance
But by the strength of the heart and the mind
True love can cross any boundary, from the
Smallest of pebbles to the highest of mountains
From the smallest of puddles to the largest of oceans
True love even transcends death itself
And for those happy few that do find it,
Let them seize it and hold on tightly
And never ever let go
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
Captivate my heart and explore my mind
enjoy all that I have to offer, everything you find
entice my body and electrify my soul
come together with me making the two of us whole
combined we will experience a world we had never known
the uphoric feelings will penetrate our bodies to the bone
I will hold you with strong but gentle hands
you will hold me tight as the universe expands
rising up above the disbelievers and thier pre-concieved notions
our passion will send a tidal wave roaring across the oceans
masters of our universe we will have things our way
no one to stop us like a comet gone astray
these are the days that we were meant to live and not just survive
be a part of it with me and we'll live it like we're alive
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
Amber embers cascade
Free falling towards hard pine
Burning sangria of love failed
Sipped sullenly thru disbelievers lips
This is the last time spent beneath ashen skies
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
**One mistake in life
can change the way
people think about you
You cant help it
Because Humans believe
that no one can make mistakes
except for themselves
Even when you try to explain
They don't even try to listen
They simply ignore you
Just to show that they are the only ones who are right
I know this is inane
But this is how
People are in this world
They are ignorant
They are disbelievers
They are cruel
When you feel this is happening to you
People try many times
to make up for their mistakes
but for some people
they can never really fix it
The mistake is like a mark
That is left behind
A mark of mistake
effective but invisible
No need asking
Who has made a mistake
Because we are humans
And we can make mistakes
Pointing fingers at others
Dont make you a better person
But the other fingers point at you
And show that neither are you Picture Perfect!!!**
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Onward cried the empath
whisperer of ghosts
through a maze of darkness
through layers of time
and static thought
his mind open and protected
by the belief of his followers
onward through the blind prejudice
of the unmoved and unwilling
into the realm of calm
into a sea of silent dreams
until at last the path is clear
the droves of disbelievers
turned away
by the powers of pristine consciousness
here
past the walls of centuries built by doubt
the words of a kindred spirit
the response of a lost soul searching for light
"I hear You"
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
How can you see the light at the end of the tunnel,
When you're constantly driving at night,
How can a cloud have a silver lining,
When the entire cloud is black?
Working to get a required education,
To pay for an optional education,
In order to apply for a job,
That requires both sets of education.
Working our whole lives to receive one piece of paper,
To get accepted by an academy that requires said paper,
Just to earn another piece of paper,
In order to get a job and earn more paper...
Yet they care so much about saving trees.
The bright side,
A side blocked by a wall constructed of human consciousness,
A self awareness far too complex and cruel,
Cruelty eating our species alive as we breathe.
Grass greener on one side,
But my side is dried up like jerky,
I roll it up and smoke it to gain a moment of clarity,
Nicotine rushes to my head,
Slowly killing me in sync with the daily tasks life requires.
God shows favoritism over those who show no effort,
And punishes those who abide by his laws,
Laws in which disbelievers defecate on,
And still he gives them gold stars.
A lack of significance happiness has with me,
It fails to correlate with responsibilities driven by such a fantasy,
When all there is the end of this bumpy road,
Is a cliff.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
I could never say with any definite blending bark of the tree so tall as its leaves came and went weighted by the initials carved in the bottom the tree was a walking museum of a flash of light in some eyes cast into shadow by the ends of the souls natted dread the rasta clicks in the rhythym beat from the metals laying land with the seed of origins and the orchard or orzine.
Cateye stand by weve 12 months we rise by and ive been getting around with out the knowledge of experience ****** into the bouncing in my step. Its bot correct its just a by-product in transet to its next place of electrolytic typset indifference in the salt on our tables
You said you could be strong but the song burnt the fingerprints and gave waste to the disbelievers the surmised belief based on the last guys who wrote for a purpose
To just shed the light by the prowess built into everything
Inside the code of creation the key shaped by the tumbler it holds the sailing of present to future
Gimme song when im low in the lowlands leading to the opening of the deserted place of the sparrow where the songbird whisical and musical and a makeshift place to rest in the spirits own place of birth in the river of times brook
I just dont want to die alone or insane
Please be a day where im able to just shed it in somber dissolution only held in hearts and heat heathens and the reasons not to even ask why you are drifting by in its own ploy in the world where
A decoy is employed by the mister of the vessel in portrait like a general posed in the annals of legacy left by the mapper whom sat the sky by the suns angled drive.....
Skins on the outside and the souls stays on in and when will i be able to just be ok posted up by the innovations and glimpse the effects have made the music never pretending never pretending
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
Homily in dueces, wrecked beyond comprehension.
Half starved, swelling throngs of disbelievers,
Half true eulogies eulogizing the still-living, undulating ghosts that whip to and fro between one righteous thought and one sin.
Undaunted in fear do I stand before thee.
Unheard do I scream a name that can never answer me, as the human attached to it has nothing more to give.
Haunted by my own self.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
i wish i could pick up the pieces
of this broken bond we've built
and mold them together
in a way that would leave it invincible
to the battles it has yet to fight
and the people who try to tear it apart
because i want to fix it
this chaotic mess we've created
to prove
that love is a glue
strong enough to fix these broken hearts
and leave them with the power to fight off any disbelievers
but here i sit
in the ruins of us
and i'm searching for a starting point
but all i manage to see
is what could have been
and i don't know how to fix
a puzzle with missing pieces
s.s
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 10:31 PM UTC