"disenchanted" poems
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.
Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.
In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.
Deep within stagnating waters,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Movement rippling, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.
Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
i'm laying on the floor watching YouTube videos
of veterans coming home to their pets
and i imagine you as a veteran
and me as the dog crying in your lap.
but if i'm honest with myself,
i'm the veteran coming home,
my heart is a dog,
and you're a cat in the corner who doesn't give a ****
i don't even need to tell you that love was the war.
love is always the war.
i just want to lick your face.
i want to paw at your chest after a long day.
i want to stretch and have you scratch the places i can't reach.
i don't understand the command "stay".
i am casting tiny spells where i pick lint off of your sweatshirt
and chew on my bottom lip while i look you in the eye.
but you are disenchanted.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
The butterfly of many talents
talked nothing but of himself...
and never stopped to Listen
or gain true conversational wealth
cloaked in flamboyent colors
his butterfly wings so huge,
captured a little lost lady moth
(looking for the moon)
and kept her as his muse
just as the wings of the butterfly
so was the moths heart large
and so she inspired her captor unconditionally..
and loved freely, fanning him...
& flapping her wings too hard...
each time they would tear ,
she'd ignore the searing pain
for with all of her inner beauty;
by no means was she vain
the butterfly misused his muse
did not reciprocate emotion
so her wings drooping stupidly
with blind devotion
were as lost shadowed in his coloring
as before.......
searching for the light of moon in black ocean
he had never saved her from the vast
sky-sea & empty Galaxy
But used her flutter as a tool
to satisfy his selfish artistic needs
the little lost moth lost flight
As she began to understand
the light butterfly provided
was a stage light made by man
all the time she lost
robbed her spirit and stole her grace
so she rubbed the powder off his big bright wings and thought
-what good is his outward beauty now that he can no longer soar in space-
Disenchanted but free at last
moth tries but can never trust color
won't inspire art or music
and will never love another.....
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Hidden star against the dark backdrop of night.
Not seen...
Not heard...
Struggling to assert existence with waning light.
Stifled are the stories dying to be told.
Eclipsed are the emotions
within collapses and folds.
Cloaked is the voice
that screams in silent anguish.
Disenchanted is the will
that once spoke of flourish.
I see you black star...
Know that...
You're nearer than far.
Dig deep...
Past the charred, crumbling skin.
Dig deep...
Into the beating heart within.
Know that...
You're better than any of them.
Any of us.
Time will only reveal,
what the sky sought to despicably conceal.
Your true calling.
Not as the quiet sentinel
that no one sees...
but a cosmic gem.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
I know where to find you
drunk in the garden
having another existential crisis
conversing with the plastic pink flamingos
they think you're 'hollow'
and that your exterior is too polished
he sees his own reflection when he looks at you
Your youth was made up of
cringe-worthy hair styles and room temperature beer
with the taste of **** and vinegar
and the prospect of milk and honey
alas, you're 24 now
perfecting the art of escapism
disenchanted, delusional
You're just clearing your throat
to say nothing at all
ahem
and continuing to romanticize recycled lifestyles
in the name of authenticity
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
the motherships are
hovering overhead
& to the east,
apollo breathes fire
past the ****** off incisors, like
'try &
catch me now'
now,
or never.
to my west I felt nothing
but the most
uncomfortable comfort.
it's just.
too.
much.
becoming barefooted
clouds of dust I run
to the godlight
& in time I find I
also become
disenchanted.
& I'm just freeezing
& my feet are filthy & bleeding
but
anything for that rush
tell me somethin brother
do ya cluster with the others?
are you some
undiscovered color
in the monochrome gutter?
are you sixsixsix seven
aren't you *** & heaven
dost thou seek
the foul
or the feather'ds;
brother of blood
& sweat,
is thou the sheep
or the shepherd?
wolfman.
we want the teeth.
to the tooth, troopers.
how rude;
I can see right thru
that wool suit
all too true to the stupor,
stupid.
don't you know I know you,
don't you.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.
yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 7:27 AM UTC
There is a time in a person's life when that internal clock will ring
when a higher force will wake us from our slumber with a sting
having been given individual trials, we hope we'll do our best
but we are insensitive, overcome with laziness, a desire for rest
The little things in life, how so often we take them for granted
quickly losing touch with reality, and becoming disenchanted
thinking we can forge relationships, with the blinking of an eye
failing to feel the hurt we cause others, with our final good-bye
We, as human beings, must first come to acknowledge the truth
the problems we all hide in our closet, they started in our youth
but the error of our thinking, is clear and can only be addressed
when we're willing to accept the fact, that this life is only a test
Attempts at self denial are truly futile, because you remain unchanged
accomplishing nothing, only from yourself will you become estranged
an endless light of healing must be released, to that location unknown
thereby removing that which blocks our thinking, our heart of stone
Your mind is your cage, only if you desire, you can set yourself free
don't believe in the lies you're told, you can be what you want to be
if you never give up, you alone will be able to preserve the true way
by choosing your destiny, no one else will, because this is your day
Liberate yourself from the enslavement, transitory passions of the day
either stand up to the pressures, or you'll just find yourself blown away
you must trust your heart as it knows the truth, and it alone will succeed
choosing the only real path, that path from where the light shall proceed
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Mother, Father
I am six foot one and I can see over the trees
I can **** mountains and bury my bones in the soil
I am six foot one and I am just tall enough to see the truth
I can look over others but I can't look over myself
My shoulders bend like a bow, waiting to break
And I can feel it all. I can feel it all.
And to you,
May your temporary smile be a golden forever
And your heart existent with or without hope
Let your brain open doors your hands cannot touch
And your chest not collapse when the smoke is too much
To live and to love with you is the grandest adventure
And to cut myself on your edges, bleeds into itself
And to live in your heart, is the biggest place I've ever found
And to kiss you until my hands break and there is no sound
And to all of us,
We're a dark piece of trash
Ribs are a cage and holographic souls sing
Disenchanted by the human experience
We're pretentious and objectify everything
And to all of us,
We're all light, we're all eyes wondering wide
And we all shine bright, some of us cannot hide
May your hands slant, slowly slinging
towards the bells that are slowly ringing
and may you strike a chord in all of us.
May your existence be a temporary forever.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
Can't see the forest for the trees
Blinded by specificity
Laser sight for **** I don't need
Lending from my sanity
On cranium spending sprees
For all things that should not be
Store them all so perfectly
Like they're treasured figurines
A preserved psyche crazy hard to free
Carbonite Han Solo in deep freeze
No Leia to barter for release
Huttese wont work, no trip to Tatooine
Vader breathing disturbs my sleep
Palpatine "do it" on repeat
My Empire Strikes Back with relative ease
To quash anything that provides relief
Cos I'm not okay, but I am
Film flam tryna find who I am
Hell in a disenchanted dance
All my chemicals romance
Distorting where I began
Never quit, my only plan
Exhausted but here I stand
Hoping soon I'll understand
Why I feel so ****** repeatedly
'Cause red is the new black speaks to me
A funeral for a friend harming me
Bring a celebrant for my old psyche
Now bend my arms to look like wings
So I can fly free from that part of me
'Cause I buried it deep so purposely
It can stay stuck there for eternity
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 5:05 AM UTC
Tired eyes close, as youthful eyes open wider than ever,
Taking in the bright world, with its beauty and wonder,
Every step a new experience, every breath a new purpose,
With blinding light and naivety.
Living, loving,
Thinking, learning.
Beginning to speak with precision and tact,
Letting a voice carry through the fog,
Color splits the misty world,
As love envelops every sense.
As it comes, however,
The light darkens.
Disenchanted with glory,
Spitting out the lost dreams of comic book heroes and video games,
Quenching the cold, dying embers of childhood,
That cry to the world to ***** them out.
Losing hope, going numb,
Feeling nothing.
Waking up... shedding fear, being reborn,
Spreading the wings of a new life,
Seeing a different light, a new fire,
Brighter than the old.
The colors of the world change,
The glistening light fades into a tired contentment.
Watching the world through calm, weary eyes,
Wiser now, witnessing the passing time with the gaze of long life,
A creaking smile, as the light shines more profoundly than ever,
Tired eyes close, as youthful eyes open wider than ever.
Pain fades to dust, and dust to dust,
As all else shines with indescribable beauty.
Fearing not of death, but of yearning for that which has passed,
And for that which was missed.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
~
*precious metal detector
of tourism,
as in a dream,
such device has the power
to make one nostalgic for places
either never visited
or nonexistent.
this strange museum exhibits
sometimes airplanes,
always mortality salience,
and the impossibly probable idea
that travel can change
your sense of time,
so you don't really mind
if things slip away,
or alter in some disenchanted way.*
~
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 12:21 PM UTC
And in that wild berlin winter
I twirled ghosts through the frozen, concrete streets
Out of bohemian jungles in the midnight afternoon
I returned to the States with terrible ennui
Slumped on cold buses
I flew through Hamburg in an ***** haze
Smoking joints in the lantern lit glow of Amsterdam
I didn’t eat for 3 days
I rode the train to Zoo Station
And flitted about East Berlin
Where there was no excitement to be had
Walking the night alone in the bitter, biting wind
I took the ferry over to England
Safe in the Mersey’s mystical, dreary mist
I hid my tired eyes under my fisherman’s cap
And found an expanse of quiet, precious bliss
Ailing from nights spent on streets and stranger’s floors
I was a child, traveling alone
Disenchanted by my youthful escapades,
Cured of the plaguing desire to ramble and roam.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
They cut up her face
to spite who knows
She cut off some weight
despite her bones
She’s starved for grace
like a hungry ghost
Is it passion?
Is it addiction?
The way she suffers
so stranger than fiction
She’s waning away
just like the moon
It’s just the way
the darkness consumes
As they edit away
her absolute heart of the poem
Cut, copy paste
they stretched the truth
across her face
Now the disenchanted runway
calls her name
“Depersonalization"
Baby girl,
you were born
with it
Now you’ve
just been
manipulated!
The transformation
was a success
but you’re still sentient!
Screaming
"Being like everybody
is like being nobody
and this body
is no body
it’s a plastic prison"
built on a template
of all your false expectations
We need to
cut off the face
of the status quo
There’s nothing divine
left to her ratio
Knock the Goddess
from the pedestal
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
Burgundy book oh such a creation.
500 million British passports in circulation.
Patterned leaves adorning a secret interior. Without this treasure am I inferior?
Access to benefits and free healthcare. In a world like ours in a world so unfair.
Shiny pocket book taken for granted?
Non owners aware of its powers, automatically deemed the disenchanted.
Access to a phone call.
Access to legal aid.
Access to commonwealth.
Access to the European Union.
Access to free education.
Human rights.
Freedom.
That marvellous lifesaving book of epic proportions with the ability to eradicate human ill-fortune.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
I caught lightning in your bottle,
and I swallowed it whole.
So torrid and treacherously lit,
I became the kind of something
you taught yourself to run from.
Skin tight and white hot,
I radiate light from all angles;
buzzing with fluorescence.
With my fingertips brightening
the curves of your lips,
I trace that familiar fine line
between your fear and fascination.
In a single crack across the sky,
I will set your darkness ablaze
and leave you with
a deafening boom of clarity.
Jolted and stunned, you take in
an infinite illumination,
devouring every inch of
the unknown color and wonder
once shadowed by your thick,
murky doubt.
Blink, and it disappears
as quickly as it came to be.
What you see, you can’t forget.
As the spots dance, staccato
in front of your eyes,
you run, just as you taught yourself,
fast and far, away from the light;
disenchanted once again,
as you recall the fact that
lightning never strikes
the same place twice.
the same place twice.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
The systematic destruction of Tradition--in the name of Efficiency
Leads to the rationalization of everything.
For Modernity demands a piece of our humanity
Our unsolvable self.
The Mysterious is relentlessly chased, trapped, and murdered by Reason at every corner.
As she dies, The World becomes a predictable, hollowed out version of Herself
A disenchanted goddess, a solved sunset.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
i feel like i’m waiting, always just waiting, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
i’m waiting for that time when we can just get into a car and drive and drive and dive into the ocean, our bare skin squishing the seaweed into the pebbles underfoot.
that time when the sky is always blue, so blue it’s purple, and the grass is the greenest and winter is so so far away. far away in time and geography.
i crave travel. i crave closeness and conversation. likeness and togetherness and warm feelings.
i want to create. i want to create and destroy and create again from the shattered, scattered pieces.
i live to live, i love to live, i love to love,
and yet i sit here, disenchanted, just sitting.
nothing is more suffocating than winter.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
Alone on a silent shoreline,
sea breeze emotions paint my skin
Sands of time slip away as I count the stars
wondering why so many seem to smile,
when I don’t
Storm fence pickets stand straight,
weathered of years watching
Holding at bay the impending dunes
where my footprints once shared these moments
with another
Salt water teardrops fall,
meeting the beach in sorrow’d pools
lonely silhouettes of my heart shaped shadows
empty and vacant, longing for that one
to forgive
Disenchanted sandcastles disappear with the tide
as do these words we compiled together
never to be written again, on paper or in the sand
Now I only watch my dreams fade into the horizon,
missing you
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
I envisage a Planet Earth,
All multicultural, for what it's worth,
One human race, of café au lait,
Putting the boot into prejudice today,
No more disenchanted refugees,
Grass is always greener, if you please,
The shifting sands of humanity,
No more disenfranchised second class,
True equality of life at last,
I do dream big, you see,
One global race, free from bigotry.....
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
By a kitten's innocence,
A boy was fascinated.
"She hasn't met the world,"
The boy said.
"Have you met the world?"
Asked his brother.
"I know of killers and thieves,"
Was the boy's answer.
Not of sights, adventures,
Of love, life and its secrets.
By the world's cruelty,
A boy was disenchanted.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
And into the black
The wanderer goes
Farther
Farther still
Back to the lonesome dreams
To the memories of low esteem
For the wanderer
Returning home
Is never easy
Dust covered boots
And worn ragged cape
Contain him
His life
Who he is
Amounts not to where he has been
Or what he has seen
But to the redemption
Of all that has come before
To
Every desperate step
Every windswept
Weather worn scar
Footfall
By footfall
Straining muscle
And disenchanted breath
The wanderer comes upon
Ever so slowly
The cancer of his heart
The rot of his bones
The disease of his skin
Despite the distance
The salvation of time
As if like a mountain side
Or deep jagged canyon bluffs
Shaped by ceaseless wind
And pounding rain
The wanderer
Wears away
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
You are weary, I think
Of endless puzzles and games
And short romantic flames
You have grown disenchanted
With everything
Every stupid girl and foolish fling
You are bored
Of things built upon passing waves
Of all these conformists, these slaves
You have grown spiteful
Against people whining and nagging
And keeping secrets and bragging
And you are exasperated, maybe,
With all your toys breaking
As soon as you take them out of their boxes
It may be you are sick
Of instability and castles of crumbling sand
Of things reeling and getting out of hand
You have grown impatient
With cheaters and capricious ******
Who claim they are forever yours
You are tired, perhaps
Of feeling alone
And things aching through no fault of your own
I may not be
The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on
I am little, and frail
And weak and pale
And I stumble when it's windy out
But I know, without a doubt
That for you I will be strong
That I will never do you wrong
I'll keep you from going off the brink
Because you are weary, I think
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
Call out for Love.
Call out for Love.
Call out for Love.
Repeat until it becomes
a chant, an incantation,
a summoning, a charm.
Expect no answer.
Love is a tattered,
weary ***** standing
on an unlucky corner.
Her feet hurt and she
wants to go home alone.
She is disenchanted
of desire; dog-tired of
endlessly being needed.
Love does not listen.
Love does not hear.
Love does not respond.
Love owes you nothing
and pays her debt in full.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC