"disillusionment" poems
for Tascha
deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment
dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver
But I never think about
death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred
differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past
May 2015
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
*i was looking at an old and tattered black and white photo of my grandfather
a man i never knew and wondered about
his existence
like a horizon of dissolution
his soul enshrined in my own
and like him and all creatures
ultimately i remain defenseless
against realities magnitude
while my father loved me as a child
he grew unkind over the years
and we where set bitterly against one another other
his tyranny and my disobedience
as i gathered strategies craft
by machinery of thought
and festering gall
he, the bully
got bullied back
by me and old age
as we in tandem set fire
to his sadistic golden age of disillusionment
and here we are now the living and the dead
still locked in a grudge
a recurring spirit of revenge
in a valley of tears
before i myself join the ephemeral legions
in a pile of stones and ashed corpses
are we not
a procession of long struggles and short pleasures
a history of terrors and creatureness
stooges bound by the wheel creation
crucified by desire
and the apathy of obliterations aftermath
an archeology of death
ruin upon ruins
has God
sinned against man
or bestowed his grace
mystified
perfect and beautiful
beyond measure
yet to be discovered
in an alternate reality?
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
Listen.
I know you've lived longer
Than my short quarter century life.
I know you've seen more,
Done more, loved more,
Touched more, tasted more,
Experienced more things than i.
I know you're only trying to help.
I appreciate the giving of advice.
I know you mean well
When you say it's time to give them up,
It's time to move on,
To be my own person,
To learn to live for only myself.
But you haven't lived through
The total decimation of your family.
You haven't watched as the lives
Of your loved ones fall into utter ruin
One by one.
You weren't relegated to helpless paralysis
By the fear that you'd lose them all
And by the depression that came with knowing
You couldn't even help yourself.
You don't know what it feels like
To have the dagger of abandonment,
The shattered shards of broken hearts,
The pinpoint needles of disillusionment,
The three-pronged fork of misunderstanding,
****** into your soul over and over
By every lemon life throws your way.
You don't know what it is to stand
On the brink of death
Because if you don't have them,
You have nothing.
You still have your family.
All intact and whole.
So don't begrudge me
My clutching, grasping, clinging attempts
At keeping what remnants of a family I have
Together.
I will not let them go
Until they have to be pried
From my dead hands.
And even then, I will still be loyal.
They are all i have.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
‘Twas during inner turmoil that a certain yearning arose
Whispers of breakage reaching deeper as time goes
From the disillusionment of reality it was forged
Of seething rage the desires hunger gorged
In following certain conformities felt like being a prisoner
The will to resist the motions of many being aimed to muster
To not be like a tree that has to be cut or uprooted just to move
To be driven by reasons that to only ones viewpoint can behoove
Looking at another view of the coming uncertainty
As a pathway to many possibilities with regards to unpredictability
That stopping a tragedy is sometimes not the thing to do
Lest one forgets that the phoenix must burn down to rise anew
Or that Ragnarok is followed by a great rebirth
Who can know what revelations a raging flood might unearth?
Being lost might as well be the way to find an elusive longing
The remedy to the Anhedonia closely and ominously looming
When being chained to the rhythm just compares to an inner futile feeling
Knowing that a greater horizon is missed by the act of settling
A bet on the odds that epiphany might be found in whatever form
To behold serendipity actually being brought by the coming inner storm
In using the great idleness to plan the restoring of a balance
And to see clearly without the feeling of rushing pressure and turbulence
The path and pace may change to the deeper quest not yet ceased
In bringing forth the long sought betterment through a cataclysmic release.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
its new, its foreign
your form I’m adoring
your frown I’m scorning
I just like the way you do you
so unique, so new
so hot and so blue
so me but still you
hand on my thigh as you drive down the avenue
the first one to engrave their name in my heart
the first man to deserve his part in my art
of delusional confusion, idealistic intrusion
with a sprinkle of disillusionment
thought it wasn’t for me, too many days spent in existential worry
wondering how it would work for me or if it would hurt me
but I throw caution to the wind and trust my wings
to maintain my grace on the breeze
love is just as simple as it seems
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC
Stare out blankly
Focus on the dots
Violets and blues dancing across the walls
As I perfect the art
Of actually caring
Disillusionment in action
Distortion at
Its utmost perfection
As the eyes see
Only what they want to see
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
4.1k
Not all can be lost in the midst of so much.
Not all can be lost in the thought of your touch,
And the sound of your sighs, the indescribable look
With brightening eyes and the patience it took.
Perhaps I have given you no more than you deserve,
And still what do I possess that was more than your words?
Hold me; hold me now like you did before,
Before the disillusionment before love swayed to war.
Call to me tell me my name, so I can answer
And you can know that I came. My love
I only want to feel safe with my heart in your hands.
I only want to be close enough to feel you from where I stand.
I remember candle light and sharing souls I remember long
Stairs into starlit eyes and bearing the scares we wore
Compared to recent wounds. Hush now it rains,
When your eyes mist over my old pains ache,
Like my wrist and my heart in my chest,
You are all of the things I've grown to like best.
So you lied and I feel you steeling my perception of us,
Slowly returning head down with my mad mangled trust.
As the ground shook I felt it all lost.
I know that’s not true, I know that I must
Know something of who you are,
You’re the same sweet handsome boy,
Who first made me see stars.
And a brand new mark among the scars on my heart.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Disillusionment is the price one pays for Truth.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.
Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.
Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.
At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.
She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.
No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
*we are witness to atrocities
committed by regime
over its peoples
over time*
1.
we are witness..
shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds
like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts
spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control
spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids
disillusionment of history forever rewritten
control supply-and-demand
create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine
make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch
thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said
2.
diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred
feed visions stilted by politrix
deception and manipulation
propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind
totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards
and yet, who is really being played!
eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt
can't even play with yourself alone
your **** your **** your every move..
watched - surveyed - and studied
by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape
right opposite your low hard-bed
you're broken into popping-parts
that YOU won't recognise!
thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya
get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP!
3.
we are witness
life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls
we are witness
children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely
we are witness
truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor
we are witness
dictata.. dictata..
we are witness
austere existence in a tacky one-room flat
we are witness
subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast
we are witness
regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on
(after a while, we end up half-believing.. )
*only the clock which strikes thirteen
can smell the charred-reality
as leftover-truth is shoved
into incendiary obsolescence*
tick-a-damn-tock
and that would be..
one
S T - 26 sept
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Disillusionment encompasses the night.
Your warm breath tickles my ear,
Firm hands caress my skin
leaving no part of my body untouched.
All other distractions, extraneous characters,
everything else is irrelevant.
It is just you, with your smooth dark skin,
comforting embrace,
and those entrancing brown eyes,
and me, with my silky pale skin,
soft curves,
and sad but hopeful eyes.
It is just us and our apprehension in this room,
isolated from reality.
You indulge in my coquettish laugh,
and I take solace in the warmth of your touch.
The contours of my body complement yours
as we both try to savor this feeling of ecstasy.
But the hourglass runs out,
and this moment is fleeting.
The illusion is shattered
when the protagonist reappears,
and I am demoted to understudy.
I am left to replay this scene
in my disillusioned mind
hoping to one day again feel
the softness of your lips
pressed against my bare skin,
but until then, I will replay these events,
ignoring this void in my soul
and embracing the momentary nirvana.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
I have missed your company.
Enveloped in strange faces,
The only coterie I keep of late
Is that of your overwrought descant.
Oh, James Douglas.
What happened to your dream?
DO NOT DESPAIR,
FRIEND
The words you once transcribed
Your intoxicating,
Or was it intoxicated
Ragtime
Linger in the subconscious of a generation,
an unnoticeable haversack
Traveling
Seeing
Traveling
Watching every ounce
Of the determinate world
Seeing
Acting as
The portmantoligism of my conscience
And what is left of my intellect
Until I realize that my
Crippling loneliness,
Is the only palatable fruit of disillusionment.
See, Christine?
Anybody can use big words to write about the 20th Century.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
The word is tainted. A word that means love, for someone there to defend. It's an honor from above. Yet for you it's a weapon. For your defense, not mine. So you can smile for the public and stab me from behind. Meaning eternal love and tenderness. Not meant for such hatred and excuses. I am a tool for your use, and its too easy for you to cover up your abuse. I hear you were supposed to nourish, not see how secretly you could watch me perish. You should've shown me support, but you preferred to break my heart-
So mother dear please listen. I'll take up some of your time for myself and then. You'll maybe understand-why this is happenin. Don't make yourself the victim, for we both know that is not who you really are. You've been the center of attention. But this time I won't let you go that far
Did you ever love me?-Didn't think so.
Society would say I'm just being dramatic, and it's absolutely horrific, for me to talk like this. Well for once, yes just this once I'd like an opinion. I would like all to see how you've really been. Disillusionment's a *****
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
How to describe that moment when we wake at last?
Tentatively emerging from the comfortable cocoon of that early, endless summer
****** into a cold, vibrant land, full of beauty and pain
Equipped with a newfound vigor but fueled by our disillusionment
Here, in the infancy of our societal influence
Fresh off a restful bout of childhood ignorance
We take aim to preserve that magic, for as long as we can
We dance in the summer rain, so it might not fade away…
But when do we lose focus?
When do we become,
The target of long lost laughter,
relenting to the forces of absurdity?
Perhaps when our world comes crashing down
With the weight of a thousand suns
When purity falls prey to the stalking darkness
That lives in the darkened mire
We’re all lost souls in this garden world
As our sanity stumbles with each passing season
From a fleeting glimpse at beauty in the warmth of the spring
to our frozen heart from winter’s endless pain
What is it we really want then?
As we wake up dreaming of a peaceful life,
of blue skies, and free-flowing thoughts
in the warm embrace of a sun-kissed day
But out of darkness, fear does grow
Those memories seem so far away.
Saddled with willing acts of complacency
We trudge on, immune to our nagging decency
For as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Faced by the power of the absurd
We can’t help but look down
Into the unrelenting grimace of finality
Can we recapture, moments lost, memories fallen
from the hardened heart of our war-torn soul?
For deep inside, perhaps we’ll find
A glimpse at a forgotten past
Might we gather one last breath,
A passing whiff of that summer day
So long ago, when we dreamt of a greater purpose and when magic
Enveloped our reality with the warm embrace of mystery and intrigue
Might we realize then that pain makes beauty?
And as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Trading a summer daydream
For a midnight reverie
We take a step back…
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 12:37 PM UTC
He shakes the box she
gifts him, like a child,
or a fortune-teller, thinking
a divination will fall
out, to reveal the
insides, without opening.
But he is a child. He
gets tired of guessing and
moves on to the sofa,
to another toy. He treats
her like a gift – excitement,
disillusionment, the discovery
of things new. She packs and
leaves. The box unopened.
Wrapped in too many
layers for him to unwrap,
unpack. He didn’t think the
gift was the unpacking,
not the gift.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
Night comes
r
o l l i
n g
down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
to me,
letting them
rock the soul
of my soul
the heart
of the seed
of my heart
and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
up unto
the winds
that ride,
ever-tenderly,
the surface
of
the
dawn
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
Sating stains unrecognizable
dripping filth of first love gone
Insignificant swelling of power
We are human
Hungering for control over strong hold fear
Tangible in it's release
We are human
It moans to be sought by destroyers
We are human
Hypnotized by dances of mesmerizing flesh
patterns mangle until there are no more borders
sweeping over luscious ruins
we depart from entrapment and lightly fall
Silver gleams off malleable thoughts
We are human
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:36 PM UTC
disappointed with what adulthood seems to be
constant worry constant stress no relaxing until social security kicks in
and even then that system will be ****** up by the time its my turn
except for those prized few, those diamonds in the spotlight that
can care for themselves and see life as a beautiful treasure
it's not that i don't want to live
i'm pretty sure i do, actually.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
My dearest darling
we were
doomed
from the start,
disillusioned and
dangling
from our
disproportionate
determination,
left to drown
in the
dreams
gone to waste.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Wailing walls, howling fences
Encaged and blocked by barriers
All smashed, sorted in security fence
Miles of humanity and flesh torn apart
Why is it that we can’t live together?
We bleed the same coagulating blood
Lined up and humiliated in alleyways
Paths of iron bars and imprisonment
My veins wringed, intensive torment
Mentally distracted, strained by grief
Settlement, conflicts and border struggles
Governance, religious trickles of disunion
The biblical birthright verses human rights
The unsighted straining peace settlement
Shadows of the peace blueprint screams
Ongoing reconciliation, milked in small doses
Whose home is whose? Subdivided in areas
Controls of disillusionment undisclosed
Unmanned checkpoints evokes fears
Revolving cameras tossed and turned
Bansky slogan “make hummus not war”
Smashes freedom to uproot and merge
Constitute and construct peaceful resorts
All horns blowing to collapse duality
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
When we dress in phantom finery,
we can only expect disillusionment.
Choke ourself with all our fantastic desires.
Complete mental malnourishment,
from our heart deep self harassment.
Let small smiles slither away.
Gut with tender savagery,
aversions to avarice.
Self-servile self-worth denial,
wash small magic away.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
Poetry has never hurt like this before. I beg of you, drown this
hurt, and **** it with your last touch. Touch my skin with your lips, let them rest against my bare neck. And let me drown in
you as well the disillusionment of a love separated by the stars. Spare me one last look, tame in me this fire that yearns for you,
this fire that can't be put out. Save me. From myself, one last night, before we say goodbye.
Sandoval
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC