"dulls" poems
There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a living creature in the lonely space arouna,
And the hedge~encompass'd d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start -
For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.
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It's a darkness that surrounds you.
It covers your eyes,
And swims in your ears.
To keep you from seeing light,
Or hearing laughter.
Instead you see everything
In a dull and dark way.
Colors are no longer vibrant,
And lines seem to be blurred.
There is no more beauty in a sunset,
Or majesty in the ocean.
It's just water now.
And every sound is muffled now.
You can't differentiate your favorite song
From any other anymore.
The sound of laughter is more bitter than sweet.
Every song is the same bleak humm.
And laughter just makes me wish I was deaf.
The darkness even dulls touch.
A kiss doesn't make your heart beat fast anymore.
And contact seems nauseating.
A kiss is just a reminder
That nothing good lasts.
And most other interaction makes my skin crawl.
But now the darkness is in your brain.
In here, sometimes it's not dull at all.
Sometimes the darkness
Takes the shape of a monster.
A monster that whispers terrible things
And just gets louder when you try not to listen.
Sometimes the darkness
Feels like war inside your mind.
But yes, again, the darkness is dull.
Sometimes there is no monster,
No war,
And no yelling at all.
Sometimes when the darkness gets in your mind,
It becomes a silence.
I can't make out a clear thought,
Because all there is
Is silence.
The darkness takes the shape
Of death.
The silence, the nothingness of death.
And it becomes part of you,
Making your mind nothing but silence
And nothingness.
But the worst part about the darkness
Is my inability to communicate its existence.
I can't make anyone understand
The many shapes it can take.
How it can be torturous and loud
But comfortable just the same.
It's easy to talk about the monster,
Because it's something foreign and
Something present.
But everything else,
The dullness of senses
And the silence it becomes,
Can't be expressed.
Because in these forms,
The darkness is absence of life.
It's absence of color,
Sound,
Touch,
And thought.
And it's so hard to paint a picture
Of something that isn't even there.
I can paint a picture of a monster
With ****** teeth and devilish eyes.
But I cannot paint the nothingness
The darkness so often is.
And to me, nothingness is the most dangerous.
I can fight a monster.
But I cannot fight nothing.
Nothingness will swallow you.
It will take over your senses
And thoughts,
And eventually will to live.
Life is colorful.
Life should be loud.
Life should be funny.
And sometimes painful.
But when the silence,
The nothingness arrives,
There is no color.
There is no sound.
No laughter.
Or even pain.
There is no life at all.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
Flames and Hobbies must not report your Time
As a Rebel-in-Arms beyond your Due
Yet across the Beach is a Stern Incline
Which must Inspire a Better You
Yes I know, my Friend: As his own Cousin
Your Image dulls like an Owl to a Mouse
But the Mouse can swim. So in your Giving
Behind this Chantry is a Better House
I forgive your Hate to an Elder Age
Since he killed the Fancy you so preserve
He is that Open; And preaches the Sage
Reminding the Fame you also Deserve.
Now, after all that said: Which do you know
The Owl that Betrays or the Mouse that Grows?
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
In a dark corner, pondering the state of the world
as I write this, I take another drink
drowning in this thing, the drink I mean
opening my mind allowing me to see
everything much more clearly
for is this not what it does
heals wounds, numbs the pain
whilst killing you
how ironic
but I can't stop and I hate it
such a dependence, thoughts much more attuned
when intoxicated and alone
and God how I love it, how I hate it
I know I am weak
I say with cigarette and drink in hand
but it dulls the agony so why not
why not
there are those sober, suffering, judging
at least I can admit it
yes I admit it, I am weak
I love music, drink, loneliness, drugs, misery
I am most alive when I look out
and see those in denial of the horror
I know the truth, I know it is real
I accept it
my friend, this is what it is to be human
inspiration
I love the idea of peace, love, happiness
but the entire world won't accept it
so I drink
I smoke
I sit alone in a dark corner
and ponder
what if
what would I be if humanity coexisted
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
.
**■■■■■■
|.....l.....|
|.....l.....|**
• let the
ticks on
my wri-
st•mirr-
or that
of my
pulse •
for what
i fail to cle-
nch in fist•in
my heart, nev-
er falters; never
•••••dulls•••••
**□□□□□■12■□□□□□
■11 ^ 1■
■10 I 2■
■9 ●-----> 3■
■8 4■
■7 5■
□□□□□□■6■□□□□□□**
••••••for••••••
with each tick of
the hand • is a
glimpse into
the uncert-
ain future
• let slip
the loo-
se gra-
ins of
sand•c-
lose the
tempor-
al gaps
to bring
you......
much
clos-
er•
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
A poesy to those who earn a life of little recognition.
Beneath the fabric of the world’s tainted expectations, lies what many fail to explore, few discover and the luckiest cherish.
Blessings that cannot be traded, bought, nor sold.
A benison unable to become impoverished.
Gifts that grow and sprout delicious fruit.
A colossal heart of gold.
The hue’s of their soul glows intoxicatingly bright,
and guide those in the dark.
A benevolence whose warmth is palpable to the lives of those surrounding them,
with out a demand,
and only a thirst to love.
With unfamiliar brilliance, these people fall anonymous.
Many of the carriers unaware of what beats within.
Blind to the beautiful wake of life trailing behind their actions.
They smile as if nothing has been done, where everything has.
Their inspirational hearts, when noticed shine so much beauty, you’re left in bewilderment.
As skepticism fades, cynicism falls, hate dulls, and questions are left with answers.
As fear is replaced by freedom.
You watch the kindness ask for nothing,
as only a desire to follow remains.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
Darkness eclipse my sea
it wont let me be
I would do any
thing to be set free
Darkness eclipse my heart
it destroys all art
it will do any thing
to end what it starts
Darkness eclipse me soul
it won't let me go
its starting to be
the only thing I know
Darkness eclipse my brain
it dulls my pain
it keeps me alone
and insane
Darkness eclipse my life
It causes strife
the only way to end it
is with a knife
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Red paint dries on a tissue
Slowly
The same rush hue
Glazes imperceptibly
Gently losing shine
And carefully dulls without change
And softly hardens until dry,
When you can touch it without fear
of red fingers, red clothes, red smears
But still, wasted paint on a tissue
Will be thrown away without notice
And still dry red.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Who am I?
I am a fool;
Who knows not that electricity shocks him
Nor that the knife cuts him
Nor do I know that love is lethal.
But alas I am a fool;
Many are willing to take advantage of this
While I am lost
In the bliss of love
They say that love is anesthesia
That it dulls the pain,
But in my opinion
All it does is bring it back again.
And so I am left
to pick up the pieces,
of the fool
who once loved.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
In the dark we wait for death to claim us
In the confines of these rusty chains
In the shadows she destroys our hope
So beautiful and yet so hideous
A thousand dawns have come and gone
So many lives have withered
I taste the taste of hopeless air
The taste is stale and bitter
She loves to see the blood that flows
From the wounds in our weary flesh
No smile will cross her face
Until she hears us scream in pain
As the sand in the wretched hourglass fell
Such agony became my friend
For the snow white teeth in her wicked smile
Is now all I have left
My pain, it fades
My thoughts, they decay
Ignite & burn away with the sin
One look in her eyes
And I am hypnotized
By the blackness that lives therein
My skin becomes gray
My life slips away
The flickering flame dulls within
I remember my life
And am horrified
By the blackness that lives therein
And I am lost in the dark therein
Where my shadow exists no more
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Yet to be born from womb
Society doth define our tomb
Birth be not our choice
Cry of a baby a defiance voice
A child to adult we grow
Shackles of society dulls our glow
Unknown path feared to take
Lost our dreams in society's wake
Compared to others in life
A rat race causing hearts strife
Abused are the weak
Blamed by natures freak
A neighbour better envied
An innocent in vanity deceived
Shackes cast by society's die
Hearts loving tears doth dry
Live to be just live to care
Shackles of society abhors to care
Begs he for food begs he for a life
Hated he for tis be his life
None to help none to care
Shackles of society prevents to share
The need of tomorrow today sought
Society's standards pains bought
A child to adult we grow
Seeking societies conformity to glow
The failed looked below
The winners looked above
Scandals and gossip talk of the town
To the different ,society a mocking clown
Break free oh heart that rage
Let not thy passion held in cage
For long held by shackles as sage
Time to live thy dream written page
Break free with love not hate
Fear not to change thy fate
Them that laugh at thee may be
Jealous as they can't be thee
Shackles society doth hold
To the weak in vanity sold
Happiness and true heart it doth not hold
Break free thy story ever be told
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
The moods swing as the seasons change
Cold wind and gloomy nights make awful days
Crickets perish as the seasons change
The buzzing sound dulls away
Sunlight turns to darkness as the seasons change
The once bright sunlight hides far away
My self-esteem dwindles as the seasons change
I question whether I am sane
My mood changes as the seasons change
We intertwine and feel each others pain
My Loneliness deepens as the seasons change
This hollow house comforts my pain
My nature changes as the seasons change
Morbid thoughts shroud my brain
Activity depresses on the bridge as the seasons change
Too bad I chose Winter to accept my fate
Life goes on as the seasons change
With or without me that won’t change
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
every drink to numb the pain
drowns His voice
dulls my hearing
callouses my heart
for how can I raise my hands
to receive, to worship,
when they are filled with a pint?
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 7:20 AM UTC
When is it that you give up?
That you let infernos fire devour your strength
That you let delusion's screams chant a lamented melody for you to sleep by
That you let pain kiss your every waking thought goodbye
When is it that you get up to that point?
When you let the palpable tension of fear tighten a noose around your neck
When your mind doesn't register the calls of anguish any more because its numb
When everything around you dulls to a faint buzz, and the colours drain with malady and the light shines with hate
When is it that you shatter?
That the limbs of your body tear to stones,
That the hate which he possesses drowns you into storms
That every tears which falls from your eyes carry an anchor to the deepest pits of ocean
That the simplest motions reduce you to screams and blades
And the only waking thought in your mind is suicide.
When is it that you decide enough is enough?
That you decide you can't do this
You can't try anymore
You can't pretend to be strong
You can't smile anymore
You can't be happy ever again.
That the only thing you want to do now is sleep for eternity...
Should I answer this question?
Should Itell you when specifically you give up?
It's not up to me though.
You don't have to listen to me.
However if you want to know what I think
Then the answer my friends Is
Never
So when is it that you give up? Decide that you can't do this anymore?
Never
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Closed like confessionals, they thread
Loud noons of cities, giving back
None of the glances they absorb.
Light glossy grey, arms on a plaque,
They come to rest at any kerb:
All streets in time are visited.
Then children strewn on steps or road,
Or women coming from the shops
Past smells of different dinners, see
A wild white face that overtops
Red stretcher-blankets momently
As it is carried in and stowed,
And sense the solving emptiness
That lies just under all we do,
And for a second get it whole,
So permanent and blank and true.
The fastened doors recede. Poor soul,
They whisper at their own distress;
For borne away in deadened air
May go the sudden shut of loss
Round something nearly at an end,
And what cohered in it across
The years, the unique random blend
Of families and fashions, there
At last begin to loosen. Far
From the exchange of love to lie
Unreachable insided a room
The trafic parts to let go by
Brings closer what is left to come,
And dulls to distance all we are.
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it’s with a heavy heart that I expel these thoughts to endless seas
toward oblivion I see a vibrant, burning entity
inviting me to spill my blood
and to unwind my mind for him,
with faith I leap beneath and into the chameleon rhine.
Her tide will keep me safe from monsters that I swim among
and current pulls me further, and then pushes me back in again.
it’s with some heavy feet that I’ll now walk toward the ball of fire;
o’ shame of my confessions please don’t yeild this truth from me.
“I am the only truth,” he states;
we speak for weeks or minutes or days
about purple and orange and yellow and green
and how to see the colours of me;
how the blue isn’t blue unless you really look
and how you can’t believe everything you read in a book.
I tell him of sadness, which dulls his glow.
I tell him of the soulless, which he knows so well.
I tell him about sidewalks and concrete fields,
and how our trees have fallen ill.
and he speaks in short, brash flashes;
he is everything
and then nothing;
he’s gone before I get to say goodbye or really even said hello
and all I know is I’m left with nothing
and something,
and if I keep following the rolling stream
North and South and West and East,
and if I flow as One, surely I’ll find him again
and when I do I'll spill my self;
my mind, my body and this soul as One into the chameleon rhine.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:28 AM UTC
perfunctory actions
zombie habits
sheep normalcy
blindly following the cud chewers
lemmings fall to their deaths
slowly
genetically engineered crops
dusted with pharmaceutical poison
laced with irradiated petroleum pesticides
fed to the babies of the poor –
wealthy voyeurs eagerly tune-in
as the impoverished masses rot
for viewing pleasure
leisurely strolling across manicured lawns
those in power scoff at the growing spectacle
unaware that the cake is stale
and the masses smell blood –
hurriedly, accountants shuffle tax rates
mix those with interest credit
season it with mortgage fees
and serve it on wall street
place mats
taking stock of stock market gains
gamblers do double gainers off high rises
adding to the flesh being consumed by the under class
under classed –
underclassmen, underpaid, stretch under ware elastic
as waistlines expand with the debt ceiling
both symbolizing the slow decline of
the American dream
screaming into the sewer
fewer eyes look back as disease dulls the iris
loss of the inner shine
glowing reflection of living organisms
fading as the day
slips into the blue-black –
night falls on a nation of imbeciles
brain dead patients
broken by depression and weight-loss scams
hearts crying out for care
personal and compassionate
instead are met with sterile robotics
and sanitary “C” students dressed in white
fearful of lawsuits
and spiders
they prescribe to symptoms
without knowing insurance number 87319A23-S1
is a human being, just like them
also living in fear
of the same establishment –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
There comes a point in life when
no compromise seems too large if it
dulls the ache of
being alone.
There comes a moment in growth when
memories are deceptive and lure us
back to seasons of
embittering pain.
There comes a fork in the road that
forces us to choose whether we will
have the freedom of courage or
crippling fear.
There comes a stirring in our soul that
whispers of journeys worth daring because
we have faith that love
rewards the brave.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
did you know...?
that the pencil dulls quickly
and youth spills
like thick slime that's sickly.
did you know...?
that in oxygen hair dies
and hellos are fleeting
so prepare for goodbyes.
did you know...?
that pain is an illusion
and sharp smart *****
just swim in confusion.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
I twist and turn,
Suffle in my
Hospital bed.
The drum of
The dextrose drops,
Plays as the background
For my despondent lulluby.
Clickering and clackering;
The white feet
On the frozen
Hospital floor
Feature the vocals
Of the weeping relatives
I do not know.
A chorus
Of morose songs
That bellow
From the valley
Of faded faces
Dulls the senses
Of the patients
In the ICU.
Doctors wearing
White garbs
With darkened eyes
Whisper to each other
Like a cult gathering
With prayers
And curses
On their lips.
They appear
To me
Like snakes
On the tree
Throwing sins
And travesties
To the
Invalid saints.
I, fight fervently
Against sleep.
Although almost
Twenty-four,
Am a child
Again.
A child who
Detests sleep
Like the plague
That took me.
In this hospital bed
I start my vigil;
A pilgrim to zion
Daunted by
The task before him.
Beset on all sides
By treasures
And trinkets
That would
Want him stray.
My eyes serve
As the lamp
To which
My body,
A servant,
Keeps alight.
In wait
For the return
Of the master.
An encounter
To rekindle
The bond
In childhood.
A chance
To decide
Which fashion
It will end.
So eyes,
Stay alight,
For your oil
Will only
Last one night;
Keep the fight.
Despondency
May fill these
Final moments
But at the moment
Of the master's
Return
The chorus
Of faded faces
Will turn into
Choirs of angels
And there;
Sleep.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
The sleet is drawing boxes 'round
our mud-and-snow sashed towns.
We'll check 'em off
with crunching footsteps,
slash our gallows grins through static
weather. Nervous laughter fights off winter
while somnambulist nights
hold the anthill days at bay.
And each repeated conversation
coats a thrumming undercurrent
echoed by the groaning rivers
in their arthritic fatigue.
where the ice piles up
like car wrecks.
And, out of those disastrous angles,
jumps up and trips back down.
Blinking eyelids, right then left.
Sunrises. Sunsets.
Dusks and dawns in places familiar
wading through liminal space.
Circles darkened. Footprints filled in.
The heat just circles lazily.
Our flushed and clammy brows
will **** askance
and sweat while footsteps
melt our swaying way through boiling
sidewalks. Nervous laughter dulls the impact
of seared, rapid fire nights.
"Ha." "Ha." Shrug off another.
And all repeated reminiscence
does is hamstring overthinking
of the closing jaws of traps
in these rusting western towns.
where winds breathe dust
by mouthfuls
So, into our familiar mishaps,
***** up and falls back down
melting into neighborhoods
dress down, upbraid us.
'Til our feet do not walk circles
'round these wilting Western towns.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
It starts in your fingers.
They grow numb and then your throat tightens
and it feels like your vocal chords will snap if you don't scream
and your airways clog and you can't breathe
and your chest starts to hurt but you can't massage it
since your fingers are so numb
and the pain becomes so overwhelming that your brain dulls
and you can't think, all you can do is feel
and feel and feel
until you can't feel anything at all
and that is how you drown without being in water.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
you grabbed my hand like it was
your only saving grace,
and you held me in your arms
as if i was the only thing
keeping you afloat.
the carnival lights shone
brightly above,
and the cloud-masked sunset
waved goodbye on the horizon,
bidding us adieu,
farewell until next time.
waves lapped at our feet
as we lapped at each other
and the wind in our hair
must have mixed up our atoms;
that summer night when we became
a beautiful cacophony of half-broken hearts,
tearing each other’s flesh with our
desperate and greedy hands
and popping pink and purple blood vessels
between our canines and incisors.
sleeping in my bed
could never compare to the comfort
and safety i indulge in when cradled
in your arms,
and the sweetest of songs dulls in
comparison to the rhythm of your
breathing.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
He bites his lips, the shape of ***
and creases his brow.
A musty breeze from the bar’s open door
sends me the taste of his breath,
cheap peppermint and wine.
Its succulence dulls my senses.
His terrible fingers trace my neck,
and I forget about the danger.
And he pounces, an incubus,
an ancient resident of urban wells like this one.
But his mouth is so sweet,
I cannot care.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
Pencils are opportunities, it dulls as you write,
mistakes slowly burns the red rubber ****
and sharpeners are luxuries or government help or socialism.
But what about cheap pencils,
whose lead dulls or breaks easily.
Pencils are all equal if you look it in the outside
but what you can't see is that these cheap pencils
does not have a solid strip of lead inside,
it has some small quantities of opportunities to write.
I need to sharpen it once in a while
so I can clearly write.
But not everyone has sharpeners nor extra pencils,
some even bought this kind of pencil
with all the money they have
and they cannot write their stories
and their happy endings,
when the luster of their leads are constantly fading
into white, swallowed by the open
free-market place of ideas blank paper.
And I can't blame the poor vendor who sold me
these substandard opportunities.
However,
I am blaming the owners of factories,
for making such lousy imitations,
for exploiting my hunger to write.
I am blaming the government,
for allowing such pencils to ever exist!
Their lust for power, their greed takes away
my opportunities to write clearly and continuously,
I am blaming them for assuming that all of us have sharpeners!
We should not pay for social sharpening services!
Sharpeners and pencils should be free!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC