"falsity" poems
*Just breath and let out the pain
The wondering if I'll ever be sane
Time to reflect and ponder the real truth
I've been living a lie which lies at the root
My core feels rotten and filled with hate
A hate for myself and dissident fate
I've lost my true self. .. left, but only a whisper
She's in there somewhere like a ghost in the mist
The thickness of the falsity and time that has gone by has left me all alone to ponder and wonder why*
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
It's that Stubborn Fever which keeps the Mood
And forced your Jewels to croak a relapse
Since a Year's Half-Pie you hoarded the Good
And denied some Peers your Fortune, perhaps
Are these the Charges we must Debate
And defend the Truth of such Falsity
It is a Blessing. That the Watchman was late
To keep him from salting your Dignity
Never again. Will this Harper reject
And cut the Strings which Truth comes to rely
To re-wire each String and play Respect
Then tie on turtle-shells before it dies.
Long-Distance Friend. The Black-Knobbed Swan's voice mute
Flies away bleeding; And left out my Flute.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
I remember the jelly bean jar
perched next to the owlish librarian
in my school when I was younger.
One lucky soul would win a prize
for pulling the right number of jelly beans
out of an air still filled with fancy.
I can’t remember who won the prize,
and I can’t remember what the prize was.
But I guess as selfish minds are wont to do,
I remember the act of guessing.
It was a childhood of guessing,
and I wonder if any of those guesses were truly wrong?
When the engine of innocence toils away,
any solution, however fanciful,
can’t be false in a world that finds falsity
in far more veritable places.
I digress back to that jelly bean jar,
packed full of sugar,
and to a young mind,
full of promise.
To a mind such as mine,
a mind akin to my classmates
who shared my sugary desire for that jar,
any guess was as good as the other,
as long as any guess was your own.
We clutched ordinary pencils
scribbled on ordinary paper
with our own extraordinary numbers.
In the basket went these figures most accurate.
Days during the week passed
with those store brand jelly beans
mashed against each other,
childhood memories turned ordinary pages
wrote with ordinary pencils
until that singular, self-sure number
mashed against pages turned against it.
However strong that memory of numerology
in a room full of words is etched in my mind; no trace
of the end of the jellybean contest remains in my ledger.
No trace of the disappointment of losing out
on such a treasure trove of tooth decay.
But I guess this is the way of the mind,
it tends to trace out the positives
while it remains filled with youthful levity,
no weight is imbued in innocent minds,
and so tragedy, loss, and disappointment
float away past untroubled eyes.
But time rolls on and much like the crushed growth
under an ever-rolling stone,
our lives start to fall harder on softened memories.
Our lives harden with our heads,
and those days of living out short-lived fantasies
fade with jelly bean guesses.
So as we mature and feign to seek the truth,
a small part of me keeps a singular page earmarked
for a time when the truth no longer weighs
down the air with half-true deceit, and a mind long
abandoned
will return to grasp fanciful ideas
out of an air that’s still light enough
to evade our youthful fingertips.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
We are occupied with being busy
Busy missing those small hints
Busy ignoring people around us
Busy not paying attention to oneself
Busy overlooking the crumbling bonds
Busy clearing away nature’s beauty
Busy taking things for granted
Busy enveloping the truth with falsity
Busy embellishing the present
Someday in future we shall stand trial
As to how occupied were we being busy
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
I beckon thee, to come visit me, in the garden of virility.
Where men are carved from your darkest fantasy;
and the women spun from your forbidden cupidity.
Where carnal knowledge is given freely;
and is taken just as quickly.
Oh dearest, infatuation;
given your love and lust till they blur and swirl.
Good sir.
Oh, Sweet madam.
Lost in the down wards spiral of your avidity.
I beckon thee, to play with me, in our hectic world of make believe.
Where women are carved out of false trickery;
and the men spun from wicked forgery.
Where nothing seems to be, what it is.
The garden of falsity.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Thrown into a sea of perfection.
Drowning under the falsity of cosmetics.
A fake smile is more geniune,
you taught me that.
Covering myself up with what you find ideal.
Starving myself for your love,
turning a blind eye on the bruises you leave everytime I slip up.
I have memorised your words by heart,
tattoed them on my wrist.
I hear them everytime I breath.
"LIVE UPTO MY PERFECTION"
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
Is destiny reality
Or just a falsity
Once I believed in destiny
Now I believe it's insanity
I'm a little lost for which path to take
I've been given so many
I just don't want to make a mistake
There are just so many possibilities
Which one is the right
Which one do I pick
Will I end up with a fright
Will I end up really sick
Too many choices
And so many voices
How do I know
Which path to follow
No longer do I believe
That there is destiny
My own path I shall conceive
Have I just created my own insanity
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Red lips tinted from a sinful kiss, eyes bluer than the cerulean sky hanging from the heavens. Roses; roses; roses the smell of them hanging on the air in-between two pillars of insanity. Love; what was thought to be the feeling. Buried beneath shallow water; lust lingers into reality, smeared on shades of scarlet and amber.
The infidelity of the fallen angel; daring to ask forgiveness from the Devil. How do you say you're sorry? A lie on the wings of a demon, or was there a simple explanation dripping from a vile acidic mouth full of falsity. The ripe apple wrapped in nefarious green poison, waiting for a bite from the unsuspecting victim.
No, not this time, all your trickery lays hollow and exposed like brittle bones picked over from the birds of prey. Lay in your bed of dirt and soot; lay in it because you have made it. Shovel by shovel you've dug your hole. Now it's time to crawl under your blanket of lies, and rest your shameful head.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
I've lost all my baby teeth
But I remember the ache in my gums
The ****** holes they left behind
I exchanged each pearl for a coin
From a glittering fairy tale falsity
A consolation prize for growing up
Bits of bone falling from my mouth
I bid my skeletal farewell
To the pieces of me I no longer needed
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Boys will be boys, will be men, will destroy
Will take and take what you create
Will shame you if you deviate
Will make the rules they proceed to break
And after every encounter, you're a little more shaken
A little more autonomy from you has been taken
You rack your brain to find the words to demonstrate just how it hurts
Time passes - and the moment is gone
They were staring at your *** and you know it was wrong
You know you don't belong
You are an object for observation
But that's a whole different song
So does it make it any better when you play along?
Are you simply playing victim in a manmade system?
A child of the Fight, how do you extract from that mode?
In a world full of players, you let yourself be taken
How is it that you manage to let the simple words break in?
The glass ceiling is surprisingly sharp
And the burden on your back gets heavier as you approach
The child in the closet didn't make it this far
There's a fine line between honoring your wounds and hiding in the dark
This is the line I walk every day
On one side, victim and healer, I tend to my wounds
The other lives in reality and makes the right moves
But duality is a falsity
Of course one can't be two
And the structure I see in the world I perceive brings out the fight
**** the patriarchy
**** the Right
They're not right
Their vision is just limited
There are so many issues I wish to address
If I cry through the fight, does that make it worth any less?
Does my brokenness somehow discount the rest?
The weight of my burdens change by the day
And yes, victimhood is the easiest way
May I be the last to place blame
This glass house holds no shame
And if you won't throw the stones at the broken and stuck
Pass them around and throw them straight up
Let's all make the ceiling shatter and fall
And watch now as the shards rain down
And this can happen when we're all ready to be active
And act as protagonists in our own play
So **** the patriarchy, but do it in your own time, and in your own way
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
& all of the sudden i have a case of insomnia
thinking about your hazel eyes
pools of golden honey brown
so deep with promise of truth
but inevitable glimmers of falsity
a hollow shell now perched by your amber intentions
still smolders from your hazel touch
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
Love's misunderstood
By the heart
That’s unable to feel
We give the meanings
So many tags
Yet, love’s above all
We trivialize
And jeopardize
Expectations galore
None that Love wants
Above all our
Laid down rules
It’s akin to freedom
We seem to burden
It with materialistic
Paraphernalia
Love is rustic
Most simple of feelings
Complicated over the ages
Converted to a drama
Scripted by falsity
It’s above those words
Revealing the soul
To a pristine feeling
Thrown into murkiness
Sinister deals
Much effort to malign
Beautiful Love
Let Love be
Away from
Convoluted thoughts
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
If Emily Dickinson was writing a suicide letter:
Dear Soft Reality,
Your presence brings me grief and your absence leaves me emptily blissful. You leave my heart to suffer under your cold dagger of truth. I see no purpose to further seek you, only to face my murderer in the bitter realms of my heart that have been so tortured by your harsh precision. To go on would be madness, but perhaps that is what I have become. A madwoman, trapped by lies of true love and wishful thinking. My heart was so filled with the falsity that has become love, and compassion. To completely give yourself to somebody, to find out that their heart already belongs to another fortunate soul, has by far been the down fall of my sanity. I cannot cry any more, what good would it do. I cannot deny the truth that my love has been poured into an bottomless pitcher…but oh how beautiful that pitcher was. It promised me everything I could dream of, so pristine and clean, signifying all that is good. It was decorated with ornate blossoms that told of new beginnings and hope and it’s spout was graced with delicate greenery that promised fortitude and protection from all that could bring harm. Now all I see is despair. As I took a closer look at its intricate detail, I began to nice the rotting leaves that lay beneath the blossoms, and the tiny thorns that lay prominently on the vinery across the spout. It has been a trap from the beginning, and I am in love with it.
However, I have poured my soul into that pitcher, and I have nothing left. My heart is parched and crackling, and my love has dried up on the shores of desperation. All that I have loved is gone, and my hope of release lies in a steel barrel of pain that lies in my left hand. It is beautifully real. I can wrap all of my loathing fingers around its cold trigger; it shows me the only truth that has been made clear to me. Death. I have been yet a tall drink, chilled on ice, numbed to reality, sipped on by the devil himself. Well the devil has had his share and is drunk on my love, leaving me an empty glass, with melted ice. I can feel every pang of you. There is nothing more for me here.
I shall introduce this truth to my mouth, and it will be sweet, like the first time I met his lips, so gentle and unassuming. Only this time, when death is promised, it will not be masked with love and tenderness. My tongue will make love to its silver bullet, as my mind slips into peace and silence from the wolves of my torment.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Though I thy Mithridates were,
Framed to defy the poison-dart,
Yet must thou fold me unaware
To know the rapture of thy heart,
And I but render and confess
The malice of thy tenderness.
For elegant and antique phrase,
Dearest, my lips wax all too wise;
Nor have I known a love whose praise
Our piping poets solemnize,
Neither a love where may not be
Ever so little falsity.
2k
it pains me to see
that for many
you’re just a photo on a wall
and on our currency
a permanent fixture in our lives
a tradition that no one knows the origin of
and even if known-misunderstood
your philosophy distorted, your methods abused
the poorest, most controversial parts of it magnified
and what is really important buried
under generations of lip service
and self-serving biases
i myself don’t agree
with everything you said
but still, i admit
that most of it made sense
thank you for questioning violence
and greed, corruption and falsity
thank you for the difference you made
Happy Birthday!
i wish you were around
to clarify what has become twisted
to silence your detractors
and light the way again
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
02.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
He hides his politics on the inside of his jacket,
wears two scarves and has a light British or Scandinavian accent.
I mean- he says poo-berty, for god's sake,
but the man is brilliant.
I never knew a person who can take
what an idiot exclaims in such fervor and falsity,
and let it become something of knowledge.
The concept of understanding
sits in the back of my tongue,
deep in my throat, and it rattles until he calls it out.
He knows what I'm saying when I don't.
And he knows I've got this solution
but I can't put it to words
that do it justice.
So he and that Greg kid- the philosophy major,
and the only other man I really know who speaks of feminism
more accurately than any woman I've ever come to listen to,
extrapolates my shaky speech
into substance.
And I've likened this learning into something like love
-a Platonic but true love,
of all those who know so much more than I,
and are willing to still take me seriously.
It's rare to see with these eyes,
true teachers, true seekers
truth-seekers
truth teachers
and they who learn infinitely,
inspiring me to be poo-pil.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn
My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof
In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ****** your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools
I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact
From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise
Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
There wasn't a lot
I could do for you
With the distance and everything else
I couldn't give you much
Only some small piece of myself
And the image of my body bare
For you to keep
I would like to think the fantasy I spun
Helped you in some way
I know it probably didn't
And it was foolish nonetheless to play a game of falsity
The reality of us sunk in too deeply
Too quickly
And all at once
Our future,
There was none
I forget that in reference
I didn't have the time to care
So I stopped all at once
I'm sorry for that
I hope I broke your heart enough
For you to be able to write a song about it
Maybe melody and lyrics
With some semblance of us in them
I hope wherever you are
You are getting closer to happy
I hope you still think of me.
I know you do.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Trust,
A funny word really
A stupid concept
Why open up
Why let people in
They care for one reason
It helps themselves
It allows them to have a peaceful mind
But trust is a ******* lie
Never is it kept
No matter how hard you try
It's always ripped away
It slaps you in the face
Leaves you lying on the ground
It has no boundaries as to where to stop
It will leave you bleeding more than any cut
It's pain slices deep, wounding
Agonizing hurt, misuse ringing in your ear
Telling you
YOU are the fool
YOU gave me out
YOU let your guards down
Are you mad at ME for YOUR ******* moves?
Mmhhh that's funny too
Blame me for wrecking you ?
When in reality,
It was YOU all along
Your a ****** *******
YOU WANTED to tell you wanted the attention
YOU WANTED them to feel sorry
No matter how much you deny it
That selfish ***** "sliver" of you leaked out
You messed it all up
You wanted pity
Well guess what now you have it
Now everyone knows your ***** little secret
And all because you misused the words
"I trust you"
All because you were too ****** weak
To pathetic to hold your stupid *** together
Your exposed because in truth
THAT is what you wanted all along
You stupid *** *****
There is never such a thing called trust
NEVER will it stay between just you and them
And you KNEW THAT *****
This is your fault
You see never is there trust
Just the falsity of it
Just the green screen as to what happens
Just this lie, deception
Because really trust was never yours
To be handing out
So really was it the betrayal that hurt you
With broken trust
Or maybe, just maybe
It was yourself
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Have you seen the downcast faces
fraternized with the loathed ******
Look behind you,
You owned the shadow of facade
That moves between the surface of falsity
with the light of profound verity.
Can you see the similarities
Of the downcast and *****
Or can you recognize yourself,
Together with those words?
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 1:48 PM UTC
<>
thirty years apart/making love at the midpoint/Zeno's minding the gap
<>
*we are a thrifty thirty years apart
but we make love as if it were an
after school, really hungry, special snack
laugh at myself once again
for this tom, **** 'n harried foolishness
knowing no good can come of this
other than what has already
come and gone,
life's reaffirmation is not age dependent,
we love in the light of embers brightest glow
the older man is at the midpoint trap of
Zeno's Paradox^
can never grow down to be
closer to her to her youth,
given his head start,
his slowing motion,
can never catch
her down,
or she,
up to him
physics laws forcibly insist they both have lost this race*
"In a race, the quickest runner
can never overtake the slowest,
since the pursuer must first reach the point
whence the pursued started,
so that the slower must always
hold a lead. "
as recounted by Aristotle, Physics VI:9, 239b15
*too quick to be born,
now the fastest and oldest,
though having reached
the equidistant point between,
will forever never be able to
close the gap
I mind the gap,
I mine the gap
for rousing poems,
from passion piercing fierce love making
prayers preserving the falsity of a
magic illusion of a growing nearness
that we will never grow apart,
burdened that truer is,
never ever closer
she asks me with great tenderness,
why I moisten mine eyes
after our great joy
replying, honestly
I am minding the gap
answers the broken joyous
poet of now, no way*
<>
"Mind the gap" ( listen (help. · info)) is an audible or visual warning phrase issued to rail passengers in the United Kingdom (and elsewhere) to take caution while crossing the horizontal, and in some cases vertical, spatial gap between the train door and the station platform.
^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno%27s_paradoxes
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
Words
Are the bridges between bodies
Piled atop pillars of patience and pain
Crafted from countless islands in the sea,
As bodies spoke for themselves—
In the grunt of disapproval,
In the violent gesture of rage.
Words
Are also highways into hearts
Into the icy crevices in your chest
Which burn with a boiling intensity
At the beautiful phrases that melt the hearts
That once hardened with rage
At the fluttering phrases of falsity
And the counting down to silence.
Words
Tunnel to the mind
Sneak in undetected, disguised as beggars,
Merchants of ideas, and not thieves
Of self-esteem and self-love.
Words
Tunnel through the walls,
Baring steel and fire
Hidden beneath cloaks
And beautiful illusions
Which inflamed your heart and
Bridged the space between you
While you lay awake
Adrift at sea.
Words
Form sentences
Which create paragraphs
Infinite arrangements of ideas and meaning
But sometimes
In the silence following submission
To sadness or grief
Words begin to mean
Absolutely nothing
In this vast and empty sea.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
Alien to me, is this falsity,
Always in difficult straits,
My mind oscillates between states,
Of rotten conscience and loyalty.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
the devil's dominion!....what is that, really-----it is the watered down version----it is the simplistic version------the idea that what you want is "something there" (or "here")-----------
something that you "can be given"--that you can help others "also receive"
-----------------
escape!
into the angelic night
where raggedy children seek
the fullest feeling
of blessedness
---------------
love!--------(the depth of the meditative state)----false prophets teach that you can"skim the surface" and find grace
in blind devotional group worship of master or guru or whatever the name is that is in vogue today--------don't go there!-----stay
within the total dignity of the human race ----the dignity required if you'd find and create----peace
--------------
the devil with the beguiling smile! the devil with the sham wisdom or KNOWLEDGE!....the devil who offers you a free pass thru the world unto a blighted and shameful "eternity!"
-----------
small the child crying and calling
hungry the abused mother and father
wild the mystic warrior
joyous in his pure intentions
FREE!
above all else.....free
flee from the falsity
the fakery
the "easy way!"
write your name soft and true
tell your own story
of MAN
and be home
again
---
thank you
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC