"finity" poems
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.
In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.
The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.
The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.
The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.
The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
shuttle lost in space
transcend physics, black hole, in-
finity together.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
802
Time feels so vast that were it not
For an Eternity—
I fear me this Circumference
Engross my Finity—
To His exclusion, who prepare
By Processes of Size
For the Stupendous Vision
Of his diameters—
1.6k
Insecurities range from mild to severe
deal with it, land-rover. deal with it finity, in finity
it's not a meaningful solution
to worry like a bathroom mat.
but honesty is a better policy
isn't it?
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
Your night is the day's embryo,
You wake,
You're a parent to a new day.
You have responsibilities!
No time to do a zombie walk 'til noon.
Time for two, three, lines of finity;
It will jack y0u high on impermanence.
Certainty has never insured tomorrow.
This day is your last banquet?
Fill your plate, but not full.
Do not dine alone.
Say grace, for you are the Pope of the hour,
Your awareness is a sacrament
That blesses everything you see and touch.
Soon your day will die in a ****** cloud
Leaving you with both less and a little more.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:35 AM UTC
everything is energy moving
forward, backward, sideward,
warding off the black white finity,
crashing upward, downward, frontward
this is limitless
now let's fly
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
The truth that was
but couldn't be afar
behind the closed door
locked away forever.
Opens through in full circle,
the infinite touches on the finite:
Finity gains the ground to infinity.
Paradise kissed the earth,
pyramidon drops bouncing down
around the pyramid in reverse.
It’s on a golden spiral run
round the mundane and divine.
Only to find the intersection is locked,
not above, nor below, but in the numbers
heading to the exponential circular zero.
That too towards the origin sways,
because it’s in the human, lies the pi.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
Life and money and time are
Finities
I can only escape in death
And yet
I feel free and
Adamantine, unlimited and
Everlasting—
But only for you.
It is as if
You are dead to me,
I to you—
In a good way.
Are we alive and
Finite?
Or dead and
Without bounds?
Perhaps a bit of both,
For our hearts beat
Just the same,
Though we are, too,
Dead inside—
In a good way.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
we need
to be
careful,
when it's me
and you,
it's infinity
and beyond,
and we want
to settle
here,
in each others''
arms.
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 5:10 PM UTC
Some prefers infinity than finity
Frankly saying, I prefer finity
Limits and borders
Are proofs of existance
Infinity is just
An unknown finite
We are finite, they say
Therefore, we exist
Imagination is infinite, they say
Therefore, it's not real
Reality is bound to be finite
The universe is infinite, they say
Does it then mean that it's not real?
Some prefers infinity than finity
Frankly saying, I prefer finity
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
The night begs attention
silent, bold
unafraid of stillness
unafraid to hold
the fierceness,
fragility of breath
the finity of death
& behold her blackness,
the darkness,
and in the void to rest
to wait for what is left
and for the sun.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
When the stars disappear
And the sky fades to black
I'll still be here
Never turning back
When the cosmos collapse
And the Earth turns to dust
I'll wonder through the scraps
As the eternal must
My friends will move on
My family will perish
But dawn after dawn
My life will replenish
I'll fight back the pain
Because it's all I can do
The future will keep coming
The memories will too
The graves of loved ones
So near and dear
Will be worn by the Sun
Until they disappear
They will sink into the ground
Their scripts will be erased
But to life I am bound
Isn't immortality great?
I wish I could escape
From this endless cycle
The curse I would reshape
I would end my survival
But I wished for this
So I must see it through
Swim through the abyss
See infinity through
I know it will be hard
Full of anguish and hate
By it is too late
To undo my fate
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
my mother taught me to be the artist, not the art piece
to be not the inspiration, but the inspired, and i lived my life according to this law
believing wholeheartedly that i would be taken seriously and noticed for my talents and not cast aside, labeled "silly girl" and left to gather dust
i was raised to be the sculptor not the sculpture
to be the water drip drip dripping down the concrete infrastructure, causing calamity over quiet and shaping the world of men and mice
i was raised in hopes of change and singing songs of strength and rage
mind over matter, or so i was told
i was raised and taught, so clearly and so bravely that i was not made of porcelain and glass waiting for a man to pick me up off of the shelf and dust me off and fit me for an equally delicate life as a housemaid and as a wife
but as a beast of earth and bone and blood
as a force of wind and fire
i was to be the winds of change for the brave new world that we could live in and be happy in
the poster child for intellectuals and politicians, for scientists and mathematicians, for white and male dominated career-holders to stop and stare at and say "that's the girl who isn't content to sit at home" "that's the future"
and here is what i say to them
most girls aren't content to sit at home, most want to explore, most are searching and scavenging for books and dreams and wishing that someday they can find the land of opportunity and liberty for all
but most girls are dragged into the kitchen and home, kicking and screaming, biting and crying, and forced to work until the iron that they were once made of rusts and falls apart, cracking like the dams they could've destroyed with their might
most girls are told they are worth less than their male counterparts, and this escalates from them seeing themselves as "worth less" to "worthless" and rotting them from the inside out
most girls are taught to be the muse and not the artist and i am sick and tired of being taught i am "better" than most girls because i was taught vice versa
do not praise me, instead fix society, and that will be thanks enough
teach these girls their worth lies, not in the price of their pearls and not even in the secret philosophies they have in their minds, but in their hearts
teach these girls that they are the children of witches and mystics and that they are not simply dolls and toys
teach these girls that space is vast and full of black holes and dark matter just like their minds and their hearts are, and just as their souls are too
teach these girls what infinity is and what finity is, and let them decide which mathematical law the universe is bound to
because the only muse i'd like to be is the muse of their liberty
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
they've told me multiple times
that you're nothing more than
side effects of my speculations,
but even if so, i'll lie.
though my hours are counted
ticking until I count again
you know better than anyone
that it's nothing more than true.
and if said not, I dare you to watch,
not see, to observe, not look,
at a starry sky with starry eyes
then look into mine and say it's finite.
or maybe it comes down to the fact
that everything's become far too cold,
and who are you to argue as I watch
as it chills me to the core?
now, finity has become my worst nightmare,
even outside my own boundaries,
for there's so much I can live
until I have to be alive.
and maybe, just maybe,
i'll be fine for now.
just make sure to fade away soon enough,
after all, I am nothing but finite.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
I am screaming
I haven't stopped screaming
I don't know how to express the fact
That I can't stop screaming.
Screaming in ways like sweating armpits
Chafing thighs, itchy under-boob.
In ways like waiting in lines and for
Conversations to end.
For feelings you can't source, that
You just can't shake.
Screaming in ways like an ache in the
Lung or chest or heart and dry eyes for
How much I love you. In ways like the strain
Of muscles for words just beyond the tip
of the tongue. The strain of laughs when
Nothing runs through your mind.
This will never be a love poem because I am
Not in love. And never have been.
This is a proclamation of the indescribable
Feeling of feeling. Like trying to look at your entire life from one point.
Impossible to do.
Just like the universe, absent of a birds eye, focal point.
The only way to see its entirety.
It's complexity, is through the patch work
Picture stitch of the infinity of stars.
Would it be to cheesy to say that you are the infinity of stars?
No, You are the finity of stars in the infinity of light.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
The merged generations, emerge from first
cold night in the mountains,
announcing,
This is screen-free Sunday.
I say this is the first day of ever after.
I read a bit
-- Infinite Jest, just a stream that contributes,
from time
to time, finity to finity, a dead man's former
mind fitted into words,
emanating from
the audible version of the words processed
in the Nineties, flowing through the
post I-Mac realm of words to the wise
and otherwise,
flooding the lexagraphic learners of grammar
for sense in silence,
self-reading silently,
breathing commas,
allow our pauses to perpetuate se per
selah… say
la la la
as time flows by, like a wild river in the spring,
Infinite Jest, there is a thread
through environs unimaginable to me,
until the inventions were given as inspirations,
did you know, I heard,
Steve Jobs yoosta
stand in the comode,
and flush it, gnoshit. In a state
like meditation,
zoned out of bounds in mere mistaken chance,
ping ping ping
a good idea, a bell of a thought.
We think in words, not all minds do.
Plenty punishments puns provideo please
if -ish is sortalike… shitilised, four syl-lables
la la la
ra ra ra, boom
sort on those, and mix up the story,
in the bubble you be reading in,
give us a universe, fit into the final bubble,
beyond imagining minds,
this world of words.
Here is where we word wise do as we heard,
when we read what the prophets say,
the angels said… re-
conciliation - nation to nation, peace
on earth {as in heaven BTW}
goodwill… the real deal, to fill the flaw, in the law,
which allowed imaginary places power
in carnal minds.
Jesus fixed that. Jah, no joke, he took it,
the joke on me, I traded for the
joke on you, he said,
I heard.
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 2:16 PM UTC
Take care that life does not pass you by
in the busy moments of our finity.
Time cannot be regained when
once it has flown. No hope is
there for the moments spent in anger,
silence unlovely, and the heady
disunion of words spoken in haste.
Let every movement be made as if through
a fast-moving river, and you walk
against the current,
in danger every moment of
being swept away.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
Infinite...
Is the cloudless sky....
Stretching above my head...
Infinite...
Is the bare ground...
That runs beneath my feet...
The only "finite" thing here is...
I and my life!
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC
The sun has risen
Soon it will set
The day has started
Later it will end
The flowers bloom beautifully
Still they are sure to wither
The beginnings and endings
Are they the only things that matter?
Are they all there is?
Isn't there something greater?
Something about the finite things
We have yet to discover...
"They end." The end
If so, that's just sad
The fact that things end
Is no reason to be mad
They happen and they end
But the "something" in between
Makes us all remember
Somehow, finite things can last forever
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
When I almost met God
It was seated
behind the trunk of an almost-Tree
ancient wood woven
in finity fabric
every living you
every living me
fibers in thread
connected
legstoarms
handstofeet
_dancing
*******
birthing_
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 8:00 PM UTC
This dream
Unafraid
Sits close to me
on slumber's bench
Our shoulders touch
One of us ephemeral
One bound to finity
Seeking answers
in the other
Look down
Look down
The purple crocus sings
Here I am --
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 8:09 AM UTC